The Touchstone of Godly Sincerity

Delivered by

C. H. SPURGEON,

At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington

"Will he always call upon God?"–Job 27:10.

WHEN Job resumes his address in this chapter, he appeals to God in a
very solemn matter as to the truth of all that he had spoken. No less
vehemently does he assert his innocence of any signal crime, or his
consciousness of any secret guile, which could account for his being
visited with extraordinary suffering. I do not know that his language
necessarily implies any culpable self-righteousness; it appears to me
rather that he had good cause to defend himself against the bitter
insinuations of his unfriendly friends. Possibly his tone was rash, but
his meaning was right. He might well feel the justice of vindicating
his character before men: but it was a pity if in so doing he seemed to
utter a protest of complete purity in the sight of God. You may
remember how Paul under equal, if not exactly similar, provocation,
tempered his speech and guarded against the danger of misconstruction.
Thus he wrote to the Corinthians: "With me it is a very small thing
that I should be judged of you, or of man's judgment: yea, I judge not
mine own self. For I know nothing by myself [or myself, as though he
should say, My conscience does not accuse me of wrong']; yet am I not
hereby justified." But the two holy men are very like in one respect,
for just as Paul, in the struggles of the spirit against the flesh,
faced the peril and mounted guard against it, "lest that by any means,
when I have preached to others, I myself shall be a castaway;" so Job
lays bare before his own eyes, and points to the view of those who
heard him, the features of a hypocrite, lest by any means he should
turn out to be such. In terrible language he describes and denounces
the hypocrite's flattering hope and withering doom. The suspicion that
he himself could harbour a vain presence in his own breast, or would
pretend to be what he was not, was utterly abhorrent to Job's honest
heart. He placed himself at the bar, he laid down the law with rigour,
he weighed his case with exactness; and so forestalled his adversaries'
verdict, by judging himself that he might not be judged.

Who, then, is this "wicked man," thus portrayed before us? And what are
the first symptoms of his depravity? We ask not the question idly, but
in order that we take heed against the uprise of such an evil in
ourselves.

"Beneath the saintly veil the votary of sin

May lurk unseen; and to that eye alone

Which penetrates the heart, may stand revealed."

The hypocrite is very often an exceedingly neat imitation of the
Christian. To the common observer he is so good a counterfeit that he
entirely escapes suspicion. Like base coins which are cunningly made,
you can scarcely detect them by their ring; it is only by more
searching tests that you are able to discover that they are not pure
gold, the current coin of the realm. It would be difficult to say how
nearly any man might resemble a Christian, and yet not be "in Christ a
new creature;" or how closely he might imitate all the virtues, and yet
at the same time possess none of the fruits of the Spirit as before the
judgment of a heart-searching God. In almost all deceptions there is a
weak point somewhere. Never is a lying story told but, if you be keen
enough, you may from internal evidence somewhere or other detect the
flaw. Though Satan himself has been engaged in the manufacture of
impostures for thousands of years, yet whether through the lack of
skill on his part, or through the folly of his agents, he always leaves
a weak point; his clattering statements are a little too strongly
scented and smell of a lie; and his mimic Christians are so overdone in
one place, and slovenly in another, that their falsehood betrays
itself. Now, in discriminating between saints and hypocrites, one great
test-point is prayer. "Behold, he prayeth," was to the somewhat
sceptical mind of Ananias demonstration enough that Paul was really
converted. If he prays, it may be safely inferred that the breath of
prayer arises from the life of faith. The process of spiritual
quickening has at least begun. Hence the hypocrite feigns to possess
that vital action. If the Christian prays, he will betake himself to
the like exercise: if the Christian calls upon God the deceiver takes
care that he will likewise make mention of the name of the Lord. And
yet, between the prayer of the truly converted man and the prayer of
the hypocrite there is a difference as radical as between life and
death, although it is not apparent to everybody. No one, it may be, at
first can be aware of it except the man himself, and sometimes even he
scarcely perceives it. Many are deceived by the fine expressions, by
the apparent warmth, and by the excellent natural disposition of the
hypocrite, and they think when they hear him call upon God that his
supplications are sufficient evidence that he is truly a quickened
child of God. Prayer is always the tell-tale of spiritual life. No
right prayer, then is there no grace within. Slackened prayer, then is
there a decrease of grace. Prayer stronger, thee the whole man also is
stronger. Prayer is as good a test of spiritual life and health as the
pulse is of the condition of the human frame. Hence I say the hypocrite
imitates the action of prayer while he does not really possess the
spirit of prayer.

