Christ Precious to Believers

Christ Precious to Believers

A Sermon

(No. 242)

Delivered on Sabbath Morning, March 13th, 1859, by the

REV. C.H. SPURGEON

at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

"Unto you therefore which believe he is precious."–1 Peter 2:7.

THIS TEXT CALLS to my recollection the opening of my ministry. It is
about eight years since as a lad of sixteen, I stood up for the first
time in my life to preach the gospel in a cottage to a handful of poor
people, who had come together for worship. I felt my own inability to
preach, but I ventured to take this text, "Unto you therefore which
believe he is precious." I do not think I could have said anything upon
any other text, but Christ was precious to my soul and I was in the
flush of my youthful love, and I could not be silent when a precious
Jesus was the subject. I had but just escaped from the bondage of
Egypt, I had not forgotten the broken fetter; still did I recollect
those flames which seemed to burn about my path, and that devouring
gulf which opened its mouth as if ready to devour me. With all these
things fresh in my youthful heart, I could speak of his preciousness
who had been my Saviour, and had plucked me as a brand from the
burning, and set me upon a rock, and put a new song in my mouth, and
established my goings. And now, at this time what shall I say? "What
hath God wrought?" How hath the little one become a thousand, and the
small one a great people? And what shall I say concerning this text,
but that if the Lord Jesus was precious then, he is as precious now?
And if I could declare then , that Jesus was the object of my soul's
desire, that for him I hoped to live, and for him I would be prepared
to die, can I not say, God being my witness, that he is more precious
to me this day than ever he was? In the recollection of his
unparalleled mercy towards the chief of sinners, I must anew devote
myself to him, and afresh surrender my heart to him who is Lord and
King.

This remark is uttered by way of introduction, it may seem egotistical,
but that I cannot help. I must give glory to God in the midst of the
great congregation, and pay my vows to the Lord now in the midst of all
his saints, in the midst of thee, O Jerusalem.

My text states a positive fact, namely, that Christ is precious to
believers. This shall be the first part of our discourse; then in the
second we will try to answer the question, why is Jesus Christ so
precious to his believing people? And conclude by declaring the test
whereby you may try yourselves whether you are believers or not; for if
you be believers in Christ, then Christ is precious to you, and if you
think little of him, then rest assured you have not a true and saving
faith in him.

I. First, this is a positive fact, that UNTO BELIEVERS JESUS CHRIST IS
PRECIOUS. In himself he is of inestimable preciousness, for he is the
very God of very God. He is moreover, perfect man without sin. The
precious gopher wood of his humanity is overlaid with the pure gold of
his divinity. He is a mine of jewels, and a mountain of gems. He is
altogether lovely, but, alas! this blind world seeth not his beauty.
The painted harlotries of that which, Madam Bubble, the world can see,
and all men wonder after her. This life, its joy, its lust, its gains,
its honours,–these have beauty in the eye of the unregenerate man, but
in Christ he sees nothing which he can admire. He hears his name as a
common word, and looks upon his cross as a thing in which he has no
interest, neglects his gospel, despises his Word, and, perhaps, vents
fierce spite upon his people. But not so the believer. The man who has
been brought to know that Christ is the only foundation upon which the
soul can build its eternal home, he who has been taught that Jesus
Christ is the first and the last, the Alpha and the Omega, the author
and the finisher of faith, thinks not lightly of Christ. He calls him
all his salvation and all his desire; the only glorious and lovely one.

Now, this is a fact which has been proved in all ages of the world.
Look at the beginning of Christ's appearance upon earth. Nay, we might
go farther back and mark how Christ was precious in prospect to those
who lived before his incarnation; but, I say, since he has come into
the world, what abundant proofs have we that he is precious to his
people! There were men found who were not unwilling to part with
houses, and lands, and wife, and children, and country, and reputation,
and honour, and wealth, nay, with life itself, for Christ's sake. Such
was the charm that Christ had for ancient Christians, that if they must
renounce their patrimony and their earthly wealth for his sake, they
did it cheerfully and without a murmur. Nay, they could say, that what
things were gain they counted but loss for Christ's sake, and did
esteem them but as dross and dung if they could win Christ and be found
in him.

