DELIVERED ON LORD'S-DAY EVENING, JUNE 19, 1870,
BY C. H. SPURGEON
AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.
"Godliness is profitable unto all things, having the promise of the
life that now is, and of that which is to come." 1 Timothy 4:8.
WE endeavored, this morning to prove the profitableness of godliness as
to the life which now is, and to discriminate as to what the promise of
this life really is. We tried to prove that "the promise" of the life
that now is–its real and highest beauty and excellence–consists in
peace of mind, peace with God, contentment, and happiness of spirit.
And while we pointed out that godliness did not ensure wealth, or
health, or even a good name–for all these, even to godly men, might
not be granted–yet we showed that the great end of our being, that for
which we live and were created, that which will best make it worth
while to have existed, shall certainly be ours if we are godly.
We did not think it an unimportant matter to expound the bearing of
true religion upon this present state. But I trust we did not
exaggerate that view so as to keep those in countenance who dream that
this world is the main consideration–and that the wisest man is he who
makes it the be-all and the end-all of his existence.
Beloved Friends, there is another life beyond this fleeting existence.
This fact was dimly guessed by heathens. Strange as their mythology
might be, and singular as were their speculations us to the regions of
bliss and woe, even barbarous nations have had some glimmering light
concerning a region beyond the river of death. Hardly yet have we been
able to discover a people with no idea of an after-state. Man has
scarcely ever been befooled into the belief that death is the finis of
the volume of his existence.
Few, indeed, have been so lost to natural light as to have forgotten
that man is something more than the dog which follows at his heel. That
which was dimly guessed by the heathen was more fully worked out by the
bolder and clearer minds among philosophers. They saw something about
man that made him more than either ox or horse. They marked the moral
government of God in the world, and as they saw the wicked prosper, and
the righteous afflicted, they said, "There must be another state in
which the GREAT AND JUST ONE will rectify all these wrongs–reward the
righteous, and condemn the wicked."
They thought it proved that there would be another life. They could
not, however, speak with confidence. For reason, however right her
inferences, does not content the heart, or give "the substance of
things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen." That is reserved for
faith. The best light of heathens was but twilight. Yet was there so
much light in their obscurity that they looked beyond the stream of
death and thought they saw shades as of creatures that had once been
here and could not die. What was thus surmised and suspected by the
great thinkers of antiquity has been brought to light in the Gospel of
Jesus Christ.
He has declared to us that we shall live again, that there will be a
Judgment and a Resurrection both of the righteous and of the wicked,
and that there will be awarded to the righteous a reward that shall
know no end, while the wicked shall be driven into a banishment to
which there shall be no close. We are not left, now, to speculate nor
to rely upon unaided reason. We have been told upon the authority of
God, sometimes by the lips of Prophets, at other times by the lips of
His own dear Son, or by His inspired Apostles, that there is a world to
come, a world of terrors to the ungodly, but a world of promised
blessing to the righteous.
My dear Hearer, if it is so, what will the world to come be to you?
Will you inherit its promise? You may easily answer that question by
another. Have you godliness? If you have, you have the promise of the
life that is to come. Are you ungodly? Do you live without God? Are you
without faith in God, without love to God, without reverence to God?
Are you without the pardon which God presents to believers in Christ
Jesus? Then you are without hope, and the world to come has nothing for
you but a fearful looking for ofjudgment and of fiery indignation which
will devour you.
I. GODLINESS CONCERNING THE LIFE TO COME POSSESSES A PROMISE UNIQUE AND
UNRIVALLED. I say a unique promise, for, observe–infidelity makes no
promise of a life to come. It is the express business of infidelity to
deny that there is such a life, and to blot out all the comfort which
can be promised concerning it. Man is like a pris-
oner shut up in his cell, a cell all dark and cheerless unless there is
a window through which he can gaze upon a glorious landscape.