Our text goes deeper than the surface, and enquires into vital matters.
Prayer is a test, but here is a test for the test–a trial even for
prayer itself. "Will he always call upon God?" There is the point. He
does call upon God now, and he appears to be intensely devout; he says
he was converted in the late revival; he is very fervid in expression,
and very forward in manner at present. But will it wear? Will it wear?
Will it last? His prayerfulness has sprung up like Jonah's gourd in a
night. Will it perish in a night? It is beautiful to look upon, like
the early dew that glistens in the sunlight as though the morning had
sown the earth with orient pearl; will it pass away like that dew? or
will it always abide? "Will he always call upon God?" There is the
point. O that each one of us now may search ourselves, and see whether
we have those attributes connected with our prayer which will prove us
not to be hypocrites, or whether, on the contrary, we have those sad
signs of base dissembling and reckless falsehood which will before long
discover us to be dupes of Satan, impostors before heaven.

"Will he always call upon God?" This question, simple as it is, I think
involves several pertinent enquiries. The first point which it raises
is that of CONSISTENCY. Is the prayer occasional, or is it constant? Is
the exercise of devotion permanent and regular, or is it spasmodic and
inconstant? Will this man call upon God in all seasons of prayer? There
are certain times when it is most fit to pray, and a genuine Christian
will and must pray at such periods. Will this hypocrite pray at all
such times, or will he only select some of the seasons for prayer? Will
he only be found praying at certain times and in selected places? Will
he always, in all fit times, be found drawing near to God? For
instance, he prayed standing at the corners of the streets where he was
seen of men: he prayed in the synagogue, where everybody could mark his
fluency and his fervor, but will he pray at home? Will he enter into
his closet and shut to the door? Will he there speak unto the Father
who heareth in secret? Will he there pour forth petitions as the
natural outflow of his soul? Will he walk the field at eventide, in
lonely meditation, like Isaac, and pray there? Will he go to the
housetop with Peter, and pray there? Will he seek his chamber as Daniel
did, or the solitude of the garden as did our Lord? Or is he one who
only prays in public, who has the gift of prayer rather than the spirit
of prayer, who is fluent in utterance rather than fervent in feeling?
Oh, but this, this is one of the surest of tests, by which we may
discern between the precious and the vile. Public prayer is no evidence
of piety: it is practiced by an abundance of hypocrites; but private
prayer is a thing for which the hypocrite has no heart–and if he gives
himself to it for a little time he soon finds it too hot and heavy a
business for his soulless soul to persevere in, and he lets it drop. He
will sooner perish than continue in private prayer. O for heart
searchings about this! Do I draw near to God alone? Do I pray when no
eye sees, when no ear hears? Do I make a conscience of private prayer?
Is it a delight to pray? For I may gather that if I never enjoy private
prayer I am one of those hypocrites who will not always call upon God.