We talk lightly of these things, but these were no mean sacrifices. For
a man to leave the partner of his bosom, to be despised by her who
ought to honour him, to be spit upon by his own children, to be driven
out by his countrymen, and have his name mentioned as a hissing, and a
reproach, and a bye-word; this is no easy matter to bear; and yet the
Christians in the first ages took up this cross, and not only carried
it patiently, but carried it joyfully; rejoicing in tribulations, if
those tribulations fell upon them for Christ's sake and the gospel.
Nay, more than this, Satan has been permitted to put forth his hand and
touch Christ's people, not only in their goods and in their families,
but in their bone and in their flesh. And mark how Christ's disciples
have reckoned nothing to be a loss, so that they might win Christ.
Stretched upon the rack, their strained nerves have only made them sing
the louder, as though they were harp strings, only put in tune when
they were drawn out to their extreme length. They have been tortured
with hot irons and with the pincers; their backs have been ploughed
with scourges, but when have you found any of the true followers of
Christ flinch in the hour of pain? They have borne all this, and
challenged their persecutors to do more, and invent fresh arts and
devices, fresh cruelties, and try them. Christ was so precious, that
all the pain of the body could not make them deny him, and when at last
they have been taken forth to a shameful death–let the axe and the
block, let the cross of crucifixion, let the spear, let the fire and
the stake, let the wild horse and the desert testify that the believer
has always been a man, who would suffer all this, and vastly more, but
who would never renounce his confidence in Christ. Look at Polycarp
before the lions, when he is brought into the midst of the assembly,
and it is demanded of him that he will deny his God. Thousands of
savage eyes look down upon him, and there he stands, a feeble man,
alone in the arena, but he tells them that "he has known his Lord these
many years and he never did him a displeasure, and he will not deny him
at the last." "To the lions!" they cry, "To the lions!" and the lions
rush upon him, and he is speedily devoured; but all this he would have
borne at the mouths of a thousand lions, if he had a thousand lives,
rather than he would have thought anything amiss against the Majesty of
Jesus of Nazareth. The whole history of the ancient church of Christ,
proves that Jesus has been an object of his peoples' highest
veneration; that they set nothing in rivalry with him, but cheerfully
and readily, without a murmur, or a thought, gave up all for Jesus
Christ, and rejoiced to do so.

And this is just as true to-day as it was then. If to-morrow the stake
could be set in Smithfield, Christian people are prepared to be fuel
for the flame. If once more the block fixed on Tower hill, and the axe
were brought forth from its hiding place, the heads of Christ's people
would be cheerfully given, if they might but crown the head of Jesus
and vindicate his cause. Those who declare that the ancient valour of
the church is departed, know not what they say. The professing church
may have lost its masculine vigour; the professors of this day may be
but effeminate dwarfs, the offspring of glorious fathers; but the true
church, the elect out of the professing church, the remnant whom God
hath chosen, are as much in love with Jesus as his saints of yore, and
are as ready to suffer and to die. We challenge hell and its incarnate
representative, old Rome herself; let her build her dungeons, let her
revive her inquisitions, let her once more get power in the state to
cut, and mangle, and burn; we are still able to possess our souls in
patience. We sometimes feel it were a good thing if persecuting days
should come again, to try the church once more, and drive away the
chaff, and make her like a goodly heap of wheat, all pure and clean.
The rotten branches of the forest may tremble at the hurricane, for
they shall be swept away, but those that have sap within them tremble
not. Our roots are intertwisted with the Rock of Ages, and the sap of
Christ flows within us and we are branches of the living vine, and
nothing shall sever us from him. We know that not persecution, nor
famine, nor nakedness, nor peril, nor sword, shall divide us from the
love of Christ, for in all these things we shall be as the church has
been, more than conquerors through him that loved us.

Does any one think that I exaggerate? Mark, then, if what I have said
be not true, then Christ has no church at all; for the church that is
not prepared to suffer, and bleed and die for Christ, is not Christ's
church. For what does he say? "He that loveth father and mother more
than me is not worthy of me; and he that taketh not his cross, and
followeth after me, is not worthy of me."–Matthew, 10:37-38. Albeit
that Christ may not put us fully to the test, yet, if we be true, we
must be ready for the ordeal; and if we be sincere, though we may
tremble at the thought of it, we shall not tremble in the endurance of
it. Many a man who says in his heart, "I have not a martyr's faith,"
has really that noble virtue; and let him but once come to the push,
and the world shall see the grace that has been hidden, rising a giant
from his slumbers. The faith which endures the relaxing of the world's
sunshine, would endure the cutting frost of the world's persecution. We
need not fear; if we be true to-day, we shall be true always.