Infidelity comes like a demon into the cell, and with desperate hands
blocks up the window, that man may sit forever in the dark, or at best
may have the boasted light of a farthing rush-light called
free-thinking. All that infidelity can tell him is that he will die
like a dog. Fine prospect for a man who feels eternity pulsing within
his spirit! I know I shall not die like the beast that perishes. And
let who will propound the theory, my soul sickens and turns with
disgust from it. Nor would it be possible by the most specious
arguments so to pervert the instincts of my nature as to convince me
that I shall thus die, and that my soul, like the flame of an out-burnt
candle, shall be quenched in utter annihilation.
My inmost heart revolts at this degrading slander. She feels an innate
nobility that will not allow her to be numbered with the beasts of the
field, to die as they must do without a hope. Oh, miserable prospect!
How can men be so earnest in proclaiming their own wretchedness?
Enthusiasts for annihilation? Why not fanatics for Hell itself?
Godliness has promise of the life that is to come, but infidelity can
do nothing better than deny the ennobling revelation of the great
Father and bid us be content with the dark prospect of being
exterminated and put out of being. Aspiring, thoughtful, rational
Men–can you be content with the howling wildernesses and dreary voids
of infidelity? Leave them, I pray you, for the goodly land of the
Gospel which flows with milk and honey! Abandon extinction for
immortality! Renounce perishing for Paradise!
Again, let me remark that this hope is unique because popery in any of
its forms cannot promise us the life which is to come. I know that it
speaks as positively as Christianity does about the fact that there
will be another life. But it gives us no promise of it–for what is the
expectation of the Romanist, even of the best Romanist? Have I not
before remarked to you that we have heard–and therefore it is no
slander for us to say it–of "masses" being said for the repose of the
souls of the most eminent Romanists?
Cardinals distinguished for their learning, confessors and priests
distinguished for their zeal, and even Popes reputed to be remarkable
for holiness and even infallibility, have, when they died, gone
somewhere! I know not where, but somewhere where they have needed that
the faithful should pray for the repose of their souls! That is a very
poor look-out for ordinary people like ourselves. For if these
superlatively good people are still uneasy in their souls after they
die, and have in fact, according to their own statements, gone to
purgatorial fires or to purgatorial chills–to be tossed, as certain of
their prophets have informed us–from icebergs into furnaces, and then
back again, until by some means, mechanical, spiritual, or otherwise,
sin shall be burnt out, or evaporated from them. If that is their
expectation, I think I should be inclined, as the Irishman said, to
become a Protestant heretic, and go to Heaven at once, if there is so
sorry a prospect for the Catholic.
Godliness has the promise of the life which is to come, but it is
altogether unique in possessing such a promise. No voice from the
Vatican sounds one-half so sweetly as that from Patmos, which we
unabashedly accept–"I heard a voice from Heaven saying unto me, Write,
Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from now on. Yes, says the
Spirit, that they may rest from their labors. And their works do follow
them." Our sorrow for the departed is not embittered by the absence of
hope, for we believe that "them also which sleep in Jesus will God
bring with Him." Neither superstition on the one hand, nor unbelief on
the other, so much as dares to offer a promise as to the life to come.
No system based upon human merit ever gives its votaries a promise of
the life to come which they can really grasp and be assured of. No
self-righteous man will venture to speak of the assurance of faith. In
fact, he denounces it as presumption. He feels that his own basis is
insecure, and therefore he suspects the confidence of others to be as
hollow as his own. He lives between hope and fear–a joyless,
unsatisfied life. While the believer in Jesus, knowing that there is no
condemnation to him, awaits the hour of his entrance into Heaven with
joyful expectancy. What is never promised to man's fancied
righteousness is secured to all who possess the righteousness of Christ
Jesus. "Come, you blessed," is their assured welcome–to be with
Jesus–their entailed portion.
Godliness has a monopoly of heavenly promise as to the blessed future.
There is nothing else beneath high Heaven to which any such promise has
ever been given by God, or of which any such promise can be supposed.
