Consolation For The Despairing

A SERMON DELIVERED ON LORD'S-DAY MORNING, DECEMBER 7, 1873,

BY C. H. SPURGEON,

AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.

"For I said in my haste, I am cut off from before Your eyes,
nevertheless You heard the voice of my supplications when I cried unto
You." Psalm 31:22.

I DESIRE at this time to speak to those who are much depressed in
spirit, the sons of despondency and daughters of mourning who dwell
upon the dreary confines of despair. It may seem objectionable among so
large an audience to address my discourse to a class so comparatively
small, but I must leave it to your compassion to excuse me. No, I think
I hardly need do that, but may urge as my apology the nature of my
calling. When the shepherd comes in the early morning to his flock, do
not his eyes single out the sick, and does he need forgiveness if, for
a while, he devotes all his skill and his care to those sheep which
need it?

He does not reason with himself that because of the largeness of the
flock and his anxious care that all should be fed, renders it
impossible for him to bind up that which is broken and heal that which
is diseased, but, on the contrary, his attention to all is proved by
his special interest in the particular cases which most require his
tenderness. Or take another parable–the watcher on the beach, with his
telescope in his hand, paces to and fro and keeps guard for his
appointed time. He looks through the glass again and again, but a
glance contents him so far as most of yonder gallant vessels are
concerned, which are now in the offing.

But by-and-by his glass remains steadily at his eye–his gaze is fixed
and in a few moments he gives a signal to his fellows and they haul the
boat to the sea and launch her. What has there been so peculiar about
this craft that it has gained the watcher's attention and stirred him
to action? He saw signals of distress, or by some other token he knew
the ship's need, and therefore he bestirred himself and engaged every
willing hand to lend her help. I, too, remain upon the lookout, and
surely it is right that my eyes should rest most anxiously where the
distress signals are visible, and where souls bound for eternity are
floundering in doubt and ready to perish in despair!

I feel deeply for the mourners in Zion and I pray the Lord to cause His
Word, through my ministry, to be as the oil of joy to them. Surely we
may expect the Divine help of the Holy Spirit in our endeavor to
console them, for the special office of the Holy Spirit under the
present dispensation is to be "the Comforter," who is to abide with us
forever. While we bring forth the oil and wine from His own stores, we
may hope that He will pour them into the wounds of the afflicted, for
this is His office and it would be blasphemy to imagine that He will
neglect it. He comforts effectually in an all-sufficient and Omnipotent
manner.

I feel, too, that I have a Scriptural warrant for introducing such a
subject as this into the midst of a congregation where there are many
joyous hearts, because this Psalm, which is, to a large extent,
sorrowful, was, nevertheless, intended for public worship, for it bears
the inscription, "To the chief Musician," as do several others which
are even more full of grief. As, for instance, the 22nd which is the
Psalm of the Passion, and, nevertheless, is committed to the chief
leader of sacred song in the house of the Lord. If, therefore, griefs
which to the fullest could only be known by a few, were nevertheless to
be made the subject of public psalmody, I am quite sure they ought not
to be passed over in public ministry, but we ought to consider the
cases of the ones and twos whose garments are sackcloth and whose drink
is wormwood.

It is our bounden duty to sympathize with them and speak with them for
their good. Nor need we fear that the rest of the assembly will suffer,
for the 99 sheep in the wilderness never come to any ill because the
shepherd is seeking the one lone wanderer. I do not intend considering
the text strictly in its connection, but shall use it as a suitable
expression of the mental grief of those I would benefit. Notice that it
indicates an inward sorrow, it speaks of a rash expression–"I

said in my haste, I am cut off from before Your eyes." It mentions a
pleading cry and it bears witness to a cheering result to that cry–
"nevertheless You heard the voice of my supplications when I cried unto
You."