This is not mere fiction, many are the proofs that Christ is still
precious. Shall I tell you of the silent sufferers for Christ, who at
this day suffer a martyrdom of which we hear not, but which is true and
real? How many a young girl there is who follows Christ in the midst of
an ungodly family; her father upbraids her, laughs at her, makes a
scoff of her holiness, and pierces her through the heart with his
sarcasm! Her brothers and her sisters call her "Puritan," "Methodist,"
and the like, and she is annoyed day by day with what the apostle
calls, "Trial of cruel mockings." But she bears all this, and though
the tear is sometimes forced by it from her eye, yet though she should
weep blood she would "resist unto blood, striving against sin." These
sufferers are unrecorded, they are not put into a Book of Martyrs. We
have no Fox to write their martyrology, they have not the
flesh-contenting knowledge that they shall be publicly honoured; but
they suffer alone and unheard of, still praying for those who laugh at
them: bowing themselves before God on their knees in agony, not on
account of the persecution, but in agony of soul for the persecutors
themselves, that they may be saved. How many there are of such young
men in workshops, employed in large establishments, who bend their knee
at night by the bed-side, in a large room where there are many
scoffers. Some of us have known this in our youthful days, and have had
to endure it; but Christ is precious to the silent sufferings of his
people; these unhonoured martyrdoms prove that his church has not
ceased to love him, not to esteem him precious.

How many there are, too–how many thousands of unseen and unknown
labourers for Christ, whose names cannot be here declared. They toil
from morning till night all through the week, and the Sabbath day
should be a day of rest to them; but they work more on the Sabbath day
than on any other day. They are visiting the beds of the sick; their
feet are weary, and nature says rest, but they go into the lowest dens
and haunts of the city to speak to the ignorant, and endeavour to
spread the name and honour of Jesus where it has not been known. There
are many such who are working hard for Christ, though the church scarce
knows of it. And how many, too, there are who prove that they love
Christ by the continual liberality of their offerings. Many are the
poor people I have discovered, who have denied themselves of this and
that, because they would serve Christ's cause. And many there are,
too–every now and then we find them out–in the middle ranks of
society, who give a hundred times as much to the cause of Christ as
many of the rich and wealthy; and if you knew to what little trials
they are put, to what shifts they are driven in order to serve Christ,
you would say, "The man that can do this proves clearly that Christ is
precious to him." And mark this, the reason why the church is not more
laborious, not more generous in its gifts to the offertory of the
Saviour, is just this, because the church of the day is not the church
of Christ in its mass and bulk. There is a church of Christ within it,
but the visible church, as it stands before you, is not to be
considered the church of Christ; we must pass it through the fire, and
bring the third part through the flame; for this is the day when the
dross is mingled with gold. How hath the much fine gold become dim; how
hath the glory departed. Zion is under a cloud. But mark, though you
see it not, there is a church, a hidden church; an unmoving centre
amidst the growing of profession, there is a life within this outward
fungus of a growing Christianity; there is a life that is within, and
to that hidden host, that chosen company, Christ is precious–they are
proving it every day by their patient sufferings, by their laborious
efforts, by their constant offerings to the church of Christ. "Unto you
therefore which believe he is precious."

