The Conversion of Saul of Tarsus

The Conversion of Saul of Tarsus

A Sermon

(No. 202)

Delivered on Sabbath Morning, June 27, 1858, by the

REV. C.H. SPURGEON

at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens

"And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking
unto me, and saying in the Hebrew tongue, Saul, Saul, why persecutest
thou me? it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks."–Acts 26:14.

HOW MARVELLOUS the condescension which induced the Saviour to take
notice of such a wretch as Saul! Enthroned in the highest heavens,
amidst the eternal melodies of the redeemed, and the seraphic sonnets
of the cherubim and all the angelic hosts, it was strange that the
Saviour should stoop himself from his dignity to speak to a persecutor.
Engaged as he is both day and night in pleading the cause of his own
church before his Father's throne, it is condescension indeed which
could induce him, as it were, to suspend his intercessions, in order
that he might speak personally to one who had sworn himself his enemy.
And what grace was it that could lead the Saviour's heart to speak to
such a man as Saul, who had breathed out threatenings against his
church? Had he not haled men and women to prison; had he not compelled
them in every synagogue to blaspheme the name of Jesus Christ? and now
Jesus himself must interpose to bring him to his senses! Ah, had it
been a thunderbolt which quivered in its haste to reach the heart of
man, we should not have marvelled, or had the lips of the Saviour been
heaving with a curse we should not have been astonished. Had he not
himself in his own lifetime cursed the persecutor? Did he not say,
whosoever shall offend one of the least of these my little ones, it
here better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and
that be were cast in the sea? But now the man that is cursed by that
language, is yet to be blessed by him whom he had persecuted; who
though he had stained his hand in blood, and had now the commission in
his hands to drag others to prison, though he had kept the clothes of
those who had stoned Stephen, yet the Master, the King of heaven, must
himself speak from the upper skies to bring him to feel the need of a
Saviour, and to make him partaker of precious faith. I say this is
marvellous condescension and matchless grace. But, beloved, when we
come to recollect the Saviour's character it is but little wonderful
that he should do this for he has done far more than this. Did he not
in person leave the starry thrones of heaven, and come down to earth to
suffer, and bleed and die? But when I think of Bethlehem's manger, of
the cruel garden of Gethsemane, and the yet more shameful Calvary, I do
not wonder that the Saviour should do any act of grace or
condescension. That being done, what can be greater? If he hath stooped
from heaven into hades, what greater stoop can he accomplish? If his
own throne must be left empty, if his own crown must he relinquished,
if his Godhead must be veiled in flesh, and the splendours of his deity
clothed in the rags of manhood, what wonder, I say, that he should
stoop to speak even to Saul of Tarsus, to bring his heart to himself?
Beloved, some of us do not wonder either, for although we have not had
greater grace than the apostle himself we have had no less. The Saviour
did not speak out of heaven to us with a voice that others might hear,
but he spoke with a voice that our conscience heard. We were not
blood-thirsty, it may be, against his children, but we had sins both
black and heinous; yet he stopped us. Not content with wooing us or
with threatening us, not content with sending his ministers to us and
giving us his word to warn us of duty, be would come himself. And you
and I, beloved, who have tasted of this grace, can say it was matchless
love that saved Paul, but not love unexampled; for he hath saved us
also, and made us partakers of the same grace.