Look at vice, for instance, with its pretended pleasures–what does it
offer you? It offers pleasure in the life that now is. But as it
speaks, you detect the lie upon its face, for even in the life that now
is vice gives but a hasty intoxication, to be followed by woe and
redness of the eyes. It is true it satiates with sweets, but in all its
tables there is vomit. Satiety follows its gluttony, dissatisfaction
comes with discontent, loathing, remorse, and misery–like hounds at
its heels.
Vice dares not say, it never has had the effrontery yet to say, "Do
evil and live in sin, and eternal life will come out of it." No, the
theater at its door does not proffer you eternal life–it invites you
to the pit. The house of evil communica-
tions, the drunkard's settle, the gathering place of scorners, the
chamber of the strange woman–none of these has yet dared to advertise
a promise of eternal life as among the gifts that may tempt its
votaries. At best, sin gives you but bubbles, and feeds you upon air.
The pleasure vanishes, and the misery is left. Even this side of the
tomb the hollowness of sinful mirth is clear to all but the most
superficial, and he said truly who sang concerning merry worldlings —
"They grin. But why? And how long the laugh?
Half ignorance, their mirth. And half a lie
To cheat the world, and cheat themselves, they smile.
Hard either task! The most abandoned own
That others, if abandoned, are undone–
Then, for themselves, the moment reason wakes,
Oh, how laborious is their gaiety!
They scarce can swallow their ebullient spleen,
Scarce muster patience to support the farce,
And pump sad laughter till the curtain falls.
Scarce did I say? Some cannot sit it out;
Oft their own daring hand the curtain draws,
And shows us what is their joy by their despair." If such is the
failure of the mirth of fools this side of eternity, of what little
benefit can it prove hereafter?
So with other things not sinful in themselves–there is no promise of
the life that is to come appended to them. For instance, birth. What
would not some men give if they could but somehow trace their pedigree
up to a distinguished Crusader, or up to a Norman knight reported of in
the battle-roll of Hastings? Yet, nowhere in the world is there a
promise of eternal life to blood and birth. "For when he dies he shall
carry nothing away: his glory shall not descend after him. Though while
he lived he blessed his soul: and men will praise you, when you do well
to yourself. He shall go to the generation of his fathers. They shall
never see light."
Genealogies and pedigrees are poor things. Trace us all up far enough,
and we are all descended from that naked sinner who tried to cover his
shame with fig leaves, and owed his first true garment to the charity
of offended Heaven. Let the pedigree run through the loins of kings,
yes, and of mighty kings, and let every one of our forefathers have
been distinguished for his valor–yet no man shall pretend, because of
this, that eternal life will be secured thereby. Ah, no. The king rots
like a slave and the hero is devoured by the worm as though he had been
but a swineherd all his days. Yes, and the flame unquenchable kindles
an earl, and duke, and millionaire, as well as a serf and peasant.
And it is equally certain that no promise of the life that is to come
is given to wealth. Men hoard it, and gather it, and keep it, and seal
it down by bonds and settlements as if they thought they could carry
some thing with them. But when they have gained their utmost, they do
not find that wealth has the promise even of this life, for it yields
small contentment to the man who possesses it. "Their inward thought is
that their houses shall continue forever, and their dwelling places to
all generations. They call their lands after their own names.
Nevertheless man being in honor abides not."
As for the life to come, is there any supposable connection between the
millions of the miser's wealth and the glory that is to be revealed
hereafter? No, but by so much more as the man lives for this world, by
so much more shall he be accursed. He said, "I will pull down my barns
and build greater." But God calls him a fool, and a fool he is, for
when his soul is required of him, whose shall these things be which he
had prepared? No, you may grasp the Indies if you will. You may seek to
contain within your estates all the lands that you can see far and
wide, but you shall be none the nearer to Heaven when you have reached
the climax of your avarice. There is no promise of the life that is to
come in the pursuits of usury and covetousness.
Nor is there any such promise to personal accomplishments and beauty.