I will tell you one thing that proves–proves to a demonstration, that
Christ is still precious to his people, and it is this:–send one of
Christ's people to hear the most noted preacher of the age, whoever
that may be; he preaches a very learned sermon, very fine and
magnificent, but there is not a word about Christ in that sermon.
Suppose that to be the case, and the Christian man will go out and say,
"I did not care a farthing for that man's discourse." Why? "Because
they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him.
I heard nothing about Christ." Send that man on the Sabbath morning to
hear some hedge and ditch preacher, some one who cuts the king's
English about never so badly, but who preaches Jesus Christ–you will
see the tears rolling down that man's face, and when he comes out he
will say, "I do not like that man's bad grammar; I do not like the many
mistakes he has made, but oh! it has done my heart good, for he spoke
about Christ." That, after all, is the main thing for the Christian; he
wants to hear about his Lord, and if he hears him magnified he will
overlook a hundred faults. In fact, you will find that Christians are
all agreed, that the best sermon is that which is fullest of Christ.
They never like to hear a sermon unless there is something of Christ in
it. A Welsh minister who was preaching last Sabbath at the chapel of my
dear brother, Jonathan George, was saying, that Christ was the sum and
substance of the gospel, and he broke out into this story:–A young man
had been preaching in the presence of a venerable divine, and after he
had done he went to the old minister, and said, "What do you think of
my sermon?" "A very poor sermon indeed," said he. "A poor sermon?" said
the young man, "it took me a long time to study it." "Ay, no doubt of
it." "Why, did you not think my explanation of the text a very good
one?" "Oh, yes," said the old preacher, "very good indeed." "Well,
then, why do you say it is a poor sermon? Didn't you think the
metaphors were appropriate and the arguments conclusive?" "Yes, they
were very good as far as that goes, but still it was a very poor
sermon." "Will you tell me why you think it a poor sermon?" "Because,"
said he, "there was no Christ in it." "Well," said the young man,
"Christ was not in the text; we are not to be preaching Christ always,
we must preach what is in the text." So the old man said, "Don't you
know young man that from every town, and every village, and every
little hamlet in England, wherever it may be, there is a road to
London?" "Yes," said the young man. "Ah!" said the old divine "and so
form every text in Scripture, there is a road to the metropolis of the
Scriptures, that is Christ. And my dear brother, your business in when
you get to a text, to say, Now what is the road to Christ?' and then
preach a sermon, running along the road towards the great
metropolis–Christ. And," said he, "I have never yet found a text that
had not got a road to Christ in it, and if I ever do find one that has
not a road to Christ in it, I will make one; I will go over hedge and
ditch but I would get at my Master, for the sermon cannot do any good
unless there is a savour of Christ in it." Now since you say amen to
that, and declare that what you want to hear is Jesus Christ, the text
is proved–"Unto you therefore which believe he is precious."

But if you want to try this again and prove it, go and see some of our
sick and dying friends; go and talk to them about the Reform Bill, and
they will look you in the face and say, "Oh, I am going from this
time-state: it is a very small matter to me whether the Reform Bill
will be carried or not." You will not find them much interested in that
matter. Well, then, sit down and talk to them about the weather, and
how the crops are getting on–"Well, it is a good prospect for wheat
this year." They will say, "Ah, my harvest is ripening in glory."
Introduce the most interesting topic you can, and a believer, who is
lying on the verge of eternity, will find nothing precious in it; but
sit down by the bedside of this man, and he may be very near gone,
almost unconscious, and begin to talk about Jesus–mention that
precious soul-reviving, soul-strengthening name Jesus, and you will see
his eye glisten, and the blanched cheek will be flushed once
more–"Ah," he will say, "Precious Jesus, that is the name which calms
my fears, and bids my sorrows cease." You will see that you have given
the man a strong tonic, and that his whole frame is braced up for the
moment. Even when he dies, the thought of Jesus Christ and the prospect
of seeing him shall make him living in the midst of death, strong in
the midst of weakness, and fearless in the midst of trembling. And this
proves, by the experience of God's people, that with those who believe
in him, Christ is and ever must be a precious Christ.

II. The second thing is, WHY IS CHRIST PRECIOUS TO THE BELIEVER? I
observe–and I shall run over those particulars very briefly, though
they would be worthy of a long, long sermon–Jesus Christ is precious
to the believer, because he is intrinsically precious. But here let me
take you through an exercise in grammar; here is an adjective, let us
go through it. He is precious positively; he is more precious than
anything comparatively; he is most precious of all things, and most
precious even if all things were rolled into one and put into
competition with him; he is thus precious superlatively. Now, there are
few things you can thus deal with. You say, a man is a good man, he is
good positively, and you say he is a great deal better than many other
people; he is good comparatively: but you can never truly say to any
man that he is good superlatively, because there he would still be
found short of perfection. But Christ is good positively,
comparatively, and superlatively.

Is he good positively? Election is a good thing; to be chosen of God,
and precious; but we are elect in Christ Jesus. Adoption is a good
thing; to be adopted into the family of God is a good thing–ah, but we
are adopted in Christ Jesus and made joint-heirs with him. Pardon is a
good thing–who will not say so?–ay, but we are pardoned through the
precious blood of Jesus. Justification–is not that a noble thing, to
be robed about with a perfect righteousness?–ay, but we are justified
in Jesus. To be preserved–is not that a precious thing?–ay; but we
are preserved in Christ Jesus, and kept by his power even to the end.
Perfection–who shall say that this is not precious? Well, but we are
perfect in Christ Jesus. Resurrection, is not that glorious? We are
risen with him. To ascend up on high, is not that precious? But he hath
raised us up and made us sit together with him in heavenly places in
Jesus Christ–so that Christ must be good positively, for he is all the
best things in one. And if all these be good, surely he must be good in
whom, and by whom, and to whom, and through are all these precious
things.