I. At the outset, note that there is implied in the text a deep,
bitter, INWARD SORROW. The man who wrote the verse before us was pained
in his heart. There are many in like case at this moment. Their soul
faints with heaviness and their life is a burden. How came they are so?
Verily, there are many causes for melancholy. Some have their spirit
pitched upon a low key constitutionally–their music may never reach
the highest notes till they are taught to sing the new song in another
world. The windows of their house are very narrow and do not open
towards Jerusalem but towards the desert. Something is wrong with their
bodily frame–the tacklings are loosed, they cannot strengthen the
mast–and the vessel labors terribly. When there is a leak in the
vessel, it is little wonder that the waters come in even unto the soul.

With other mournful ones depression began through a great trial. As we
have heard of some that their hair turned gray in a single night
through grief, so doubtless many souls have aged into sorrow in a
single trying hour. One blow has bruised the lily's stalk and made it
wither. One touch of a rude hand has broken the crystal vase. Suns have
been shaded in the midst of the brightest summer days and a morning of
delight has been followed by an evening of lamentation. In some cases,
God knows how many a secret sin, unconfessed to the Father, has
festered into misery. There may have been wanton presumption, or pride
of heart, or discontent, or inward rebellion against the will of God.
There may have been willful negligence of the means of Grace, or
despising of the value of the fellowship and joy of the Holy
Spirit–and therefore the Lord may have hidden Himself for a while in
chastisement.

Or it may be that there has been a gradual fretting of the spirit with
minor vexations, long-continued and wearisome, which have worn the
heart, even as constant dripping wears away stones. Incessant
opposition or neglect from those we love may, at last, cause the spirit
to yield. And when that takes place, life becomes bondage. "The spirit
of a man will sustain his infirmity, but a wounded spirit who can
bear?" I have also known an unwise ministry add to the sorrower's woe.
A legal ministry will do it and so, also, will that teaching which bids
men look within for comfort–and sets up one uniform experience as the
standard for all the people of God.

The causes are various but the case is always painful. O you who are
walking in the light, deal gently with your Brothers and Sisters whose
bones are broken, for you may also suffer from the same! Lay yourselves
out to comfort the Lord's mourners. They are not good company and they
are very apt to make you unhappy as well as themselves, but for all
that, be very tender towards them, for the Lord Jesus would have you
so. Remember what woes Ezekiel pronounces upon the strong who roughly
push the weaker sort. God is very jealous over His little children, and
if the more vigorous members of the family are not kind to them, He may
take away their strength and make them, even, to envy the little ones
whom once they despised.

You can never err in being tender to the downcast. Lay yourself out as
much as may be in you to bind up the brokenhearted and cheer the
faint–and you will be blessed in the deed. When the natural spirits
sink in those men who have no God to go to, their depression takes its
own particular shape. Any physician can tell you of instances of mental
distress in which persons have surrounded themselves with imaginary
ills and made themselves martyrs to fancied disorders. We have seen
cases which might almost compel an observer to laugh if they had not
been so terribly serious to the patients, themselves.

If a man is a Christian, it is very natural that his troubles should
assume a spiritual form. The only shades which can effectually darken
his day are those which arise from sacred things. The fears which haunt
him are not fears about his daily bread, but fears about the Bread of
Life and fears as to his entrance into the Eternal Kingdom. The
disease, from the physical side, is at bottom probably the same in the
Christian as in the ungodly man, but, as his main thoughts are set upon
Divine things, he, in his depression, naturally dwells most upon his
soul's affairs.

At such times the spiritually afflicted are filled with horrible
apprehensions. What, let me ask you, is the most horrible apprehension
that a Christian man can have? Is it not that of the text, "I am cut
off from before Your eyes"? Nothing distresses a Christian so much as
the fear of being a castaway of God. You shall find no real Christian
in despair because he is becoming poor. You shall not find him utterly
cast down because worldly comforts are taken away. But let his Lord
hide His face and he is troubled. Let him doubt his sonship and he is
overwhelmed. Let him question his interest in Christ and his joy has
fled. Let him fear that the life of God never was in his soul and you
shall hear him mourn like a dove.