How many live for that poor bodily form of theirs which so soon must
molder back to the dust! To dress, to adorn themselves, to catch the
glance of the admirer's eye, to satisfy public taste, to follow
fashion! Surely an object in life more frivolous never engrossed an
immortal soul. It seems as strange as if an angel should be gathering
daisies or blowing soap bubbles! An immortal spirit living to dress the
body! To paint, to dye, to display a ribbon, to dispose a pin–is this
the pursuit of an immortal? Yet tens of thousands live for little else.
But ah, there is no promise of the life to come appended to the most
noble beauty that ever fascinated the eye. Far deeper than the skin is
the beauty which is admired in Heaven.
As for earth's comeliness, how do time, and death, and the worm
together make havoc of it! Take up yonder skull, just upturned by the
sexton's careless spade, "and get you to my lady's chamber, and tell
her, though she paint an inch thick, to this complexion she must come
at last." All her dressing shall end in a shroud, and all her washings
and her
dainty ornaments shall only make her but the sweeter morsel for the
worm. There is no promise of the life to come to these
frivolities–why, then, waste your time and degrade your souls with
them?
Nor even to higher accomplishments than these is there given any
promise of the life to come. For instance, the attainment of learning,
or the possession of that which often stands men in as good place as
learning, namely, cleverness, brings therewith no promise of future
bliss. If a man is clever, if he can write interesting stories, if he
can sketch the current fashions, if he can produce poetry that will
survive among his fellow men–it matters not. Though his pen never
wrote a line for Christ, and though he never uttered a sentence that
might have led a sinner to the Cross. Though his work had no aim beyond
this life, and paid no homage to the God of the Gospel, yet even
professed Christians will fall at the man's feet! And when he dies,
will canonize him as a saint, and almost worship him as a Demigod!
I reckon the meanest Christian that loved his God, though he could only
speak with a stammer the profession of his faith, is nobler far than he
who possessed the genius of a Byron or the greatness of a Shakespeare
who only used his ten talents for himself and for his follow men, but
never consecrated them to the great Master to whom the interest of them
altogether belonged. No. There is no promise of the life that is to
come to the philosopher, or to the statesman, or to the poet, or to the
literary man, as such. They have no preference before the Lord. Not
gifts but Divine Grace must save them. Humbly, penitently, and
believingly they must find the promise of eternal life in godliness.
And if they have not godliness, they shall find it nowhere.
Godliness has that promise, I say, and none besides. I saw in Italy
standing at the corner of a road, as you may frequently see in Italy, a
large Cross, and on it were these words, which I had not often seen on
a Cross before–"Spes unica"–the only hope, the one unique hope, the
one only hope of mankind. So would I tell you that on Christ's Cross
there is written this day, "Spes unica"–the one hope of men.
"Godliness has the promise of the life that now is, and of that which
is to come." To nothing else anywhere–search for it high or low, on
earth or sea–to nothing else is the promise given save to godliness
alone.
II. I pass on to notice, in the second place, that THE PROMISE GIVEN TO
GODLINESS IS AS COMPREHENSIVE AS IT IS UNIQUE. I have not time on this
occasion to go into all the promises of the life that is to come which
belong to godliness–who shall give an inventory where the treasure is
boundless, or map out a land which has no limit? It will suffice if I
give you the heads of this great theme. That promise is something of
this kind. The godly man, unless Christ shall come, will die as others
die, as to the matter of outward fact, but his death will be very
different in its essence and meaning.
He will pass gently out of this world into the world to come, and then,
at that instant, he will begin to realize the promise which godliness
gave him. For he will enter then, no, he has entered now, upon an
eternal life far other than that which belongs to other men. The
Christian's life shall never be destroyed–"Because I live, you shall
live also," says Christ. There is no fear of the Christian's ever
growing aged in Heaven, or of his powers failing him. Eternal youth
shall be to those who wear the unfading crown of life. Yon sun shall
become black as a coal. yonder moon shall fail until her pale beams
shall never more be seen. The stars shall fall like withered figs–even
this earth, which we call stable, terming it terra firma, shall, with
yonder heavens, be rolled up like a vestment that is worn out, and
shall be laid aside among the things that were, but are not.