But Christ is good comparatively. Bring anything here and compare with
him. One of the brightest jewels we can have is liberty. If I be not
free, let me die. Put the halter to my neck but put not the fetter to
my wrist–a free man I must be while I live. Will not the patriot say
that he would give his blood to buy liberty, and think it a cheap
price? Ay, but put liberty side by side with Christ, and I would wear
the fetter for Christ and rejoice in the chain. The apostle Paul
himself could say, "I would that ye were altogether such I am,"–and he
might add, "except these bonds," but though he excepted bonds for
others, he did not except them for himself, for he rejoiced in the
chain and counted it as a mark of honor. Besides liberty, what a
precious thing is life! "Skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath, will
he give for his life." But let a Christian–a true Christian, once have
the choice between life and Christ,–"No," says he, "I can die, but I
cannot deny; I can burn, but I cannot turn. I confess Christ and perish
in the flame; but I cannot deny Christ, even though you exalt me to a
throne." There would be no choice between the two. And then whatever
earthly good there may be in comparison with Christ, the believer's
testimony goes to prove that Christ is precious comparatively, for
there is nothing that can match with him.

And then to go higher still–Christ is good superlatively. The
superlative of all things is heaven, and if it could be possible to put
Christ in competition with heaven, the Christian would not stop a
moment in his choice; he would sooner be on earth with Christ than be
in heaven without him. Nay, I do not know whether he would not go
almost as far as Rutherford, who said, "Lord, I would sooner be in hell
with thee than in heaven without thee; for if I were in heaven without
thee it would be a hell to me, and if I were in hell with thee it would
be a heaven to me." We may put it so, and every Christian will
subscribe to it. Now, come ye messengers of the world and take on your
shoulders all its treasures. Cæsar, pour out thy gold in one glittering
pile; Cæsar, lay down thine honours here in one gaudy heap; here,
Tiberius, bring all the joys of Capri's lust and vice; Solomon, bring
here all the treasures of wisdom; Alexander, bring all thy triumphs;
Napoleon, bring thy wide-spread empire and thy fame, put them all here,
all that earth calls good; and now come, thou bleeding Lamb of God,
thou marred and matchless Saviour, come here and tread these beneath
thy feet, for what are all these compared with thee? I pour contempt on
them all. Now am I dead to all the world, and all the world is dead to
me. The whole realm of nature is small in comparison with thee, as a
drop in the bucket when compared with a boundless ocean. Jesus Christ,
then, is precious superlatively.

2. What more can we say? Still to answer this question again: Why is
Christ precious to the believer more than to any other man? Why it is
the believer's want that makes Christ precious to him. That is one
answer. We have been having a small shower of rain lately, and I dare
say there are very few of you who felt grateful for it; since it gave
you a little wetting coming here. But suppose that shower of rain could
have fallen on the desert of Arabia, what a precious thing it would
have been. Yea, every rain drop would have been worth a pearl; and as
for the shower, though it had rained gold dust, the rich deposit would
not have been comparable to the flood when it descended from on high.
But what is the reason that water is so precious there? Simply because
it is so rare. Suppose I am in England; there is abundance of water and
I cannot sell it; water is so common, and therefore so cheap. But put a
man in the desert and let the water-skin be dried up, let him come to
the well wherein he expected to find water, and it has failed him; can
you not conceive that that small drop of water might be worth a king's
ransom? Nay, that a man might hoard it up, and conceal it from all his
comrades, because on that small drop of water depended his life? The
way to prize water is to value it with a tongue like a firebrand, and
with a mouth like an oven. Then can I estimate its value when I know
its want. So with Christ. The worldling does not care for Christ,
because he has never hungered and thirsted after him; but the Christian
is athirst for Christ; he is in a dry and thirsty land, where not water
is, and his heart and his flesh pant after God, yea for the living God;
and as the thirsty soul dying, cries out water, water, water, so the
Christian cries out Christ, Christ, Christ! This is the one thing
needful for me, and if I have it not, this thirst must destroy me.