How can he live without his God? Yet this bitter sorrow has been
endured by not a few of the best of men. If it could be said that only
those Christians who walk at a distance from Christ, or those who are
inconsistent in life, or those who are but little in prayer have felt
in this way, then, indeed, there would be cause for the gravest
disquietude. But it is a matter offact that some of the choicest
spirits among the Lord's elect have passed through the Valley of
Humiliation and even sojourned there by the months together. Saints who
are now among the brightest in Heaven, have yet, in their day, sat
weeping at the gates of despair and asked for the crumbs which the dogs
eat under the Master's table.

Read the life of Martin Luther. You would suppose, from what is
commonly known of the brave Reformer, that he was a man of iron,
immovable and invulnerable. So he was when he had to fight his Master's
battles against Rome. But at home, on his bed, and in his quiet
chamber, he was frequently the subject of spiritual conflicts–such as
few have ever known! He had so much joy in believing that at times he
was carried away with a tumult of boisterous exultation. But on other
occasions he sank to the very deeps and was hard put to it to bear up
at all. And that happened, too, even in his last moments, so that the
worst battle of his life was fought upon that mysterious country which
stretches towards the gates of the Celestial City.

Do not condemn yourself, my dear Sister. Do not cast yourself away, my
dear Brother, because your faith endures many conflicts and your
spirits sink very low. David, himself, said in his haste, "I am cut off
from before Your eyes," yet there sits David in the blessed choir in
Heaven! And even here on earth he was a man after God's own heart.
There are great benefits to come out of these severe trials and
depressions. There is a need that for a season we should be in
heaviness. You cannot make great soldiers without war, or train
skillful seamen upon shore. It appears necessary that if a man is to
become a great Believer, he must be greatly tried. If he is to be a
great helper of others, he must pass through the temptations of others.
If he is to be greatly instructed in the things of the Kingdom, he must
learn by experience. And if he is to be a loud singer to the tune of
Sovereign Grace, he must hear deep calling unto deep at the noise of
God's waterspouts.

The uncut diamond has but little brilliance. The unthreshed corn feeds
none and so the untried professor is of small practical use or beauty.
Many have a comparatively smooth pathway through life, but their
position in the Church is not that which the experienced Believer
occupies, neither could they do his work among the afflicted. The man
who is much worked and often harrowed may thank God if the result of it
is a larger harvest to the praise and glory of God by Jesus Christ. The
time shall come with you, whose faces are covered with sorrow, when you
shall bless God for your sorrows! The day will come when you shall set
much store by your losses and your crosses, your troubles and your
afflictions, counting them happy which endure–

"From all your afflictions His Glory shall spring, And the deeper your
sorrows the louder you'll sing."

II. I will speak no more upon this inward sorrow, a handful of bitter
herbs is enough. I shall now pass on to notice THE RASH EXPRESSION of
the Psalmist's aching heart, "I said in my haste." We have in the
Psalms other instances in which David spoke hastily. He had better have
bitten his tongue. We may speak, in a moment, words which we would give
the world to recall. Oh, if some rash speeches could be unsaid! The
price would be too dear to purchase their unsaying–unkind, provoking,
cutting things towards men–and unbelieving, fretful, petulant,
injurious words towards God. Better count to 10 before we speak, when
we are in an agitated state of mind.

It is a common sin for persons whose hearts are in bondage to allow
their tongues too great a liberty. David said, "I am cut off from
before Your eyes." And many have not only said this in haste, but they
have continued to repeat it for a long time, which is much worse. Some
have spoken in this fashion by the months together–yes, and some for
years! Sorrowful is it that they should have done so, but so it has
been. Now this rash speech rests altogether on insufficient grounds.
Why does a man in despondency argue that God has cast him away? He
reasons, first, that his circumstances show it. He is surrounded with
much difficulty and tribulation and therefore he infers that God is
angry with him.