I intend, this morning, to address myself more particularly to those
who fear not the Lord Jesus Christ, but on the contrary, oppose him. I
think I may be quite certain that I have none here who go the length of
desiring to see the old persecution of the church revived. I do not
think there is an Englishman, however much he may hate religion, who
would wish to see the stake again in Smithfield, and the burning pile
consuming the saints. There may be some who hate them as much, but
still not in that fashion; the common sense of the age reviles against
the gibbet, the sword, and the dungeon. The children of God, in this
country at least, are quite safe from any political persecution of that
kind, but it is highly probable that I have here this morning some who
go to the full length of their tether, and who endeavor as much as
lieth in them to provoke the Lord to anger by opposing his cause. You
will perhaps recognize yourselves if I try to paint a picture. It is
seldom that you ever go into the house of God, in fact you have a
contempt for all the gatherings of the righteous; you have a notion
that all saints are hypocrites, that all professors are cants, and you
do not at times blush to say so. However, you have a wife, and that
wife of yours has been impressed under the sound of the ministry; she
loves to go to the house of God, and heaven and her heart alone know
what grief and agony of mind you have caused her. How often have you
taunted and jeered her on account of her profession! You cannot deny
but that she is a better woman for it; you are obliged to confess that
although she cannot go with you in all your sports and merriments, yet
as far as she can go she is a loving and affectionate wife to you. If
any one should find fault with her, you would right manfully defend her
character; but it is her religion that you hate; and it is but lately
that you threatened to lock her up on Sunday. You say it is impossible
for you to live in the house with her if she will go up to the house of
God. Moreover there is a little child of yours, you had no objection to
that child going to the Sunday-school, because she was out of your way
on the Sunday when you were smoking your pipe in your shirt sleeves;
you did not want to be bothered with your children, you said, and
therefore you were glad to pack them off to the Sunday-school, but that
child has had her heart touched; and you cannot help seeing that the
religion of Christ is in her heart, therefore you do not like it, you
love the child, but you would give anything if she were not what she
is; you would give anything if you could crush the last spark of
religion out of her. But perhaps I can put your case yet. You are a
master; you occupy a respectable position, you have many men under you,
you cannot bear a man to make a profession of religion. Other masters
you know have said to their men, "Do as you like, so long as you are a
good servant, I do not care about your religious views." But mayhap you
are a little the reverse; although you would not turn a man away
because of his religion you give him a jeer every now and then, and if
you trip him up in a little fault, you say, "Ah! that is your religion,
I suppose you learned that at chapel;" grieving the poor man's soul,
while he endeavors as far as he can to discharge his duty to you. Or,
you are a young man, employed in a warehouse or a shop, and there is
one of your shopmates who has lately taken to religion, he is to be
found on his knees in prayer–what fine fun you have made of him
lately, haven't you? You and others have joined in like a pack of
hounds after a poor hare and he being of rather a timid turn of mind,
perhaps is silent before you, or if he speaks, the tear is in his eye,
because you have wounded his spirit. Now this is the selfsame spirit
that kindled the firebrand of old; that stretched the saint upon the
rack; that cut his body in pieces, and sent him to wander about in
sheep skins and in goat skins. If I have not exactly hit your character
yet, I may do it before I have done. I wish to address myself
especially to those of you, who in word or deed or in any other manner,
persecute the children of God; or if you do not like so hard a word as
"persecute," laugh at them, opposing them, and endeavor to put an end
to the good work in their hearts.

I shall in the name of Christ, first put the question to you, "Saul,
Saul, why persecutest thou me?" In the second place, I shall in
Christ's name expostulate with you, "It is hard for thee to kick
against the pricks;" and then if God shall bless what is said to the
touching of your heart, it may be that the Master shall give you a few
words of comfort, as he did the apostle Paul, when he said, "Rise and
stand upon thy feet: for I have appeared unto thee for this purpose, to
make thee a minister and a witness both of these things which thou hast
seen, and of those things in the which I will appear unto thee."

I. In the first place, then, we will consider THE QUESTION, WHICH JESUS
CHRIST PUT OUT OF HEAVEN TO PAUL, has been put to you this morning.

First, notice what a personal question it was, "Saul, Saul, why
persecutest thou me?" When I preach to you, I am obliged to address you
all as an assembly; it is not possible for me, except on rare
occasions, to single out an individual, and describe his character,
although under the hand of the Spirit it is sometimes done; but in the
main I am obliged to describe the character as a whole, and deal with
it in the mass. But not so our Master; he did not say out of heaven.
"Saul, why does the synagogue persecute me? Why do the Jews hate my
religion?" No; it was put more pertinently than that–"Saul, Saul, why
persecutest thou me?" If it had been put in general terms, it would
have glanced off from the heart of the apostle; it could have been like
an arrow which had missed the mark, and barely grazed the skin of the
man in whose heart it was intended to find a home; but when it came
personally–"Why persecutest thou me?"–there was no getting off it. I
pray the Lord to make the question personal to some of you. There be
many of us here present who have had personal preaching to our souls.
Do you not remember, dear brother in Christ, when you were first
pricked in the heart, how personal the preacher was? I remember it
well. It seemed to me that I was the only person in the whole place, as
if a black wall were round about me, and I were shut in with the
preacher, something like the prisoners at the Penitentiary, who each
sit in their box and can see no one but the chaplain. I thought all he
said was meant for me; I felt persuaded that some one knew my
character, and had written to him and told him all, and that he had
personally picked me out. Why, I thought he fixed his eyes on me; and I
have reason to believe he did, but still he said he knew nothing about
my case. Oh, that men would hear the word preached, and that God would
so bless them in their hearing, that they might feel it to have a
personal application to their own hearts.