Mark, too, that the believer may be found in many aspects, and you will
always find that his needs will endear Christ to him. Here is a man
about to be tried for his life. Before he had committed the wrong, he
used to say, "Lawyers, attornies, pleaders, away with them, what is the
good of them?" Now he has got into prison he thinks very differently.
He says, "I wish I could get a good special pleader to plead my cause;"
and he runs over the roll to see the best man to plead for him. At last
he says, "Here is a man, if he could plead my cause I might hope to
escape, but I have no money with which to engage him;" and he says to
his wife–"Wife, we must sell our house;" or, "We must get money
somehow, for I am on trial for my life, and I must have an advocate."
And what will not a woman do to get an advocate for her husband? Why,
she will pledge the last rag she has to get one. Now, does not the
believer feel himself to be in just such a position? He is a poor
sinner on trial for his life, and he wants an advocate; and every time
he looks on Christ pleading his cause before the Father's throne, he
says, "O what a precious Christ he is to a poor sin-destroyed sinner,
for he pleads his cause before the throne."

But suppose another case; that of a man drawn for a soldier. In such
times men always look out for substitutes. I remember when the ballot
was coming for the militia, how every man joined a substitute club in
order that if he were drawn he might not go himself. Now suppose a man
had been drawn, how valuable would a substitute have been–for no man
in his senses likes to be food for powder–he would rather a man
without brains go and do such work as that, but as for him he estimates
himself at too high a price. But suppose he is not only drawn for a
soldier, but condemned to die. See yon poor wretch coming up the
gallows stairs; some one whispers to him, "What would you give for a
substitute now? What would you give for some one to come and bear this
punishment?" See his eye rolls madness at the thought. "A substitute,"
says he, "I could not buy one for the whole world. Who would be a
substitute for me, to swing into eternity amidst the yellings of a
crowd?" But suppose–and we are only supposing what has actually
occurred–suppose this man saw not only the gallows and the drop, but
hell fire before him, and it were said to him, "You must burn in that
for ever unless you find a substitute," would not that be a precious
one? Now, mark, that is just our position. The Christian feels that
hell is before him, if it were not that he has a glorious substitute.
Jesus came forward, and said, "I will bear that punishment; pour hell
on me, my Father let me drink damnation dry;" and he did it; he endured
all those pains, or an equivalent for them; he suffered in the rebel's
stead; and now, through him the substitute, we are absolved and free.
Oh, must not he be a precious Christ?

But think of Christ again, and then think of the believer's wants. I
will try and run over a number of them. The believer is a silly sheep.
What a precious thing is a shepherd, and how precious are green
pastures and still waters. The believer is like a desolate woman. What
a precious thing is a husband who shall provide for her, and shall
console and cherish her. The believer is a pilgrim, and the hot sun
beats on him. What a precious thing is the shadow of a great rock in a
weary land. The believer is a bond-slave by nature. What a precious
thing is the trump of jubilee, and the ransom-price that sets him free.
The believer, by nature, is a sinking, drowning man. How precious to
him is that plank of free-grace, the cross of Christ, on which he puts
his poor trembling hand and secures glory. But what more shall I say?
Time would fail me to tell of all the wants of the believer, and of the
all-abounding and ever-flowing streams of love that flow from Christ,
the fountain that fills the believer to the brim. O say, ye children of
God, is he not while ye are in these lowlands of want and suffering,
inconceivably, unutterably, superlatively precious to you?

3. But once more. Look at the believer not only in his wants, but in
his highest earthly state. The believer is a man that was once blind
and now sees. And what a precious thing is light to a man that sees. If
I, as a believer, have an eye, how much I need the sun to shine. If I
have no light my eye becomes a torture, and I might as well have been
blind. And when Christ gives sight to the blind he makes his people a
seeing people. It is then that they find what a precious thing is the
sight, and how pleasant a thing it is for a man to behold the sun. The
believer is a man that is quickened. A dead corpse wants no clothing,
for it feels no cold. Let a man once be quickened and he finds himself
naked, and wants clothing. From the very fact that the Christian is a
quickened man, he values the robe of righteousness that is put about
him. Christ touches his people's ears and opens them; but it were
better for man to be deaf than to hear for ever doleful groans and
hissings. But such must he have been, ever hearing it if it were not
for Christ playing sweet music to him every day, and pouring streams of
melody into his ears through his promises. Yes, I say, the very
new-born powers of the Christian would be very channels for misery if
it were not for Christ. Even in his highest estate the Christian must
feel that Christ is necessary unto him, and then he must conclude that
Christ is precious to him.