But is there any force in that argument? You might as well say that God
had cast away His own dear Son when He allowed Him to say, "Foxes have
holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but I, the Son of Man have
not where to lay My head." You might as well say that God had cast away
the martyrs when He left them to lie in prison, or suffered them to be
burned. Many of the Lord's dearest children have a rough passage to
Glory. After all, your circumstances are not so bad as those of far
better men. It would be most unfair to argue that you are, therefore, a
castaway. Is it not written, "In

the world you shall have tribulation"? Do you not know that affliction
is a Covenant blessing? Therefore no argument derived from
circumstances is worth listening to.

But others argue from their feelings. They feel as if God had cast them
away. Can there be anything more uncertain to argue from than our
feelings? I might be quite sure that I am safe for Heaven today if I
judged by my feelings. Tomorrow I might be equally as certain that I am
a reprobate if I judged by the same rule. Judged by changeful feelings,
one might be lost and saved a dozen times a day! The wind does not veer
more fitfully than does the current of our emotions. Draw inferences
from the waves before you reason from your feelings! Do you not know
that many persons who are full of very confident feelings are
nevertheless deluded and deceived? "Peace, peace, where there is no
peace" is a very common cry. These persons judge themselves by
feelings, and consider that they are safe for Heaven, but their lives
show the contrary. And, on the other hand, others judge themselves to
be castaways, who are true Christians.

Apply these facts to your own case. Feelings are a very uncertain and
erroneous gauge, indeed, and are not to be relied upon. And to build
such a terrible inference as that of your being lost upon a few gloomy
feelings, or even a great many of them, is absurd to the last degree!
Have you ever heard the story of the man who, traveling in the dark
over a new country, suddenly came to a place where the earth crumbled
under his feet and he felt sure that he was slipping over an awful
precipice? Clutching at the roots of a tree which grew out of the bank,
he maintained his hold in desperation, feeling that if he let go he
should be dashed into a thousand pieces.

There he hung till his hands were unable to bear the strain any longer,
and, giving all up for lost, he fell but alighted upon a soft couch of
green sward which was just an inch or two beneath his feet! So do great
dreads frequently arise from nothing at all! Fancy, with her magic
wand, is busy at creating sorrows. In many and many a case, if the
patient would believe the truth, or at least would cease to believe in
his own unreasonable surmises, he might drop into perfect peace at
once. The foundation of the mental troubles of very many lies nowhere
but in their own settled determination to be miserable. They have
resolved to believe that everything is wrong with them and that
obstinate resolution stands to them instead of reason.

They are deaf as adders to all comfort but are not silent as to their
woes. They ask to see the minister, but they will not give him
opportunity to do them good. Did you ever have an interview with a
despairing woman? If you have been able to get in six words edgeways
between her incessant talk, you must have been a very clever person,
for it is by no means an easy thing. They ask for advice, but do not
mean to listen to it or to follow it, for they know better than their
advisers–they only want the opportunity of pouring out their
lamentations–they are not prepared to receive consolation. Their soul
abhors all manner of meat, and they draw near to the gates of death. In
vain do you argue! They cannot be reasoned with–it would be as wise to
try and argue away a typhus fever, or reason a broken bone into
soundness.

Instead of reasoning, their stand is solemn decision not to be
comforted. If they saw such a resolve in other people, they would call
it absurd and perhaps be vexed with them. Oh, that they would see their
conduct in the same light! But while they remain in their present mind,
what can we do for them? We quote a promise and they tell us it does
not apply to their case, though it is as plain as the nose on their
face that it is for them. You shall next remind them of a doctrine
which contains a general principle applicable to themselves. They
cannot deny the Truth of God, but by dexterous devices they escape from
its cheering influences. It is amazing how exceedingly learned and
profound, despairing people are in their own esteem!

