The Fainting Warrior
A Sermon
(No. 235)
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 23rd, 1859, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
At the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.
"O wretched man that I am I who shall deliver me from the body of this
death? I thank God, through Jesus Christ our Lord."–Romans 7:24, 25.
IF I chose to occupy your time with controversial matter, I might prove
to a demonstration that the apostle Paul is here describing his own
experience as a Christian. Some have affirmed that he is merely
declaring what he was before conversion, and not what he was when he
became the recipient of the grace of God. But such persons are
evidently mistaken, and I believe wilfully mistaken; for any
ample-hearted, candid mind, reading through this chapter, could not
fall into such an error. It is Paul the apostle, who was not less than
the very greatest of the apostles–it is Paul, the mighty servant of
God, a very prince in Israel, one of the King's mighty men–it is Paul,
the saint and the apostle, who here exclaims, "O wretched man that I
am!"
Now, humble Christians are often the dupes of a very foolish error.
They look up to certain advanced saints and able ministers, and they
say, "Surely, such men as these do not suffer as I do; they do not
contend with the same evil passions as those which vex and trouble me."
Ah! if they knew the heard of those men, if they could read their
inward conflicts, they would soon discover that the nearer a man lives
to God, the more intensely has he to mourn over his own evil heart, and
the more his Master honors him in his service, the more also doth the
evil of the flesh vex and tease him day by day. Perhaps, this error is
more natural, as it is certainly more common, with regard to apostolic
saints. We have been in the habit of saying, Saint Paul, and Saint
John, as if they were more saints than any other of the children of
God. They are all saints whom God has called by his grace, and
sanctified by his Spirit; but somehow we very foolishly put the
apostles and the early saints into another list, and do not venture to
look on them as common mortals. We look upon them as some extraordinary
beings, who could not be men of like passions with ourselves. We are
told in Scripture that our Saviour was "tempted in all points like as
we are;" and yet we fall into the egregious error of imagining that the
apostles, who were far inferior to the Lord Jesus, escaped these
temptations, and were ignorant of these conflicts. The fact is, if you
had seen the apostle Paul, you would have thought he was remarkably
like the rest of the chosen family: and if you had talked with him, you
would have said, "Why, Paul, I find that your experience and mine
exactly agree. You are more faithful, more holy, and more deeply taught
than I, but you have the self same trials to endure. Nay, in some
respects you are more sorely tried than I." Do not look upon the
ancient saints as being exempt either from infirmities or sins, and do
not regard them with that mystic reverence which almost makes you an
idolater. Their holiness is attainable even by you, and their faults
are to be censured as much as your own. I believe it is a Christian's
duty to force his way into the inner circle of saintship; and if these
saints were superior to us in their attainments, as they certainly
were, let us follow them; let us press forward up to, yea, and beyond
them, for I do not see that this is impossible. We have the same light
that they had, the same grace is accessible to us, and why should we
rest satisfied until we have distanced them in the heavenly race? Let
us bring them down to the sphere of common mortals. If Jesus was the
Son of man, and very man, "bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh;"
so were the apostles; and it is an egregious error to suppose that they
were not the subjects of the same emotions, and the same inward trials,
as the very meanest of the people of God. So far, this may tend to our
comfort and to our encouragement, when we find that we are engaged in a
battle in which apostles themselves have had to fight.
And now we shall notice this morning, first, the two natures, secondly
their constant battle; thirdly, we shall step aside and look at the
weary warrior, and hear him cry, "O wretched man that I am;" and then
we shall turn our eye in another direction, and see that fainting
warrior girding up his loins to the conflict, and becoming an expectant
victor, while he shouts, "I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord."
I. First, then, THE TWO NATURES. Carnal men, unrenewed men, have one
nature–a nature which they inherited from their parents, and which,
through the ancient transgression of Adam, is evil, only evil, and that
continually. Mere human nature, such as is common to every man, has in
it many excellent traits, judging of it between man and man. A merely
natural man may be honest, upright, kind, and generous, he may have
noble and generous thoughts, and may attain unto a true and manly
speech; but when we come to matters of true religion, spiritual matters
that concern God and eternity, the natural man can do nothing. The
carnal mind, whose ever mind it may be, is fallen, and is at enmity to
God, does not know the things of God, nor can it ever know them. Now,
when a man becomes a Christian, he becomes so through the infusion of a
new nature. He is naturally "dead in trespasses and sins," "without God
and without hope." The Holy Spirit enters into him, and implants in him
a new principle, a new nature, a new life. That life is a high, holy
and supernatural principle, it is, in fact the divine nature, a ray
from the great "Father of Lights;" it is the Spirit of God dwelling in
man. Thus, you see, the Christian becomes a double man–two men in one.