But believer, how precious is Christ to thee in the hour of conviction
of sin, when he says, "Thy sins which are many, are all forgiven thee."
How precious to thee in the hour of sickness, when he comes to thee and
says, "I will make all thy bed in thy sickness." How precious to thee
in the day of trial, when he says, "All things work together for thy
good." How precious when friends are buried, for he says, "I am the
resurrection and the life." How precious in thy grey old age, "even in
old age I am with thee, and to hoary hairs will I carry you." How
precious in the lone chamber of death, for "I will fear no evil, thou
art with me, thy rod and thy staff comfort me." But, last of all, how
precious will Christ be when we see him as he is. All we know of Christ
here is as nothing compared with what we shall know hereafter.
Believer, when thou seest Christ's face now, thou only seest if through
a veil–Christ is so glorious, that like Moses he is compelled to put a
veil upon his face, for his poor people while they are here are so
feeble that they could not behold him face to face. And if he be lovely
here, when he is marred and spit upon, how lovely must he be when he is
adored and worshipped. If he is precious on his cross, how much more
precious when he sits on his throne. If I can weep before him, and love
him, and live to him, when I see him as the despised man of Nazareth;
Oh, how shall my spirit be knit to him, how shall my heart be absorbed
with love to him, when I see his face and behold his crown of glory,
when I mark the harpings of the never-ceasing harpers who harp his
praise. Wait awhile, Christian. If he is precious to the believer now,
when faith is turned to sight he will be more precious still. Go out of
this hall, and cry, "O Lord Jesus, I must love thee, I must serve thee
better, I must live for thee; I must be ready to die for thee–for

'Thou art precious to my soul,

My transport and my trust.'"

This brings me to conclude–and here I want your solemn and earnest
attention while each one for himself shall answer this question–my
hearer, is Christ precious to you? My young brother, you of the same
age as myself, is Jesus precious to you in your youth? Wherewithal
shall a young man cleanse his way? only by taking heed thereto
according to Christ's word, and by walking in his footsteps. Ye men and
women of middle age, is Christ precious to you? Remember that this
world is but a dream, and if you have not something more satisfactory
than that, you will be disappointed, even though you succeed beyond
your highest wishes. And ye grey headed men, who are going tottering to
your graves, whose life is like a candle-snuff, almost expiring, like a
lamp whose oil is spent. Is Christ precious to you, ye with the bald
head, and with the hoary lock, is Jesus precious to your soul?
Remember, on your answer to this question depends your condition. You
believe, if he is precious to you, but if he is not precious, then you
are not believers, and you are condemned already because you believe
not on the Son of God. Now, which is it? Oh, methinks some of you feel
as if you could spring from your seats, and say, "Yes, he is precious
to me, I cannot deny it." Once there was a good minister who was
catechising his class, and he said to the young people, "The question
which I am about to ask is such that I want none of you to answer but
those who can answer from your heart." The congregation was gathered
together, and he put this question to them concerning Christ–"Suppose
Christ was here, and should say, Lovest thou me?' what would be your
reply?" He looked around, and glanced upon all the young men and the
young women, and said, "Jesus speaks to you the first time, and says,
Lovest thou me?' He speaks a second time, and he says, Lovest thou
me?'" There was a solemn pause and no one answered; and the
congregation looked at the class, and at last the minister said once
more, "Jesus speaks by me a third time, and says, Lovest thou me?'" Up
rose a young woman, who could keep her seat no longer, and, bursting
into tears, said, "Yea, Lord, thou knowest all things, thou knowest
that I love thee." Now, how many are there here who could say that?
Could not you now, if this were the time–although you might be bashful
in the midst of so many–could you not, if Christ asked you the
question, boldly say, though in the midst of enemies–"Yea, Lord, thou
knowest all things, thou knowest that I love thee." Well, if you can
give such an answer as that, go home and pray that others may be
brought to love him, for you yourselves are saved; but if you are
compelled to be silent to such a question as that, O may God lead you
to seek Christ, may you too be driven to the cross, may you there see
his dear bleeding wounds, may you behold his open side, and falling at
his feet, may you say, "I trust thee, I rely upon thee, I depend upon
thee," and he will say, "I have saved thee;" and then will you spring
to your feet, and say, "Lord I love thee, because thou hast first loved
me." May such be the end of this sermon, and to God be all the glory.