The true Christian will pray in business; he will pray in labor; he
will pray in his ordinary calling: like sparks out of the smithy
chimney short prayers fly up all day long from truly devout souls. Not
thus is it with the mere pretender. The hypocrite prays at
prayer-meetings, and his voice is heard in the assembly, sometimes at
tedious length; but will he pray with ejaculatory prayer? Will he speak
with God at the counter? Will he draw near to God in the field? Will he
plead with his Lord in the busy street with noiseless pleadings? When
he finds that a difficultly has occurred in his daily life, will he
without saving a word breathe his heart into the ear of God? Ah, no!
hypocrites know nothing of what it is to be always praying, to abide in
the spirit of prayer. This is a choice part of Christian experience
with which they do not meddle. But be sure of this–where there is
genuine religion within, it will be more or less habitual to the soul
to pray. Some of us can say that to be asking blessings from God in
brief, wordless prayers, comes as natural to us as to eat and drink,
and breathe. We never encounter a difficulty now but we resolve it by
appealing to the wisdom of God–never meet with any opposition but what
we overcome it by leaning upon the power of God. To wait upon the Lord
and speak with him has become a habit with us–not because it is a
duty–we have left legal bondage far behind–but because we cannot help
it, our soul is inwardly constrained thereto. The nature within as
naturally cries to God as a child cries after its mother. The hypocrite
prays in his fashion because it is a task allotted to him: the
Christian because it is a part of his very life. Herein is an
everstanding mark of distinction by which a man may discern himself. If
your prayer is only for certain hours, and certain places, and certain
times, beware lest it turn out to be an abomination before the Lord.
The fungus forced by artificial heat is a far different thing from the
rosy fruit of a healthy tree, and the unreal devotions of the
unspiritual differ widely from the deep inward groanings of renewed
hearts. If you pray by the almanac, observing days and weeks, you may
well fear that your religion never came from the great Father of
Lights, with whom are no changing moons. If you can pray by the clock,
your religion is more mechanical than vital. The Christian does not
fast because it is Lent; if his Lord reveals his face he cannot fast
merely because a church commands him. Neither can he therefore feast
because it happens to be a festival in the calendar. The Spirit of God
might make his soul to be feasting on Ash-Wednesday, or his soul might
be humbled within him at Easter; he cannot be regulated by the
dominical letter, and the new moons and days of the month. He is a
spiritual character, and he leaves those who have no spiritual life to
yield a specious conformity to such ecclesiastical regulations, his
new-born nature spurns such childish bonds. The living soul prays
evermore with groanings that cannot be uttered, and believingly
rejoices evermore with joy unspeakable and full of glory.

A second point in debate is that of CONTINUANCE. "Will he always call
upon God?" There are trying periods and sifting seasons; those who hold
on through these are the true, but those who suspend prayer at these
test intervals are the false. Now times of joy and sorrow are equally
critical seasons. Let us look at them in turn. Will the hypocrite call
upon God in times of pleasure? No; if he indulges himself in what he
calls pleasure, he dares not pray at night when he comes home. He goes
to places where he would think it a degradation of prayer to think of
praying. The genuine Christian prays always, because if there be any
spot where he dares not pray, just there he dares not be found; or if
there be any engagement about which he could not pray, it is an
engagement that shall never ensnare him. Some one once proposed to
write a collect to be said by a pious young lady when attending a
theater, and another to be repeated by a Christian gentleman when
shuffling a pack of cards. There might he another form of prayer to be
offered by a pious burglar when he is breaking open a door, or by a
religious assassin when he is about to commit murder. There are things
about which you cannot pray: they have nothing to do with prayer. Many
tolerated amusements lead to outrages upon the morals of earth, and are
an insult to the holiness of heaven. Who could think of praying about
them? Herein is the hypocrite discerned; he does that which he could
not ask a blessing upon. Poor as is the conscience he owns, he knows it
is ridiculous to offer prayer concerning certain actions which,
notwithstanding, he has the hardihood to perform. The Christian avoids
things which he could not pray about; and so he feels it a pleasure to
pray always.

Equally trying is the opposite condition of depression and sorrow.
There, too, we try the question, "Will he always call upon God?" No;
the hypocrite will not pray when in a desponding state. He breathed
awhile the atmosphere of enthusiasm. His passions were stirred by the
preacher, and fermented by the contagious zeal of the solemn assembly.
But now a damp cold mist obscures his view chills his feelings, settles
in his heart. Others are growing cold, and he is among the first to
freeze. He is down-hearted and discouraged. Forthwith, like King Saul,
he succumbs to the evil spirit. Were he a Christian indeed, he would
follow in the wake of David, and say: "Why art thou cast down, O my
soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope in God: for I shall
yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God;" but
he has no heart to hope on in ill weather. He built up his hopes
tastefully, and he admired the structure which was of his own piling,
but the rain descended, the floods came, and the winds blew, and down
it all went; and therefore, being a hypocrite, he said within himself:
"Now I have no enjoyment of religion: it has lost its novelty; I have
worn out its delights; I have now no comfort from it; I will give it
up." Thus in the trying hour the deceiver is laid bare. Look at the
real Christian when a storm bursts over him which shakes his confidence
and spoils his joy: what does he do? He prays more than ever he did.
When his mountain stood firm, and he said, "I shall not be moved," he
perhaps grew too slack in prayer; but now, when all God's waves and
billows are going over him, and he hardly knows whether he is a child
of God or not, and questions whether he has any part or lot in the
matter, he proves that all is right within, by crying unto God in the
bitterness of his soul, "O God, have mercy upon me, and deliver me from
going down into the pit." A Christian's despair makes him pray; it is a
despair of self. A worldling's despair makes him rave against God, and
give up prayer. Mark then, how in the opposite seasons of joy and
sorrow prayer is put into the crucible and tested. All our times of
pleasure ought to be times of prayer; Job accounted his family
festivities opportune for calling his children together for special
devotion. No less should our periods of despondency become incentives
to prayer; every funeral knell should ring us to our knees. The
hypocrite cannot keep the statutes and ordinances, but the true
Christian follows them out; for he is alike at home in seeking the
Lord, calling upon his name, and asking counsel and guidance at his
mercy-seat, in any variety of experience, and every diversity of
circumstance.