Some have imagined that the old nature is turned out of the Christian:
not so, for the Word of God and experience teach the contrary, the old
nature is in the:Christian unchanged, unaltered, just the same, as bad
as ever it was; while the new nature in him is holy, pure and heavenly;
and hence, as we shall have to notice in me next place–hence there
arises a conflict between the two.
Now, I want you to notice what the apostle says about these two natures
that are in the Christian, for I am about to contrast them. First, in
our text the apostle calls the old nature "the body of this death." Why
does he call it "the body of this death?" Some suppose he means these
dying bodies; but I do not think so. If it were not for sin, we should
have no fault to find with our poor bodies. They are noble works of
God, and are not in themselves the cause of sin. Adam in the garden of
perfection, felt the body to be no encumbrance, nor if sin were absent
should we have any fault to find with our flesh and blood. What, then,
is it? I think the apostle calls the evil nature within him a body,
first, in opposition to those who talk of the relics of corruption in a
Christian. I have heard people say that there are relics, remainders
and remnants of sin in a believer. Such men do not know much about
themselves yet. Oh! it is not a bone, or a rag which is left; it is the
whole body of sin that is there–the whole of it, "from the crown of
the head to the sole of the foot." Grace does not maim this body and
cut away its members; it leaves it entire, although blessed be God, it
crucifies it, nailing it to the cross of Christ. And again, I think he
calls it a body because it is something tangible. We all know that we
have a body; it is a thing we can feel, we know it is there. The new
nature is a spirit subtle, and not easy to detect, I sometimes have to
question myself as to whether it is there at all. But as for my old
nature, that is a body, I can never find it difficult to recognize its
existence, it is as apparent as flesh and bones. As I never doubt that
I am in flesh and blood, so I never doubt but what I have sin within
me. It is a body–a thing which I can see and feel, and which, to my
pain, is ever present with me."
Understand, then, that the old nature of the Christian is a body; it
has in it a substance or, as Calvin puts it, it is a mass of
corruption. It is not simply a shred, a remnant–the cloth of the old
garment, but the whole of it is there still. True, it is crushed
beneath the foot of grace; it is cast out of its throne; but it is
there, there in all its entireness, and in all its sad tangibility, a
body of death. But why does he call it a body of death? Simply to
express what an awful thing this sin is that remains in the heart. It
is a body of death. I must use a figure, which is always appended to
this text, and very properly so. It was the custom of ancient tyrants,
when they wished to put men to the most fearful punishments, to tie a
dead body to them, placing the two back to back; and there was the
living man, with a dead body closely strapped to him, rotting, putrid,
corrupting, and this he must drag with him wherever he went. Now, this
is just what the Christian has to do. He has within him the new life;
he has a living and undying principle, which the Holy Spirit has put
within him, but he feels that every day he has to drag about with him
this dead body, this body of death, a thing as loathsome, as hideous,
as abominable to his new life, as a dead stinking carcase would be to a
living man. Francis Quarles gives a picture at the beginning of one of
his emblems, of a great skeleton in which a living man is encased.
However quaint the fancy, it is not more singular than true. There is
the old skeleton man, filthy, corrupt and abominable. He is a cage for
the new principle which God has put in the heart. Consider a moment the
striking language of our text, "The body of this death," it is death
incarnate, death concentrated, death dwelling in the very temple of
life. Did you ever think what an awful thing death is? The thought is
the most abhorrent to human nature. You say you do not fear death, and
very properly; but the reason why you do not fear death is because you
look to a glorious immortality. Death in itself is a most frightful
thing. Now, inbred sin has about it all the unknown terror, all the
destructive force, and all the stupendous gloom of death. A poet would
be needed to depict the conflict of life with death–to describe a
living soul condemned to walk through the black shades of confusion,
and to bear incarnate death in its very bowels. But such is the
condition of the Christian. As a regenerate man he is a firing, bright,
immortal spirit; but he has to tread the shades of death. He has to do
daily battle with all the tremendous powers of sin, which are as awful,
as sublimely terrific, as even the power's of death and hell.