I met, the other day, with a person who insists upon it that he has
committed the unpardonable sin. Now, I know as much about the
Scriptures as he does, yet upon the subject of the unpardonable sin he
is fully informed and I am in the dark. I can prove that, according to
the Scriptures, my desponding friend has not committed the unpardonable
sin. But he knows he has and is as sure of it as if he could prove it
rationally. Scriptural proof he cares little about, but says over and
over again that he knows, and is quite sure, and nobody shall ever
convince him to the contrary. You might as well argue with a bottle of
vinegar, in the hope of turning it into wine.

It is nothing to him that all the divines in Christendom who have ever
written about this sin have regarded it as a dark subject–he is wiser
than seven men that can render a reason. In neatly instances the cause
of their distress is impalpable, ghost-like, misty–they cannot
describe it–and you cannot deal with it. It is unreasonable and
preposterous, else might a little calm conversation be a means of Grace
to them. As I have already remarked, instead of

reason stands this declaration of theirs–they will not be comforted,
but prefer to nestle down in hopeless melancholy. Poor souls–poor
souls! What a choice they make!

Here let us say that the declaration that God has forsaken us, or
forsaken any man who seeks him, is diametrically opposed to Scripture.
There is not, in all the pages of Inspiration, one single text which
advises any man to despair of the mercy of God. I challenge the most
diligent reader to find one solitary passage in which any seeking soul
is bid to believe that there is no mercy for him. I shall even go
further and say that there is not one solitary passage of Scripture
which warrants any soul to give itself up in despair, no matter though
it may be a strong passage upon election, or a terrible threat of
Divine wrath against sin! There is no text, nor anything like a text,
which would warrant a soul in saying that there is no mercy in God for
him.

Further than that, there is not a text in Scripture which gives an
excuse to any man to despair. If God Himself were to appear and say to
the despairing, "You have dared to doubt My mercy, and to declare
yourself to be finally given up–bring me a solitary Word out of my
Book which can excuse you for saying this"–no such text could be
brought. Indeed, the whole of Scripture condemns unbelief. Faith is the
Grace which Scripture commends–it never urges men to despair. It is
full of promises to the most sinful. It reaches to the greatest
extremity of our need and cries in generous love, "He is able to save
to the uttermost them that come unto God by Him." The Lord Jesus
declares, "Him that comes to Me I will in no wise cast out." And in
summing up the testimony of Scripture it is fair to say with Dr.
Watts–

"No mortal has a just pretense To perish in despair."

"Oh, but still I know there is no hope for me." My dear Friend, you
know nothing of the kind! It is a dream, a horrible nightmare and there
is no truth in it. This blessed Scripture sounds from the Cross to you,
like sweet music, "Come unto Me all you that labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest." As long as you breathe, the blessed lamp of
Grace still burns to light your joy! "The blood of Jesus Christ His Son
cleanses us from all sin." And remember, O my despairing Friend, that
your belief that God has cast you away is very derogatory to God,
Himself. Do you know how merciful He is? Will you think harshly of Him?
Did He not save Manasseh? Did He not blot out the sins of Saul of
Tarsus?

Has He not declared, "As I live, says the Lord, I have no pleasure in
the death of him that dies, but had rather that he turn unto Me and
live"? Will you snatch the pen out of the hand of Mercy and write your
own death warrant with it? Why be so ill-advised? Will you dishonor God
rather than receive salvation through Jesus Christ? Why do you madly
yield to despair? Do you not know how much you grieve the Spirit of
God, and how sadly you dishonor Jesus? None of all the pangs He bore on
Calvary grieve Him like that unkind, ungenerous thought that He is
unwilling to forgive.