"Will he always call upon God?" Here is the question of CONSTANCY. Will
he pray constantly? It seems to most men a very difficult thing to be
praying always, to continue in prayer, to pray without ceasing. Yes;
and herein again is there a great distinction between the living child
of God and the mere pretender. The living child of God soon finds that
it is not so much his duty to pray, as his privilege, his joy, a
necessity of his being. What moment is there when a Christian is safe
without prayer? Where is there a place wherein he would find himself
secure if he ceased to pray? Just think of it. Every moment of my life
I am dependent upon the will of God as to whether I shall draw another
breath or not. Nothing stands between me and death but the will of God.
An angel's arm could not save me from the grave, if now the Lord willed
me to depart. Solemn, then, is the Christian's position: ever standing
by an open tomb. Should not dying men pray? We are always dying. As
life is but a long dying, should it not be also a long praying? Should
we not be incessantly acknowledging to God in prayer and praise the
continuance of our being, which is due to his grace? Brethren, every
moment that we live we are receiving favors and benefits from God.
There is never a minute in which we are not recipients of his bounty.
We are wont to thank God for his mercies as if we thought they came at
certain set times; so in truth they do: they are new every morning;
great is his faithfulness; and they soothe us night by night, for his
compassion faileth not, but there are mercies streaming on in one
incessant flow. We never cease to need; he never ceases to supply. We
want constant protection, and he that keepeth Israel neither slumbers
nor sleeps. Lest any hurt us, he keeps us night and day. The river of
God rolls on with undiminished volume and unimpeded velocity. How
greatly doth he enrich us thereby! Should we not be ever careful to
secure his gifts, to reap the harvest be provides, and as his people to
take these good things from his gracious hands? But, oh! let us take
heed to mingle prayer with all our thanksgiving, lest he should curse
the boon over which we have asked no blessing; blight the crops, of
which we have dedicated to him no firstfruits; or smite us with the rod
of his anger, while the food is yet in our mouth. Our cravings know no
abatement, our dependence on God knows no limit; therefore our prayers
should know no intermission. Speak of beggars, we are always beggars.
Is it not better for us, then, to be regular pensioners than mere
casuals? Whatever God has given us we are as needy still; we are
always, if taken apart from him, naked, and poor, and miserable,
altogether dependent upon him, as well for the soul as for the body;
for good thoughts, for spiritual aspirations, for holy graces, ay, and
for the breath of our nostrils and the bread of our mouths; always
needing temporals, always needing spirituals. If we are always needing,
we should be always pleading. Besides that, dear friends, we are always
in danger; we are in an enemy's country, behind every bush there is a
foe; we cannot reckon ourselves to be secure in any place. The world,
the flesh, and the devil constantly assail us. Arrows are shot from
beneath us, and from around us, while the poison of our own corruption
rankles within us. At any moment temptation may get the mastery over
us, or we ourselves may go astray and be our own tempters. Storms may
drive us, whirlpools suck us down, quicksands engulf us, and if none of
these accomplish our shipwreck we may founder of ourselves, or perish
of spiritual dry-rot. We need, then, each hour to watch, and each
separate moment to pray, "Hold thou me up, and I shall be safe." Are ye
wealthy? Pray God that your silver and your gold bring no spiritual
plague with them! Do not let your money stick to your hand or your
heart, for in proportion as it glues itself to you it poisons you. Pray
God to sanctify your abundance, so that you may know how to abound; a
difficult piece of knowledge to attain. Are ye poor? Then ask to be
kept from envy, from discontent, and all the evils that haunt the
narrow lanes of poverty. Pray that as you are each in danger one way or
another, you may all be kept hour by hour by the constant grace of God.
If we knew what poor, weak, helpless creatures we are, we should not
want to be told always to pray; we should wonder how we could think of
living without prayer. How can I, whose legs are so feeble, try to
wall: without leaning on my Father's hand? How can I, who am so sickly,
wish to be a day without the Good Physician's care? The hypocrite does
not see this; he does not discern these perpetual needs and perpetual
gifts, these perpetual dangers and perpetual preservations–not be. He
thinks he has prayed enough when he has had his few minutes in the
morning and his few minutes at night. He trots through his form of
morning devotion just as he takes his morning wash, and has he not
settled the business for the day? If at evening he says his prayers
with the same regularity with which he puts on his slippers, is it not
all he needs? He almost thinks that little turn at his devotions to be
a weariness. As to his heart going up in prayer to God, he does not
understand it; if he be spoken to concerning it, it sounds like an idle
tale, or mere cant.