Everything which can be seen is but a fruit with a worm at the core, a
flower doomed to fade. But the Believer shall live forever, his life
shall be coeval with the years of the Most High. God lives ever, ever,
ever, and so shall every godly soul. Christ, having given him eternal
life, he is one with Jesus, and as Jesus lives forever, even so shall
he. In the moment of death the Christian will begin to enjoy this
eternal life in the form of wonderful felicity in the company of
Christ, in the Presence of God, in the society of disembodied spirits
and holy angels. I say in a moment, for from the case of the dying
thief we learn that there is no wait upon the road from earth to
Heaven–
"One gentle sigh the fetter breaks–
We scarce can say, 'He'sgone!'
Before the willing spirit takes
Its mansion near the Throne."
How does Paul put it? "Absent from the body." But you have hardly said
that word, when he adds, "present with the Lord." The eyes are closed
on earth and opened again in Heaven! They loose their anchor, and
immediately they come to the desired haven. How long that state of
disembodied happiness shall last it is not for us to know, but
by-and-by, when the fullness of time shall come, the Lord Jesus shall
consummate all things by the resurrection of these bodies. The
trumpet shall sound, and as Jesus Christ's body rose from the dead as
the first fruits, so shall we arise, every man in his own order.
Raised up by Divine power, our very bodies shall be reunited with our
souls to live with Christ, raised however, not as they shall be put
into the grave to slumber, but in a nobler image. They were sown like
the shriveled seed, they shall come up like the fair flowers which
decorate your summer gardens. Planted as a dull unattractive bulb, to
develop into a glory like that of a lovely lily with snowy cup and
petals of gold. Sown like the shriveled barley or wheat, to come up as
a fair green blade, or to become the golden ear. "It does not yet
appear what we shall be, but when He shall appear we shall be like He
is, for we shall see Him as He is."
Come, my Soul, what a promise is given you in God's Word of the life
that is to come! A promise for my soul, did I say? A promise for my
body, too. These aches and pains shall be repaid. This weariness and
these sicknesses shall all be recompensed. The body shall be remarried
to the soul, from which it parted with so much grief, and the marriage
shall be the more joyous because there never shall be another divorce.
Then, in body and in soul made perfect, the fullness of our bliss shall
have arrived.
But will there not be a judgment? Yes, a judgment certainly. And if not
in set ceremonial, a judgment for the righteous, as some think, yet in
spirit certainly. We shall gather at the Great White Throne, gather
with the goats or gather with the sheep. But there is this promise to
you who are godly, that you shall have nothing to fear in that Day of
Judg-ment–you shall go to it with the blood-bought pardon in your
bosom, to be shown before the Judgment Seat. You shall go to that
judgment to have it proclaimed to men, to angels, and to devils, that
"there is now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus," none
being able to lay anything to the charge of those for whom Jesus Christ
has died, and whom the Father justifies.
You need not fear the judgment, you need not fear the conflagration of
the world, or whatever else of terror shall be attendant upon the
coming of Christ as a thief in the night. You have the promise of the
life that now is, and of that which is to come. Listen to me! You have
the promise that you shall enjoy forever the high dignity of being
priests and kings unto God. You sons of toil, you daughters of
poverty–you shall be peers in Heaven, you shall be courtiers of the
Prince Imperial–yourselves being princes of the royal blood!
Your heads shall wear crowns, your hands shall wave palms of triumph.
And as you shall have glorious rank, so shall you have companions
suitable to your condition. The worldling's haunt, the synagogue of
Satan, shall be far away from you. No more shall you sojourn in Mesech
and dwell in the tents of Kedar. No idle talk shall vex you, no
blasphemies shall inflict themselves upon your ears. You shall hear the
songs of angels. And as they charm you, you shall also charm them by
making known unto them the manifold wisdom of God. The holiest and best
of men, redeemed by Jesus' precious blood, shall commune with you, and,
best of all —
"He that on the Throne does reign You for evermore shall He feed; With
the tree of life sustain, To the living fountain lead."