Upon referring to the preceding chapter, we find the evil principle
styled "the old man." There is much meaning in that word "old." But let
it suffice us to remark, that in age the new nature is not upon an
equal footing with the corrupt nature. There are some here who are
sixty years old in their humanity, who can scarce number two years in
the life of grace. Now pause and meditate upon the warfare in the
heart. It is the contest of an infant with a full-grown man, the
wrestling of a babe with a giant. Old Adam, like some ancient oak, has
thrust his roots into the depths of manhood; can the divine infant
uproot him and cast him from his place? This is the work, this is the
labor. From its birth the new nature begins the struggle, and it cannot
cease from it until the victory be perfectly achieved. Nevertheless, it
is the moving of a mountain, the drying up of an ocean the threshing of
the hills, and who is sufficient for these things? The heaven-born
nature needs, and will receive, the abundant help of its Author, or it
would yield in the struggle, subdued beneath the superior strength of
its adversary and crushed beneath his enormous weight.
Again, observe, that the old nature of man, which remains in the
Christian is evil, and it cannot ever be anything else but evil, for we
are told in this chapter that "in me,"–that is, in my flesh–"there
dwelleth no good thing." The old Adam-nature cannot be improved; it
cannot be made better; it is hopeless to attempt it. You may do what
you please with it, you may educate it, you may instruct it, and thus
you may give it more instruments for rebellion, but you cannot make the
rebel into the friend, you cannot turn the darkness into light; it is
an enemy to God, and an enemy to God it ever must be. On the contrary,
the new life which God has given us cannot sin. That is the meaning of
a passage in John, where it is said, "The child of God sinneth not; he
cannot sin, because he is born of God." The old nature is evil only
evil, and that continually, the new nature is wholly good; it knows
nothing of sin, except to hate it. Its contact with sin brings it pain
and misery, and it cries out, "Woe is me that I dwell in Meshech, that
I tabernacle in the tents of Kedar."
I have thus given you some little picture of the two natures. Let me
again remind you that these two natures are essentially unchangeable.
You cannot make the new nature which God has given you less divine; the
old nature you cannot make less impure and earthly. Old Adam is a
condemned thing. You may sweep the house, and the evil spirit may seem
to go out of it, but he will come back again and bring with him seven
other devils more wicked than himself. It is a leper's house, and the
leprosy is in every stone from the foundation to the roof; there is no
part sound. It is a garment spotted by the flesh; you may wash, and
wash, and wash, but you shall never wash it clean; it were foolish to
attempt it. Whilst on the other hand the new nature can never be
tainted–spotless, holy and pure, it dwells in our hearts; it rules and
reigns there expecting the day when it shall cast out its enemy, and
without a rival it shall be monarch in the heart of man for ever.
II. I have thus described the two combatants; we shall now come in the
next place to THEIR BATTLE. There was never deadlier feud in all the
world between nations than there is between the two principles, right
and wrong. But right and wrong are often divided from one another by
distance, and therefore they have a less intense hatred. Suppose an
instance: right holds for liberty, therefore right hates the evil of
slavery. But we do not so intensely hate slavery as we should do if we
saw it before our eyes: then would the blood boil, when we saw our
black brother, smitten by the cow-hide whip. Imagine a slaveholder
standing here and smiting his poor slave until the red blood gushed
forth in a river; can you conceive your indignation? Now it is distance
which makes you feel this less acutely. The right forgets the wrong,
because it is far away. But suppose now that right and wrong lived in
the same house; suppose two such desperate enemies, cribbed, cabined,
and confined within this narrow house, man; suppose the two compelled
to dwell together, can you imagine to what a desperate pitch of fury
these two would get with one another. The evil thing says, "I will turn
thee out, thou intruder; I cannot be peaceful as I would, I cannot riot
as I would, I cannot indulge just as I would; out with thee, I will
never be content until I slay thee." "Nay," says the new born nature,
"I will kill thee, and drive thee out. I will not suffer stick or stone
of thee to remain. I have sworn war to the knife with thee; I have
taken out the sword and cast away the scabbard, and will never rest
till I can sing complete victory over thee, and totally eject thee from
this house of mine." They are always at enmity wherever they are; they
were never friends, and never can be. The evil must hate the good, and
the good must hate the evil.