Dear brethren, "we ought always to pray, and not to faint," because we
are always sinning. If I were not evermore sinning, if I could pause in
that constant aberration of mind from the pure, the unselfish, the
holy, perhaps I might suspend confession, and relax supplication
awhile; but if unholiness stains even my holy things–if in my best
endeavors there is something of error, something of sin–ought I not to
be continually crying to God for pardon, and involving his grace? And
are we not constantly liable to new temptations? May we not fall into
grosser sins than we have hitherto committed, unless we are preserved
by a power beyond our own? O pray perpetually, for you know not what
temptations may assail you. Pray that ye enter not into temptation. If
perchance in some favored moment we could imagine ourselves to have
exhausted all the list of our needs, were we enjoying complete pardon
and full assurance, did we stand upon the mountain's brow, bathing our
foreheads in the sunlight of God's favor, if we had no fear, no care,
no trouble of our own to harass us, yet we might not therefore cease to
pray. The interests of others, our kindred, our neighbors, our fellow
creatures might–ah! must–then start up before us, and claim that we
should bear upon our breasts their memorial. Think of the sinners
around you hardening in transgression, some of them dying, seared with
guilt or frenzied with despair. O brethren, how could you cease to
intercede for others, were it possible, which it is not, that you
should have no further need to supplicate for yourselves? The grand old
cause which we have espoused, and the Christ who hath espoused our
cause–both these demand our prayers. By the truth whose banner waves
above us, by the king who has ennobled us, love to whose person fires
us this day with ardor for his cross, and zeal for his gospel, we are
constrained to unwavering devotion. So spake the gospel of old, and so
doth the Spirit of God prompt us now. "Prayer also shall be made for
him continually; and daily shall he be praised." O that in our case the
prediction might be verified, the promise fulfilled! Not so the
hypocrite: he will not have it on this fashion. Enough for him to have
prayers on the Sunday; enough to get through family prayers at any
rate, and if that does not please you, the morning prayer and the
evening prayer shall be said by rote at the bedside; will not these
suffice? Praying all day long, why he considers that it would be almost
as bad as heaven, where they are singing without ceasing. So he turns
on his heel, and saith he will have none of it. Nor shall he; for where
God is he shall not come, but the Lord will tell him, "I never knew
you: depart from me, thou worker of iniquity."