You shall have unbroken fellowship with God and with His Christ. What
ravishing joy this will be! We shall better be able to experience than
to imagine. Communion with Jesus here below uplifts us far above the
world, but what its delights are in the unclouded skies of face-to-face
fellowship, has not yet entered into the heart of man.
Hearken yet more, Beloved. You shall have suitable occupation. I know
not what you may have to do in Heaven, but I do know it is written,
"They shall see His face, and His name shall be on their foreheads, and
His servants shall serve Him." They serve Him day and night in His
Temple. You would not be happy without occupation. Minds made like
yours could not find rest except upon the wing–delightful and
honorable employment shall be allotted you–suitable to your perfected
capabilities. But, mark you, you shall have rest as well as service. No
wave of trouble shall roll over your peaceful bosoms. You shall forever
bathe your souls in seas of blissful rest–no care, no fear, no
unsatisfied desire. For all desires shall be consummated, all
expectations be fulfilled. God shall be your Portion, the infinite
Spirit your Friend, and the ever-blessed Christ your elder Brother.
Into the joy of Heaven, which knows no bounds, shall you enter,
according to His Words, "Enter you into the joy of your Lord." And all
this, and infinitely more than my tongue can tell you, shall be yours
forever and forever, without fear of ever losing it, or dread of dying
in the midst of it. "Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither has
entered into the heart of man, the things that God has prepared for
them that love Him, but He has revealed them unto us by His Spirit."
All the kingdom which the Father has prepared, and the place which the
Son has prepared, are yours, O Believer, by the promise of the Lord.
For "whom He justified, them He also glorified."
The promise goes with godliness, and if you have godliness there is
nothing in Heaven of joy, there is nothing there of honor, there is
nothing there of rest and peace–which is not yours. For godliness has
the promise of it, and God's promise never fails–
"Lo! I see the fair immortals, Enter to the blissful seats;
Glory opens her waiting portals, And the Savior's train admits. All the
chosen of the Father, All for whom the Lamb was slain, All the Church
appear together,
Washed from every sinful stain. His dear smile the place enlightens
More than thousand suns could do; All around, His Presence brightens,
Changeless, yet forever new. Blessed state! Beyond conception!
Who its vast delights can tell? May it be my blissful portion,
With my Savior there to dwell."
Perhaps within the next ten minutes we may be there! Who knows? I had
half said, "God grant it to me!" No doubt, many anxious spirits would
be glad to end so soon life's weary journey and rest in the Fathers
Home!
III. Now, very briefly, consider another point. I have shown you that
the promise appended to godliness is unique and comprehensive, and now
observe that IT IS SURE. "Godliness has promise." That is to say, it
has God's promise. Now, God's promise is firmer than the hills. He is
God, and cannot lie. He will never retract the promise, nor will He
leave it unfulfilled. He was too wise to give a rash promise–He is too
powerful to be unable to fulfill it. "Has He said, and shall He not do
it?"
Already tens of thousands to whom the promise was made have obtained a
measure of this bliss in the glorification of their perfect spirits. We
are on the road to the same happy state. Some of us are on the river's
brink. Perhaps the Lord may come suddenly, and we shall be changed, and
so perfected without dying. Be that as the Lord wills, it is not a
question which disturbs us. By God's Grace, our faith is strong and
firm. We are sure that we, too, shall enter into the rest which
remains, and with all the blood-washed multitude shall in wonder and
surprise adore the God before whose Throne we shall cast our crowns.