And mark although we might compare the enmity to the wolf and lamb, yet
the new-born nature is not the lamb in all respects. It may be in its
innocence and meekness, but it is not in its strength; for the new-born
nature has all the omnipotence of God about it, whilst the old nature
has all the strength of the evil one in it, which is a strength not
easily to be exaggerated, but which we very frequently underestimate.
These two things are ever desperately at enmity with one another. And
even when they are both quiet they hate each other none the less. When
my evil nature does not rise, still it hates the newborn nature, and
when the new-born nature is inactive, it has nevertheless a thorough
abhorrence of all iniquity. The one cannot endure the other, it must
endeavor to thrust it forth. Nor do these at any time allow an
opportunity to pass from being revenged upon one another. There are
times when the old nature is very active, and then how will it ply all
the weapons of its deadly armoury against the Christian. You will find
yourselves at one time suddenly attacked with anger, and when you guard
yourself against the hot temptation, on a sudden you will find pride
rising, and you will begin to say in yourself; "Am I not a good man to
have kept my temper down?" And the moment you thrust down your pride
there will come another temptation, and lust will look out of the
window of your eyes, and you desire a thing upon which you ought not to
look, and ere you can shut your eyes upon the vanity, sloth in its
deadly torpor surrounds you, and you give yourself up to its influence
and cease to labor for God. And then when you bestir yourselves once
more, you fled that in the very attempt to rouse yourself you have
awakened your pride. Evil haunts you go where you may, or stand in what
posture you choose. On the other hand the new nature will never lose an
opportunity of putting down the old. As for the means of grace, the
newborn nature will never rest satisfied unless it enjoys them. As for
prayer, it will seek by prayer to wrestle with the enemy. It will
employ faith, and hope, and love, the threatenings, the promises,
providence, grace, and everything else to cast out the evil. Well,"
says one, "I don't find it so." Then I am afraid of you. If you do not
hate sin so much that you do everything to drive it out, I am afraid
you are not a living child of God. Antinomians like to hear you preach
about the evil of the heart, but here is the fault with them, they do
not like to be told that unless they hate that evil, unless they seek
to drive it out and unless it is the constant disposition of their
new-born nature to root it up, they are yet in their sins. Men who only
believe their depravity, but do not hate it, are no further than the
devil on the road to heaven. It is not my being corrupt that proves me
a Christian, nor knowing I am corrupt, but that I hate my corruption.
It is my agonizing death struggle with my corruptions that proves me to
be a living child of God. These two natures will never cease to
struggle so long as we are in this world. The old nature will never
give up; it will never cry truce, it will never ask for a treaty to be
made between the two. It will always strike as often as it can. When it
lies still it will only be preparing for some future battle. The battle
of Christian with Apollyon lasted three hours; but the battle of
Christian with himself lasted all the way from the Wicket-gate to the
River Jordan. The enemy within can never be driven out while we are
here. Satan may sometimes be absent from us, and get such a defeat that
he is glad to go howling back to his den, but old Adam abideth with us
from the first even to the last. He was with us when we first believed
in Jesus, and long ere that, and he will be with us till that moment
when we shall leave our bones in the grave, our fears in the Jordan,
and our sins in oblivion.
Once more observe, that neither of these two natures will be content in
the fight without bringing in allies to assist. The evil nature has old
relations, and in its endeavor to drive out the grace that is within,
it sends off messengers to all its helpers. Like Cherdorlasmer, the
King of Elam, it bringeth other kings with it, when it goeth out to
battle. "Ah!" says old Adam, "I have friends in the pit." He sends a
missive down to the depths, and willing allies come therefrom–spirits
from the vasty deep of hell; devils without number come up to the help
of their brother. And then, not content with that, the flesh
says:–"Ah! I have friends in this world;" and then the world sends its
fierce cohorts of temptation, such as the lust of the eyes and the
pride of life. What a battle, when sin, Satan, and the world, make a
dead-set upon the Christian at once. "Oh," says one, "it is a terrible
thing to be a Christian." I assure you it is. It is one of the hardest
things in the world to be a child of God; in fact, it is impossible,
unless the Lord makes us his children, and keeps us so.