"Will he always call upon God?" The question may be an enquiry as to
IMPORTUNITY. Will the hypocrite pray importunately? He will do no such
thing. I have heard farmers talk about the why to know a good horse. It
will serve me to illustrate the way to tell a good Christian. Some
horses when they get into the traces pull, and when they feel the load
move they work with all their might, but it they tug and the load does
not stir, they are not for drawing any longer. There is a breed of
really good horses in Suffolk which will tug at a dead weight, and if
they were harnessed to a post, they would pull till they dropped though
nothing stirred. It is so with a lively Christian. If he is seeking a
great favor from God, he prays, whether he gets it or not, right on: he
cannot take a denial; if he knows his petition to be according to God's
will and promise, he pleads the blood of Jesus about it; and if he does
not get an answer at once, he says, "My soul, wait"–wait! a grand
word–"wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him." As for
the hypocrite, if he gets into a church and there is a prayer-meeting
and he feels, "Well, there is a fire kindling and an excitement getting
up"–ah! how that man can pray, the waggon is moving behind him, and he
is very willing to pull. But the sincere believer says, "I do not
perceive any revival yet. I do not hear of many conversions. Never
mind, we have prayed that, God will glorify his dear Son: we will keep
on praying. If the blessing does not come in one week, we will try
three; if it does not come in three weeks, we will try three months; if
it does not come in three months, we shall still keep on for three
years; and if it does not come in three years, we will plead on for
thirty years: and if it does not; come then, we will say, Let thy work
appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children.' We will
plead on until we die, and mingle with those who beheld the promise
afar off, were persuaded of it, prayed for it, and died believing it
would be fulfilled." Such prayer would not be wasted breath. It is
treasure put out to interest; seed sown for a future harvest; rather it
is the aspiration of saints kindled by the inspiration of God. The
genuine believer knows how to tug. Jacob, when he came to Jabbok, found
that the angel was not easily to be conquered. He laid hold of him, but
the angel did not yield the blessing; something more must be done. Had
Jacob been a hypocrite he would have let the angel loose at once, but
being one of the Lord's own, he said, "I will not let thee go, except
thou bless me." When the angel touched him in the hollow of his thigh
and made the sinew shrink, had he been a hypocrite he would have
thought, "I have had enough of this already; I may be made to shrink
all over; I cannot tell what may happen next. I will have no more of
this midnight encounter with an unknown visitor. I will get me back to
my tent." But no; he meant to prevail, and though he felt the pain, Yet
he said–

"With thee all night I mean to stay,

And wrestle till the break of day."

He did so, and became a prince from that night. Will you take a denial
from God, you shall have it; but if you will not be denied, neither
shall you. O importunate Christian, you are he whom God loves! Alas for
those who only give, as it were, runaway knocks at the door of heaven,
like boys in the street that knock and run away–they shall never find
the blessing. Oh, to continue in prayer! it is the very test of
sincerity. Hence of the hypocrite it is said, "Will be always call upon
God?" A hypocrite leaves off praying in either case; he leaves off if
he does not get what he asks for, as I have shown you; and he leaves
off if he does get what he asks for. Has he asked to be recovered from
sickness when ill? If he gets well, what cares he for praying again?
Did he pray that he might not die? Oh, what a long face he drew, and
what drawling professions of repentance he groaned out! But when his
health is regained, and his nerves braced, his spirits are cheered, and
his manly vigor has come back to him; where are his prayers? where are
the vows his soul in anguish made? He has forgotten them all. That he
is a hypocrite is palpable, for he leaves oft praying if he does not
get heard, and if he does. There is no keeping this man up to God's
statute or his own promise; he has not the heart for true devotion, and
soon fails in the attempt to exercise it.