IV. But I shall not tarry upon that, for there comes a fourth thought.
This promise is A PRESENT PROMISE. You should notice the participle,
"having promise." It does not say that godliness after awhile will get
the promise, but godliness has promise now–at this very moment. My
dear Hearer, if you are godly, that is, if you have submitted to God's
way of salvation. If you trust God, love God, serve God–if you are, in
fact, a converted man–you have NOW the promise of the life that is to
come. When we get a man's promise in whom we trust, we feel quite easy
about the matter under concern. A note of hand from many a firm in the
city of London would pass current for gold any day in the week.
And surely when God gives the promise, it is safe and right for us to
accept it as if it were the fulfillment itself, for it is quite as
sure. We have the promise, let us begin to sing about it! What is more,
we have a part of the fulfillment of it, for, "I give unto My sheep
eternal life," says Christ–shall we not sing concerning that? Believe
in Jesus–you have eternal life NOW. There will be no new life given to
you after death. You have even NOW, O Christian, the germ within you
which will develop into the Glory-life above. Grace is Glory in the
bud. You have the earnest of the Spirit. You have already a portion of
the promise which is given to godliness.
Now, what you should do is to live now in the enjoyment of the promise.
You cannot enjoy Heaven, for you are not there, but you can enjoy the
promise of it, Many a dear child, if it has a promise of a treat in a
week's time, will go skipping among its little companions as merry as a
lark about it. It has not the treat yet, but it expects it. And I have
known in our Sunday schools our little boys and girls, months before
the time came for them to go into the country, as happy as the days
were long, in prospect of that little pleasure. Surely you and I ought
to be childlike enough to begin to rejoice in the Heaven that is so
soon to be ours! I know tomorrow some of you will be working very hard,
but you may sing–
"This is not my place of resting, Mine's a city yet to come; Onward to
it I am hasting On to my eternal home."
Perhaps you will have to fight the world's battles, and you will find
them very stern. Oh, but you can sing even now of the palm branch, and
of the victory that awaits you! And as your faith looks at the crown
that Christ has prepared for it, you will be much rested even in the
heat of the battle. When a traveler who has been long an exile returns
home, it may be after walking many miles he at last gets to the brow of
the hill where he can see the Church of the little town, and get a
bird's-eye view of the parish. He gazes awhile, and as he looks again
and again, says to himself, "Yes, that is the High Street there, and
yonder is the turning by the old inn, and there–yes, there, I can see
the gable of the dear old house at home."
Though his feet may be blistered, the way may have been long, and the
sweat may be pouring from his face, yet he plucks up courage at the
sight of home. The last mile down hill is soon over, for he has seen
his long-loved home. Christians, you may see it, you may see the goodly
land from Nebo even now–
"How near
At times to faith's far-seeing eye, The golden gates appear!"
When the Crusaders first came in sight of Jerusalem, though they had a
hard battle before them before they could win it, yet they fell down in
ecstasy at the sight of the holy city. And do not you and I say,
"Soldiers of the Cross, my fellow Crusaders in the holy war of
righteousness, will you not in prospect of the coming glory sing–
OO my sweet home, Jerusalem,
Would God I were in you!
Would God my woes were at an end,
Your joys that I might see!'?"
When the brave soldiers, of whom Xenophon tells us, came at last in
sight of the sea, from which they had been so long separated, they
cried out, "Thallasse! Thallasse!"–"The sea! The sea!" And we, though
death appears between us and the better land, can yet look beyond it
and see the–
"Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Arrayed in living green,"
and bless God that a sight of what is to be revealed renders the
burdens of the way light as we march towards Glory. Oh, live, live in
the foretaste of Heaven. Let worldlings see that–
"The thought of such amazing bliss
Does constant joys create."
V. Last of all. This promise which is appended to godliness is A VERY
NEEDFUL ONE. It is a very necessary one, for ah, if I have no promise
of the life that is to come, where am I? Where am I? And where shall I
be? Where shall I be? I live, I know. I die, I know I must. And if it
all is true as this old Bible, my mother's Bible, tells me–that there
is a hereafter. If I have no godliness, then woe is the day to me! Oh,
how much I want the promise of the life to come, for if I have not that
I have a curse for the life to come.