But note again–the Apostle received some information as to the
persecuted one. If you had asked Saul who it was he persecuted, he
would have said, "Some poor fishermen, that had been setting up an
impostor; I am determined to put them down. Why, who are they? They are
the poorest of the world; the very scum and draff of society; if they
were princes and kings we perhaps might let them have their opinion;
but these poor miserable ignorant fellows, I do not see why they are to
be allowed to carry out their infatuation, and I shall persecute them.
Moreover, most of them are women I have been persecuting–poor ignorant
creatures. What right have they to set their judgment up above the
priests? They have no right to have an opinion of their own, and
therefore it is quite right for me to make them turn away from their
foolish errors." But see in what a different light Jesus Christ puts
it. He does not say, "Saul, Saul, why didst thou persecute Stephen?" or
"Why art thou about to drag the people of Damascus to prisons?"
No–"Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?" Did you ever think of it in
that light? You have got a poor man who works for you, who wears a
fustian jacket. He is nobody. You may laugh at him. He will not tell
anybody, or even if he does, you will not be called to book about it,
because he is nobody. You dare not laugh so at a duke or an earl. You
would mind your behavior if you were in such company as that; but
because this is a poor man, you think you have a license given you to
laugh at his religion. But remember, that beneath the fustian jacket
there is Jesus Christ himself. Inasmuch as you have done this unto one
of the least of his brethren, you have done it unto him. Has the
thought ever struck you, that when you laughed you were laughing, not
at him, but at his Master? Whether it struck you or not it is a great
truth, that Jesus Christ takes all the injuries which are done to his
people as if they had been done to him. You locked your wife out the
other night, did you, because she would frequent the house of God? When
she stood there shivering in the midnight air, or entreating you to let
her in, if your eyes had been wide open, you would have seen the Lord
of life and glory shivering there, and he might have said to you,
"Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?" And then you would have seen it
to have been a very much greater sin than you imagine it now to be. You
laughed at a little child the other day, because the child sang its
simple hymn, and evidently sang it from its heart. Did you know,–or if
you did not know it then, know it now,–did you know that you were
laughing at Christ; that when you mocked her you were mocking her
Master, and that Jesus Christ has set down that laugh in his great
book, as an indignation done to his own real person. "Why persecutest
thou me?" If ye could see Christ enthroned in heaven, reigning there in
the splendours of his majesty, would ye laugh at him? If ye could see
him sitting on his great throne coming to judge the world, would ye
laugh at him? Oh! as all the rivers run into the sea, so all the
streams of the churches suffering ran into Christ. If the clouds be
full of rain they empty themselves upon the earth, and if the
Christian's heart be full of woes it empties itself into the breast of
Jesus. Jesus is the great reservoir of all his people's woes, and by
laughing at his people you help to fill that reservoir to its brim. and
one day will it burst in the fury of its might and the floods shall
sweep you away, and the sand foundation upon which your house is
builded shall give way, and then what shall ye do when ye shall stand
before the face of him whose person ye have mocked and whose name ye
have despised?