What? Your hating your sin and yet Jesus hating you? Impossible! What?
You with a strong desire after eternal life, yet left to perish?
Impossible! What? Your casting yourself upon His mercy, hoping to touch
the silver scepter of His Grace, and yet driven from His Presence?
Impossible! Among the damned in Hell there is not a soul that ever came
and rested upon the blood of Christ, and there never shall be such!
Heaven and earth shall pass away, but it never shall be said that
seeking ones were cast off, or that those who gave themselves up to the
Covenant mercy of God were rejected. Do not, then, I pray you, dishonor
the love and glory of the Lord of Mercy!

One thing I would like to put in here by way of interjection–this
giving of one's self up to despair is so very unlike what we generally
do in other things that it appears all the less defensible. Yonder
vessel has been broken in a collision. She will soon sink to the
bottom. The sea rushes in most furiously. Let us take to one of the
boats. This boat cannot be stirred, what then? We will fly to another.
We will seize a lifebelt, or clasp a spar. At any rate, we will leave
no means unused, if, by any possible way we may escape. A sensible man
does not fling himself down on the deck and give all up for lost. His
fears awaken him and he bestirs all his faculties with the utmost
energy. He seizes anything which promises deliverance.

Look at a person sick with a deadly disease. He has tried his family
physician and he is no better. But he hears of another practitioner and
he goes straight to him. Yes, and if 50 quacks were recommended to him,
he would sooner try them than die! Even a forlorn hope he will pursue
sooner than utterly perish. Yet here are persons who know and cannot
deny that they know it–that Christ is able to save to the uttermost
them that come unto Him–and yet, because they unreasonably conclude
that their case is hopeless, they will not go to Jesus, but prefer to
die in their sins! Oh, madness,

madness, to doubt the infinitely loving One! Insanity reaching its very
height to dare to think that He who died on Calvary will repulse a
coming sinner!

I should like an artist to attempt to draw a picture of Jesus Christ
scorning a sinner who asks mercy at His hands. How would the man
proceed? He must cover the face of the Lord, for that lovely visage
could not look unkindly. He must leave out the scars from the hands and
the nail prints from the feet, for these could not repel a sinner.
There is not a part of Jesus' body or soul which could be made to
reject a lost sinner–His whole Nature would revolt against being so
represented! Oh, if you could but know Him as some of us know Him, you
would fly into His arms! Poor guilty one, if He had two swords, one in
each hand, you would sooner fly on the points of His swords than not
come to Him, for you would perceive that He is such a gracious
Redeemer, and so mighty to save that you must rely upon Him, and cry
with the patriarch of Uz, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him."

I am bound to add that this despair, to a very large extent, involves
sinful unbelief–and of all sins this is the most damning. It amounts
to this–that Jesus says, "I can save"–and the sinner says, "You
cannot." And so he makes Christ a liar! God says, "Jesus is able to
save to the uttermost." But the sinner denies it, point blank. Now if
the sinner will make God a liar, what can he expect? When the Lord
comes to judge the quick and dead, what will be the portion of the
unbelieving? God save us from it! May that rash expression be withdrawn
and may we say no longer, "I am cut off from before Your eyes."

III. Thirdly and briefly, we have before us the interesting topic of A
PLEADING CRY. When David feared that he was cut off from God, he was
wise enough to take to crying. He calls prayer, crying, and it is a
very significant word. Crying is the language of pain–pain cannot
cumber itself with letters and syllables and words–and so it takes its
own way and adopts a piercing mode of utterance, very telling and
expressive. Crying yields great relief to suffering. Everyone knows the
benefit of having a hearty good cry–you cannot help calling it, "a
good cry," for, though one would think crying could never be especially
good, it affords a desirable relief.

Red eyes often relieve breaking hearts. Madness has been prevented by
the soul's finding vent. Prayer is the surest and most blessed vent for
the soul. In prayer the heart runs over, as the eyes do in crying. To
pray is just as simple a matter as to cry. Do not get down that
book–bishops and other prayer-makers can write good prayers for people
who have no particular trouble upon them–but when you really need to
pray, no ready-made prayers will suit your case! You never heard of a
form of common crying. I never remember seeing in my life a form of
crying for a bereaved woman, a form for a babe to cry when it is
hungry, and another form for a child to cry when it is put to bed in
the dark.