"Will He always call upon God?" Here is the trial of PERSEVERANCE. Will
he always continue to pray in the future? Will he pray, in years to
come, as he now professes to do? I call to see him, and he is very
sick; the doctor gives a very poor account of him; his wife is weeping;
all over the house there is great anxiety. I sit down by his bedside; I
talk to him, and he says, "Oh, yes, yes, yes;" he agrees with all I
say, and he tells me he believes in Jesus. And when he can sit up, he
cries, "God be merciful to me." His dear friends are godly people; they
feel so pleased; they look torward to his recovery, and reckon upon
seeing him a new creature, a disciple of Christ. Besides, he has told
them, when he gets up, how earnest he will be in a life of faith and
obedience to the Lord. He will not be a mere professor, he means to
throw his whole soul into the Master's service. Now mark him. He
recovers; and when he breaks forth from that sick chamber, and can
dispense with the ministry of those gentle patient women who nursed him
and prayed for him, what does the hypocrite do? Oh, he says he was a
fool to think and speak as he did. He admits he was frightened, but he
disclaims every pious expression as an infirmity of his distracted
brain, the delirium of his malady, not the utterance of his reason; and
he recants all his confessions like the atheist in Addison's
"Spectator." Addison tells us that certain sailors heard that an
atheist was on board their vessel: they did not know what an atheist
was, but they thought it must be some odd fish; and when told it was a
man who did not believe in God, they said, "Captain, it would be an
uncommonly good thing to pitch him overboard." Presently a storm comes
on, and the atheist is dreadfully sick and very fearful; there, on the
deck, he is seen crying to God for mercy, and whining like a child that
he is afraid he will be lost and sink to hell. This is the usual
courage of atheism! But when the coward reached the shore, he begged
the gentlemen who heard him pray to think nothing of it, for indeed he
did not know what he was saying, he had no doubt uttered a great deal
of nonsense. There are plenty of that sort–who pray in danger, but
brag when they get clear of the tempest. Hereby the hypocrite is
discovered. Once take away from him the trouble and you do away with
the motive for which he put on the cloak of religion. He is like a
boy's top, which will spin as long as you whip it. The man will pray
while he smarts, but not one whit longer. The hypocrite will pray
to-day in society congenial for prayer, but he will discard prayer
to-morrow when he gets laughed at for it in his business. Some old
friend of his drops in, who has heard that he has been converted, and
he begins to ridicule him. He asks him whether he has really turned a
Methodist? The next thing he expects to hear is, that he is dipped. He
makes some coarse remarks rather to the chagrin of our courageous
friend, till he, who set out so boldly to heaven with his prayers,
feels quite small in the presence of the sceptic. It he were right in
heart, he would not only have a proper answer to give to the mocker,
but in all probability he would carry the war into the enemy's country,
and make his antagonist feel the folly of his sins and the insanity of
his conduct in living without a God and without a Savior. The meet
object of ridicule and contempt is the godless, the Christless man. The
Christian need never be ashamed or lower his colors. The hypocrite may
well blush and hide his head, for if there is any creature that is
contemptible, it is a man who has not his heart where he professes it
to be.

Neither will such a one always call upon God if he gets into company
where he is much flattered; he feels then that he has degraded himself
somewhat by associating with such low, mean people as those who make up
the church of God. And if he prospers in business, then he considers
that the people he once worshipped with are rather inferior to himself:
he must go to the world's church: he must find a fashionable place
where he can hear a gospel that is not for the poor and needy, but for
those who have the key of aristocratic drawing-rooms and the select
assemblies. His principles–well, he is not very particular–he
swallows them; probably his nonconformity was a mistake. The verities
which his fathers suffered martyrdom to defend, for which they were
mulcted of their possessions, driven as exiles from their country, or
cast into prison, he flings away as though they were of no value
whatever. Many have fallen from us through the temptations of
prosperity who stood firmly enough under persecution and adversity. It
is another form of the same test, "Will he always call upon God?"

Besides, if none of these things should occur the man who is not
savingly converted and a genuine Christian, generally gives up his
religion after a time because the novelty of it dies off. He is like
the stony ground that received the seed, and because there was no depth
of earth the sun could play upon it with great force, and up it sprang
in great haste, but because there was no depth of earth, therefore it
soon was scorched. So this man is easily impressible, feels quickly,
and acts promptly under the influence of a highly emotional nature.
Says he, "Yes, I will go to heaven," as he inwardly responds to the
appeal of some earnest minister. He thinks he is converted, but we had
better not be quite so sure as he is. "Wait a bit, wait a bit." He
cools as fast as he was heated. Like thorns under a pot that crackle
and blaze and die out, leaving but a handful of ashes, so is it with
all his godliness. Ere long he gets tired of religion, he cannot away
with it–what a weariness it is. If he perseveres awhile, it is no more
pleasure to him than a pack is to a pack horse. He keeps on as a matter
of formality: he has got into it and he does not see how to break away,
but he likes it no better than an owl loves daylight. He holds on to
his forms of prayer with no heart for prayer–and what a wretched thing
that is! I have known people who felt bound to keep up their
respectability when they had little or no income. Their debts were
always increasing, their respectability was always tottering, and the
strain upon their dignity was exhausting their utmost resources. Such
persons I have considered to be the poorest of the poor. An unhappy
life they lead, they never feel at ease. But what an awful thing it is
to have to keep up a spiritual respectability with no spiritual income;
to overflow with gracious talk when there is no well of living water
springing up within the soul; to be under the obligation to pay court
to the sanctuary while the heart is wandering on the mountain; to be
bound to speak gracious words and yet possess no gracious thoughts to
prompt their utterance. O man, thou art one of the devil's double
martyrs, because thou hast to suffer for him here in the distaste and
nausea of thy hypocritical profession, and then thou will be made to
suffer hereafter also for having dared to insult God, and ruin thy soul
by being insincere in thy profession of faith in Jesus Christ!