We will put the question in another way; it is a very reasonable one,
and seems to demand an answer. "Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?"
"Saul," the Master might have said, "what have I done to hurt thee?
When I was on earth did I say a word against thy character–did I
damage thy reputation–did I injure thy person–did I ever grieve
thee–did I ever say a hard word against thee? What hurt have I ever
done thee? Why art thou so provoked against me? If I had been thy
bitterest enemy, and had spit in thy face, thou couldest not have been
more wroth with me than now. But why, man, wilt thou be angry against
one who has never hurt thee–who has never done thee a displeasure? Oh!
why persecutest thou me? Is there anything in my character that
deserves it? Was I not pure, and holy, and separate from sinners? Did I
not go about doing good? I raised the dead, I healed the lepers. I fed
the hungry. I clothed the naked; for which of these works dost thou
hate me? Why persecutest thou me?" The question comes home to you in
the same manner this morning. Ah! man, why dost thou persecute Christ?
He puts it to thee. What hurt has he ever done thee? Has Christ ever
despoiled you, robbed you, injured you in any way whatever? Has his
gospel in any way whatever taken away the comforts of life from you, or
done you any damage? You dare not say that. If it were the Mormonism of
Joe Smith, I wonder not that you should persecute it, though, even
then, you would have no right to do so, for that might take the wife of
your bosom from you. If it were a filthy and lustful system that would
undermine the foundations of society, you might think yourself right in
persecuting it. But has Christ ever taught his disciples to rob you, to
cheat you, to curse you? Does not his doctrine teach the very reverse,
and are not his followers, when they are true to their Master and
themselves, the very reverse of this? Why hate a man who has done you
no injury? Why hate a religion that does not interfere with you? If you
will not follow Christ yourself, how does it injure you to let others
do so? You say it injures your family; prove it, sir. Has it injured
your wife? Does she love you less than before? Is she less obedient?
You dare not say that. Has it hurt your child? Is your child less
reverent to his father because he fears God? Is he less fond of you
because he loves his Redeemer best of all? In what respect has Christ
ever hurt any of you? He has fed you with the bounties of his
providence. The clothes you wear to-day are the gifts of his bounty.
The breath in your nostrils he has preserved to you, and will you curse
him for this? It was but the other day that an avenging angel seized
the axe, and the Master said, "Cut it down, why cumbereth it the
ground?" And Jesus came and put his hand upon the auger's arm, and
said, "Stay, stay yet another year until I have digged about it and
dunged it." Your life was spared by him, and you curse him for this;
you blaspheme him because he has spared your life, and spend the breath
which his own grace has given you, in cursing the God that allows you
to breathe. You little know from how many dangers Christ in his
providence protects you. You can little guess how numerous the mercies
which, unseen by you, are poured into your lap every hour. And yet, for
mercies innumerable, for grace that cannot be stopped by your iniquity,
for love that cannot be overpowered by your injuries, do you curse the
Saviour for all this? Base ingratitude! Truly, ye have hated him
without a cause; ye have persecuted him, though he has loved you, and
has done nought to injure you.

But let me picture the Master to you once more, and methinks you will
never, never persecute him again, if you do but see him. Oh, if you
could but see the Lord Jesus, you must love him; if you did but know
his worth you could not hate him! He was more beautiful than all the
sons of men. Persuasion sat upon his lips, as if all the bees of
eloquence had brought their honey there, and made his mouth the hive.
He spoke and so did he speak, that if a lion had heard him, it would
have crouched and licked his feet. Oh, how roving was he in his
tenderness! Remember that prayer of his when the iron was piercing his
hand–"Father, forgive them." You never heard him, all his life long,
once saying an angry word to those who persecuted him. He was reviled,
but he reviled not again. Even when he was led like a lamb to the
slaughter, he was dumb before his shearers, and he opened not his
mouth. But though fairer than the sons of men, both in person and in
character, yet he was the Man of Sorrows. Grief had ploughed his brow
with her deepest furrows. His cheeks were sunken and hollow with agony.
He had fasted many a day, and often had he thirsted. He toiled from
morning to night; then spent all night in prayer; then rose again to
labour–and all this without reward–with no hope of getting anything
from any man. He had no house, no home, no gold, no saver. Foxes had
holes and the birds of the air had nests, but he, the Son of Man, had
not where to lay his head. He was the persecuted man, hunted by his
enemies from place to place, with scarce a friend to help him. Oh, had
ye seen him; had ye seen his loveliness and his misery united, had ye
seen his kindness, and yet the cruelty of his enemies, your hearts must
have melted–you would have said, "No, Jesus, I cannot persecute thee!
No, I will stand between thee and the burning sunshine. If I cannot be
thy disciple, yet at any rate I will not be thy opposer. If this cloak
can shelter thee in thy midnight wrestlings, there it is; and if this
waterpot can draw thee water from the well, I will let it down and thou
shalt have enough; for if I love thee not, since thou art so poor, so
sad and so good, I cannot hate thee. No, I will not persecute thee!"
But though I feel certain, if you could see Christ, you must say this,
yet have you really persecuted him in his disciples, in the members of
his spiritual body, and I therefore put to you the question, "Saul,
Saul, why persecutest thou me?" God help you to answer that question,
and the answer must be shame and confusion of face.