No, no! Forms are out of the question when we cry. Men and women, and
children–when in trouble–cry without a book. And so when a man really
needs the Savior, he does not require book-prayers. Never say, "Oh, I
cannot pray!" My dear Friend, can you cry? You need to be saved–tell
the Lord that. If you cannot say it in words, tell it with your tears,
your groans, your sighs, your sobs. Prayer, like crying, is a natural
utterance and an utterance available on all occasions. As sure as a
child is in trouble, it can cry without putting on its best frock–and
so can we without gowns and capes and surplices.

No child needs to be educated in Greek and Latin in order to know how
to cry. Neither is learning needed in order to effectual prayer. God
teaches all His little ones to pray as soon as they are born. They have
but to confess their sins and plead their needs and they do really
pray. Never is a child in such a bad plight that it cannot cry. It
never says, "Mother, it is so dark I cannot see to cry." No, no, the
child cries in the dark! And are you in the dark and in terrible doubt
and trouble? Then cry away, my dear Friend, cry away, cry away! Your
Father will hear and deliver you!

Now, crying is by no means a pleasant sound to hear. There is no music
in it, except, I suppose, it is the crying of the very little ones in
their mothers' ears. A cry is a kind of music one would be glad to have
ended and yet our poor prayers–which might be thought to grate in the
ears of God, for He must note their imperfections–are, nevertheless,
regarded by Him. Though a cry is an unpleasant sound, it is very
powerful. If you were walking the streets and heard or saw a poor child
crying, you would be far more affected by it than by the oration of the
pretended beggar who is eloquently stating his needs to the dwellers on
both sides of the way. A poor child crying in the dark, under your
window, in mid-winter, in the snow–would move your pity and obtain
your help. Even if it were a foreigner and knew not a single word of
English, you would fully feel its pleading.

The eloquence of a cry is overwhelming–Pity owns its power and lends
her aid. There is a chord in human nature which responds to a child's
cry and there is something in the Divine Nature which is equally
touched by prayer. The Lord will not suffer a young raven to cry in
vain and much less will He suffer men who are made in His own image to
cry to Him in the bitterness of their hearts and find Him deaf to their
entreaties! According to our text this cry was addressed to the Lord.
David thought the Lord had cast him away, and he did not cry to anyone
else. He felt that if God did not help him, nobody else could. To whom
or where should I go if I should turn from You? It is important to
observe that he cried to the Lord, even though he thought himself cut
off from hope. "I am cut off from before Your eyes," says he, yet he
cries

to God!

Ah, Soul, if you are in despair, yet resolve to pour out your heart
before your God. Do you fear He will refuse you? Cry on. Has He been
angry with you long? Cry on! Has He, up to now, shut out your prayers?
Cry on! Do you think He has reprobated you altogether? Nevertheless cry
on! Have you said, "His mercy is clean gone forever, and He will be
favorable no more"? Yet cry on! For David felt in his soul that he was
cut off from before God's eyes, yet still he cried. Do so, poor Heart!
Yes, the more sad you are, cry the more, for if a little child's mother
were to say, "Now go along with you, I will never love you again. I
will put you out of doors and you shall never be my child again," what
would the little one do? Would she say, "Therefore I will not cry"? Oh
no, but she would sob her little heart out and the more she believed
the severe words of her parent, the more she would cry!

O despairing Soul, the more you despair, the more you should pray–and
then it will be well with you. The Psalmist cried to a God concerning
whom he entertained unbelieving thoughts. You, poor Mourner, do not
believe as you should believe. Your faith, if you have any, is like a
spark smoldering in the smoking flax. Yet pray on! I was about to say,
when your faith seems dead, cry, "Lord enable me to believe. I am a
poor, dead, lost, ruined, sinner, but do have pity upon my misery."
That is good crying, and good will come of it.