I may be coming very close home to some persons before me: I am
certainly pressing my own conscience very severely. I suppose there is
no one amongst us who does not feel that this is a very searching
matter. Well, dear friends, if our hearts condemn us not, then have we
peace towards God; but if our hearts condemn us, God is greater than
our hearts and knoweth all things. Let us confess to him all past
failures, and though we may not be conscious of hypocrisy (and I trust
we are not so), yet, let us say, "Lord, search and try me, and know my
ways; see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way
everlasting." I was speaking with a gentleman last night, and I said to
him, "You are a director of such a Life Assurance Company, are you
not?" "Yes," he said. "Well," I said, "yours is a poor society, is it
not?" "It is a very good one," he replied; "a very good one." "But it
is very low down in the list." "What list is that?" "Why, the list that
has been sent round by certain persons to let the public see the
condition of the life assurance companies." "Well," said he, "where is
it to be seen?" "Oh, never mind where it is to be seen: is it true?"
"No, it is not true; our society stands well–admirably well." "How
so?" "Well, you know such a man, he is an excellent actuary and a man
of honor." "Yes." "Well, when we employed him to go over our accounts,
we said just this to him: Take the figures, examine them thoroughly,
sift our accounts, and tell us where the figures land you; tell us just
that, neither less nor more, do not shirk the truth in the slightest
degree. If we are in a bankrupt state, tell us; if we are flourishing,
tell us so.'" My friend has convinced me that his office is not what I
feared it was. I have much confidence in any man's business when he
wishes to know and to publish the unvarnished truth. I have great
confidence in the sincerity of any Christian man who says habitually
and truthfully, "Lord, let me know the very worst of my case, whatever
it is. Even if all my fair prospects and bright ideals should be but
dreams–the fabric of a vision; if yonder prospect before me of green
fields and flowing hills should be but an awful mirage, and on the
morrow should change into the hot burning desert of an awful reality;
so be it, only let me know the truth; lead me in a plain path; let me
be sincere before thee, O thou heart-searching, rein-trying God!" Let
us, with such frank candour, such ingenuous simplicity, come before the
Lord. Let as many of us as fear the Lord and distrust ourselves, take
refuge in his omniscience against the jealousies and suspicions which
haunt our own breasts. And let us do better still, let us hasten anew
to the cross of Jesus, and thus end our difficulties by accepting
afresh the sinners' Savior. When I have a knot to untie as to my
evidence of being a child of God, and I cannot untie it, I usually
follow Alexander's example with the Gordian knot, and cut it. How cut
it? Why, in this way. Thou sayest, O conscience, this is wrong, and
thus is wrong. Thou sayest, O Satan, thy faith is a delusion, thy
experience a fiction, thy profession a lie. Be it so then, I will not
dispute it, I end that matter; if I am no saint, I am a sinner; there
can be no doubt about that! The devil himself is defied to question
that. Then it is written that "Jesus Christ came into the world to save
sinners," and to sinners is the gospel preached, "He that believeth on
him is not condemned." I do believe on him; if I never did before I
will now, and all my transgressions are therefore blotted out. And now,
Lord, grant me grace to begin again, and from this time forth let me
live the life of faith, the life of prayer; let me be one of those who
will pray always, let me be one of those who will pray when they are
dying, having prayed all their lives. Prayer is our very life: ceasing
prayer we cease to live. As long as we are here preserved in spiritual
life we must pray. Lord, grant it may be so with each one here present,
through the power of thy Spirit, and the merit of Jesus' blood. Amen,
and Amen.

PORTION OF SCRIPTURE READ BEFORE SERMON–Job 27.