Well, what does the new nature do? When it sees all these enemies, it
cries unto the Lord, and then the Lord sends it friends. First comes in
to its help, Jehovah, in the everlasting counsel, and reveals to the
heart its own interest in the secrets of eternity. Then comes Jesus
with his blood. "Thou shalt conquer," says he; "I will make thee more
than a conqueror through my death." And then appears the Holy Spirit,
the Comforter. With such assistance, this new-born nature is more than
a match for its enemies. God will sometimes leave that new nature
alone, to let it know its own weakness; but it shall not be for long,
lest it should sink in despair. Are you fighting with the enemy to-day,
my dear Christian brethren? Are Satan, the flesh, and the world–that
hellish trinity–all against you? Remember, there is a divine trinity
for you. Fight on, though like Valiant-for-Truth, your blood runs from
your hand and glues your sword to your arm. Fight on! for with you are
the legions of heaven; God himself is with you; Jehovah Nissi is your
banner, and Jehovah Rophi is the healer of your wounds. You shall
overcome; for who can defeat Omnipotence, or trample divinity beneath
his foot?
I have thus endeavored to describe the conflict; but understand me, it
cannot be described. We must say, as Hart does in his hymn, when after
singing the emotions of his soul, he says–
"But, brethren, you can surely guess,
For you perhaps have felt the same."
If you could see a plain upon which a battle is fought, you would see
how the ground is torn up by the wheels of the cannon, by the horse
hoofs, and by the trampling of men. What desolation is where once the
golden crops of harvest grew. How is the ground sodden with the blood
of the slain. How frightful the result of this terrible struggle. But
if you could see the believers' heart after a spiritual battle, you
would find it just a counterpart of the battle-field–as much cut up as
the ground of the battle-field after the direst conflict that men or
fiends have ever waged. For, think: we are combating man with himself;
nay, more, man with the whole world; nay, more, man with hell; God with
man, against man, the world and hell. What a fight is that! It were
worth an angel's while to come from the remotest fields of ether to
behold such a conflict.
III. We come now to notice THE WEARY COMBATANT. He lifts up his voice,
and weeping he cries, "O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me
from the body of this death?" It is the cry of a panting warrior. He
has fought so long that he has lost his breath, and he draws it in
again; he takes breath by prayer. "O wretched man that I am! who shall
deliver me from the body of this death?" He will not give up the
conflict; he knows he cannot, and he dare not. That thought does not
enter into his mind; but the conflict is so sore, the battle so
furious, that he is almost defeated; he sits down to refresh himself,
and thus he sighs out his soul; like the panting hart, longing for the
water brook, he says, "O wretched man that I am." Nay, it is more than
that. It is the cry of one who is fainting. He has fought till all his
strength is spent, and he falls back into the arms of his Redeemer with
this fainting gasp, "O wretched man that I am!" His strength has failed
him; he is sorely beaten in the battle, he feels that without the help
of God he is so totally defeated that he commences his own wail of
defeat, "O wretched man that I am." And then he asks this question,
"Who shall deliver me?" And there comes a voice from the Law, "I cannot
and I will not." There comes a voice from Conscience, "I can make thee
see the battle, but I cannot help thee in it." And then there comes a
cry from old Human Nature, and that says, "Ah! none can deliver thee, I
shall yet destroy thee; thou shalt fall by the hand of thine enemy; the
house of David shall be destroyed, and Saul shall live and reign for
ever." And the poor fainting soldier cries again, "Who shall deliver
me?" It seems a hopeless case, and I believe that sometimes the true
Christian may think himself hopelessly given over to the power of sin.