I cannot die, God has made my soul immortal. Even God Himself will
never annihilate me, for He has been pleased to create me an immortal
spirit, and on I must live forever. There are some who say, and I think
the doctrine is full of unnumbered perils to the souls of men, that God
made man naturally mortal, and the soul can become extinct. And they go
on to teach that sinners are made to live after death on purpose to be
tormented for a longer or shorter time, and then at last are
annihilated. What a God must He be to give them a life they need not
have–on purpose–that He might torment them! I know no such God.
But HE, whom I adore, in His unbounded goodness, gave to mankind what
was in itself a wondrous blessing– immortality. And if you, my Hearer,
choose to turn it into a curse forever, it is you that are to be blamed
for it! Not God who gave you the immortality which, if you believe in
the appointed Savior, will be to you an eternity of bliss. You are now
past all recall an immortal being, and if you die without hope in
Christ there will remain only this for you–to go on sinning in another
state as you have gone on sinning here. But you will get no pleasure
from it as you think you do sometimes, here–on the contrary, you will
be tortured with remorse concerning it. And you will be vexed with
angry passions to think that you cannot have your will, passions that
will make you struggle yet worse against your God, and make your misery
consequently the greater.
The worm that never dies will be your own furious hatred of God. The
fire that never shall be quenched is probably the flames of your own
insatiate lust after evil. I say not that there will not be bodily
pains, but the natural results of sin are the deepest Hell to the soul.
Sin has made you unhappy now. It will ripen. It will increase. When
everything that checks it shall be taken off, your true character will
be developed, and with that development will come enlarging
wretchedness. Separated from the company of the righteous, and placed
among the wicked, you will go on to be worse and worse, and every stop
in the increase of sin necessitates an increase of misery.
It is not true that God will punish you in mere caprice. He has
ordained, and right enough was He to ordain it, that sin should punish
itself–that sin should be its own misery, and its own anguish. Sin
will be to you a never-ending death. O why will you die? Why will you
die? Why will you, by the love of sin, bring upon yourselves an
eternity of sin, an eternity of suffering? Turn unto Christ! I pray His
Spirit to turn you. Come now, come now, and lay hold on eternal life!
I have been thinking while I have been preaching to you, this evening,
of my own self, awhile, and I shall turn my thoughts to myself and any
others who are preachers or teachers, and who try to do good to others.
Years ago Hamburgh was nearly half of it burned down, and among the
incidents that happened, there was this one. A large house had
connected with it a yard in which there was a great black dog, and this
black dog in the middle of the night barked and howled most furiously.
It was only by his barking that the family was awakened just in time to
escape from the flames, and their lives were spared.
But the poor dog was chained to his kennel, and though he barked and
thus saved the lives of others, he was burned himself. Oh, do not you,
who work for God in this Church, perish in that fashion! Do not permit
your sins to enchain you, so that while you warn others, you become
lost yourselves! See to it that you have the godliness which has the
promise of the life that is to come.
And now, you who really desire to find godliness, remember, it is to be
had in Christ, and only in Christ. I was in Windermere some three weeks
ago on a hot, dusty day, and I saw a little gushing stream of water,
and a chain with a ladle to it for the passerby to drink. I wanted to
drink, and I went to it, but the ladle was cracked quite through, was
very rusty, and would not hold a drop of water. Neither was the water,
if it had been held in it, fit to drink. There are ways of salvation
chosen by some that are equally as deceptive. They mock the traveler.
But oh, my Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, is a river of mercy, deep and
broad. You have but to stoop and drink, and you may drink as much as
you will, and none shall tell you stop. Have you not His Word for it,
"Let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the
water of life freely"? God grant you may with your heart believe the
Gospel of Jesus, for our heart believes the Gospel of Jesus, for
Christ's sake.
[Sermon #937, The Profit of Godliness in This Life, is the sermon
Brother Spurgeon alluded to at the beginning of this sermon.]
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Seeking For Jesus