IV. This is my last point, THE CHEERFUL RESULT. This poor soul in
despair continued to cry and the Lord heard him. "You heard the voice
of my supplication when I cried unto You." This blessing went beyond
the promise. The promise is that God will hear believing prayer, but
the Lord in mercy goes beyond His promises–such is the Infinite
Sovereignty of His Grace that He meets, even, with unbelieving
ones–and when they are crying in their unbelief He gives them faith
and saves their souls.

Now, if this is not guaranteed in the promise, yet the action is quite
consistent with the Divine Character. Indeed, it is like the God whose
name is Love to listen to the cries of the wretched! We are like lost
children in the forest, all scratched by the briers, weary with having
lost our way and ready to die from cold and hunger. All we can do is
cry– and will God leave us to die in the dark? Oh, do not believe it!
Do not let the devil make you believe it–that God will hear you cry
and yet not come to your help! I will never believe of God what I would
not believe of man! I cannot dishonor Him so!

Do but cry, dear Heart, out of your soul's despair, and the Lord's
infinite goodness will constrain Him to come to you! He has taught you
to cry and He will assuredly answer your prayers. Inasmuch as David
says that God heard him, how encouraged you ought to be, for He who has
heard one will hear another. Let me tell you one thing–you are in a
position, poor, despairing Soul–to be made the means of honoring
Christ more than anybody else. Are you the vilest sinner that ever
existed? Do you think that your case is the most desperate that ever
was on the face of the earth? Are you just the one person who is least
likely ever to be saved? Do you think so?

Oh, what a splendid specimen you will make for Christ's Grace to
triumph in! There is no honor to Him in washing those sinners who have
only a few pale spots upon them if there are such people. But, O you
foul and altogether polluted Sinner–your washing and cleansing will
bring Him Immortal renown! The angels tune their harps for new songs
when an unusual sinner is reclaimed. You cannot conceive your own
salvation to be possible, you say? Oh that you would believe it
possible! Oh that you would come, now, to the foot of the Cross and
say, "Dear Savior, You have never saved such a soul as I am! This day
You shall have greater glory than You have ever had before, for I cast
myself at Your dear feet, believing that you will save even me, for You
have said, 'Him that comes to Me I will in no wise cast out.' "

Do you not see that the badness of your case gives you a glorious
opportunity to glorify Christ by greater faith than other men, and by
putting it in His way to do a more splendid act of Grace than, to your
apprehension, He has ever done before? I hope to be most importunate in
prayer with God the Holy Spirit that He may bring just such cases as
yours

under the power of mighty Grace. One Truth of God remember and take
away with you. If you are in the dark, the only light for you is in the
Sun of Righteousness. If you are lost, the only help for you is in
Jesus, the Lord. If you want to see the Savior where His light is
brightest and His salvation clearest, think of His Cross! Look at those
dear hands and feet, and bleeding side–those wounds are windows of
hope for the prisoners of despair!

There is no hope for you, whoever you may be, except in Jesus! Look at
His thorn-crowned head and His face more marred than that of any man!
Look at His emaciated body, and at the spear gash in His side! Look at
Him in the agonies of death, with shame and scorn waiting upon Him!
Gaze till you hear Him cry, "It is finished!" before He gives up the
ghost–and I pray you believe it to be finished, so that there is
nothing for you to do, since everything is done. All that is needed to
render you acceptable with God is fully accomplished–there is nothing
for you to do but to accept what Christ has completed.

Weave no more garments, there is the robe! Fill no more cisterns, there
is the Fountain! Lay no more foundations, there is the precious
Cornerstone! Come, you despairing! The Lord help you to come and find
peace, at this hour, through Jesus Christ your Lord. Amen.

PORTION OF SCRIPTURE READ BEFORE SERMON–Psalm 31.
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The Gentleness Of Jesus