The wretchedness of Paul, I think, lay in two things, which are enough
to make any man wretched. Paul believed the doctrine of human
responsibility, and yet he felt the doctrine of human inability. I have
heard people say sometimes–"You tell the sinner that he cannot believe
and repent without the help of the Holy Spirit, and yet you tell him
that it is his duty to believe and repent. How are these two to be
reconciled? We reply that they do not want any reconciliation; they are
two truths of Holy Scripture, and we leave them to reconcile
themselves, they are friends, and friends do not need any
reconciliation. But what seems a difficulty as a matter of doctrine is
clear as daylight as a matter of experience. I know it is my duty to be
perfect, but I am conscious I cannot be. I know that every time I
commit sin I am guilty, and yet I am quite certain that I must
sin–that my nature is such that I cannot help it. I feel that I am
unable to get rid of this body of sin and death, and yet I know I ought
to get rid of it. These two things are enough to make any man
miserable–to know that he is responsible for his sinful nature, and
yet to know that he cannot get rid of it–to know that he ought to keep
it down, and yet to feel he cannot–to know that it is his business to
keep God's law perfectly, and walk in the commandments of the law
blameless, and yet to know by sad experience that he is as unable to do
so as he is to reverse the motion of the globe, or dash the sun from
the center of the spheres. How will not these two things drive any man
to desperation? The way in which some men avoid the dilemma, is by a
denial of one of these truths. They say, "Well, it is true I am unable
to cease from sin;" and then they deny their obligation to do so; they
do not cry, "O wretched man that I am;" they live as they like, and say
they cannot help it. On the other hand, there are some men who know
they are responsible; but then they say, "Ay but I can cast off my
sin," and these are tolerably happy. The Arminian and the
hyper-Calvinist both of them get on very comfortably; but the man who
believes these two doctrines, as taught in God's Word, that he is
responsible for sin and yet that he is unable to get rid of it, I do
not wonder that when he looks into himself he finds enough to make him
sigh and cry, ever, to faintness and despair, "O wretched man that I
am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death."
And now says one, "Ah, I would be a Christian, if that is the way in
which he faints–it be is always to be fighting with himself; and even
until he despairs of victory." Stop a moment. Let us complete the
picture. This man is fainting; but he will be restored by-and-bye.
Think not that he is hopelessly defeated, he falls to rise, he faints
but to be revived afresh. I know a magic, which can awaken his sleeping
hopes and shoot a thrill along the freezing current of his blood. Let
us sound the promise in his ear, see how soon he revives. Let us put
the cordial to his lips; see how he starts up and plays the man again.
"I have been almost defeated" says he, "almost driven to despair.
Rejoice not over me, O mine enemy; though I fall, yet shall I rise
again." And he lets fly against him once more, shouting, "I thank God
through Jesus Christ our Lord." So on he goes again, more than a
conqueror, through him that has loved him.
IV. This brings me to this last point, that THE CHRISTIAN IS TO BE A
CONQUEROR AT LAST. Do you think that we are for ever to be the drudges
and the slaves of sin? Am I for ever to be the galley-slave of my own
nature, to tug for freedom and never to escape? Am I always to have
this dead man chained to my back, and sniff the pestiferous exhalations
of his putrid body? No, no, no, that which is within my heart, is like
a caged eagle; and I know that soon the bars which confine me shall be
broken; the door of my cage shall be opened, and I shall mount with my
eye upon the sun of glory, soaring upward, true to the line, moving
neither to the right hand nor to the left, flying till I reach my eyrie
in the everlasting rocks of God's eternal love. No, we that love the
Lord are not for ever to dwell in Mesech. The dust may besmear our
robes and filth may be upon our brow, and beggared may be our garment,
but we shall not be so for ever. The day is coming when we shall rise
and shake ourselves from the dust, and put on our beautiful garments.
It is true we are now like Israel in Canaan. Canaan is full of enemies;
but the Canaanites shall and must be driven out. Amalek shall be slain,
Agag shall be hewn in pieces; our enemies shall, every one of them, be
dispersed, and the whole land from Dan to Beersheba shall be the Lords.
Christians, rejoice! You are soon to be perfect, you are soon to be
free from sin, totally free from it, without one wrong inclination, one
evil desire. You are soon to be as pure as the angels in light; nay,
more, with your Master's garments on you are to be "holy as the holy
one." Can you think of that? Is not that the very sum of heaven, the
rapture of bliss, the sonnet of the hill-tops of glory–that you are to
be perfect? No temptation can reach you from eye, or ear, or hand; nor
if the temptation could reach you would you be hurt by it; for there
will be nothing in you that could in any way foster sin. It would be as
when a spark falls upon an ocean, your holiness would quench it in a
moment. Yes, washed in the blood of Jesus, afresh baptized with the
Holy Spirit, you are soon to walk the golden streets, white-robed and
white-hearted too, and perfect as your Maker, you are to stand before
his throne, and sing his praises to eternity.
Now, soldiers of Christ, to arms again! Once more rush into the fight,
you cannot be defeated; you must overcome. Though you faint a little,
yet take courage; you shall conquer through the blood of the Lamb.
And now, turning aside for a minute, I shall conclude by making an
observation or two to many now present. There are some here who say, "I
am never disturbed in that fashion." Then I am sorry for you. I will
tell you the reason of your false peace. You have not the grace of God
in your hearts. If you had you would surely find this conflict within
you. Do not despise the Christian because he is in the conflict,
despise yourself because you are out of it. The reason why the devil
lets you alone is, that he knows you are his. He does not need to
trouble you much now; he will have time enough to give you your wages
as the last. He troubles the Christian because he is afraid of losing
him; he thinks that if he does not tease him here, he shall never have
the chance to do it in eternity, so he will bite him, and bark at him
while he may. That is why the Christian is vexed more then you are. As
for you, you may well be without any pain, for dead men feel no blows.
You may well be without prickings of conscience; for men that are
corrupt are not likely to feel wounds, though you stab them from head
to foot. I pity your condition, for the worm that dieth not is
preparing to feed upon you; the eternal vulture of remorse shall soon
wet his horrid beak with the blood of your soul. Tremble; for the fires
of hell are hot and unquenchable, and the place of perdition is hideous
beyond a madman's dream. Oh that you would think of your last end. The
Christian may have an evil present, but he has a glorious future; but
your future is the blackness of darkness for ever. I adjure you by the
living God, you that fear not Christ, consider your ways. You and I
must give an account for this morning's service. You are warned, men;
you are warned. Take heed to yourselves, that ye think not this life to
be everything. There is a world to come; there is "after death the
judgment." If you fear not the Lord, there is after judgment eternal
wrath and everlasting misery.
And now a word to those who are seeking Christ. "Ah!" says one, "sir, I
have sought Christ, but I feel worse than I ever was in my life. Before
I had any thoughts about Christ I felt myself to be good, but now I
feel myself to be evil." It is all right, my friend; I am glad to hear
you say so. When surgeons heal a patient's wound, they always take care
to cut away the proud flesh, because the cure can never be radical
while the proud flesh remains. The Lord is getting rid of your
self-confidence and self-righteousness. He is just now revealing to
your soul the deadly cancer which is festering within you. You are on
the sure road to healing, if you are on the way to wounding. God wounds
before he heals; he strikes a man dead in his own esteem before he
makes him alive. "Ah," cries one, "but can I hope that I ever shall be
delivered?" Yes, my brother, if you now look to Christ. I care not what
your sin nor what your despair of heart; if you will only turn your eye
to him who bled upon the tree, there is not only hope for you, but
there is a certainty of salvation. I myself, while thinking over this
subject, felt a horror of great darkness rush over my spirit, as I
thought what danger I was in lest I should be defeated, and I could not
get a glimpse of light into my burdened spirit, until I turned my eye,
and saw my Master hanging on the tree. I saw the blood still flowing;
faith laid hold upon the sacrifice, and I said, "This cross is the
instrument of Jesu's victory, and shall be the means of mine." I looked
to his blood; I remembered that I was triumphant in that blood, and I
rose from my meditations, humbled, but yet rejoicing; cast down, but
not in despair; looking for the victory. Do likewise. "Jesus Christ
came into the world to save sinners: believe that. You are an awakened,
conscious and penitent sinner; therefore, he came to save you. Believe
his word; trust him. Do nothing for your own salvation of yourself, but
trust him to do it. Cast yourself simply and only on him; and, as this
Bible is true, you shall not find the promise fail you–"He that
seeketh findeth; to him that knocketh it shall be opened."
May God help you, by giving you this new life within! May he help you
to look to Jesus, and though long and hard be the conflict, sweet shall
be the victory.