II. This shall bring me to the second point–EXPOSTULATION. "It is hard
for thee to kick against the pricks." There is a figure here; there is
an allusion to the ox goad. When the ox was yoked for ploughing, if he
did not move on in as sprightly a manner as was desired, the husbandman
pricked him with a long rod that ended with an iron point. Very likely,
as soon as the ox felt the goad, instead of going on, he struck out as
hard as he could behind him. He kicked against the goad, sending the
iron deep into his own flesh. Of course the husbandman who was guiding
him kept his goad there still, and the more frequently the ox kicked,
the more he was hurt. But go he must. He was in the hand of man, who
must and will rule the beast. It was just his own option to kick as
long as he pleased, for he did no harm to his driver, but only to
himself. You will see that there is a beauty in this figure, if I pull
it to pieces, and ask you a question or two.

It is hard for you to kick against the goad; for, in the first place,
you do not really accomplish your purpose. When the ox kicks against
the goad it is to spite the husbandman for having goaded him onward;
but instead of hurting the husbandman it hurts itself. And when you
have persecuted Christ in order to stop the progress of his gospel, let
me ask you, have you ever stopped it at all? No; and ten thousand like
you would not be able to stop the mighty onward rush of the host of
God's elect. If thou thickest, O man, that thou canst stop the progress
of Christ's church, go thou and first bind the sweet influences of the
Pleiades, and bid the universe stand still instead of circling round
those fair stars! Go, stand by the winds, and bid them cease their
wailing, or take thy station upon a hoary cliff, and bid the roaring
sea roll back when its tide is marching on the beach; and when thou
hast stopped the universe, when sun, moon, and stars have been obedient
to thy mandate, when the sea hath heard thee and obeyed thee, then come
forth and stop the omnipotent progress of the church of Christ. But
thou canst not do it. "The kings of the earth set themselves, and the
rulers take counsel together against the Lord, and against his
anointed, saying, Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their
cords from us." But what said the Almighty? He did not even get up to
combat with them. "He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh; the Lord
shall have them in derision. Then shall he speak unto them in his wrath
and vex them in his sore displeasure. Yet have I set my king upon my
holy hill of Zion." The church cares not for all the noise of the
world. "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Therefore, will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though
the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though waters
thereof roar, and be troubled, and though the mountains shake with the
swelling thereof." Ah, in your hosts ye have not prevailed, and think
ye, O puny man, that one by one, ye shall be able to conquer? Your wish
may be strong enough, but your wish can never be accomplished. You may
desire it anxiously, but you shall never attain thereto.

But put it as a personal matter, have you ever succeeded in stopping
the work of grace in the heart of any one? You tried to laugh it out of
your wife, but if she really was converted, you never would laugh it
out of her. You may have tried to vex your little child; but if grace
be in that child, I defy you and your master the devil to get it out.
Ay, young man, you may laugh at your shopmate, but he will beat you in
the long run. He may sometimes be abashed, but you never will turn him.
If he is a hypocrite you will, and perhaps there will be no great loss,
but if he be a true soldier of Christ, he can bear a great deal more
than the laugh of an emptyheaded being like yourself. You need not for
a moment flatter yourself that he will be afraid of you. He will have
to endure a greater baptism of suffering than that, and he will not be
cowed by the first shower of your poor, pitiful, malicious folly. And
as for you, sir merchant, you may persecute your man, but see if you
will get him to yield. Why, I know a man whose master had tried very
hard to make him go against his conscience; but he said, "No, sir." And
the master thought, "Well, he is a very valuable servant; but I will
beat him if I can." So he threatened that if he did not do as he wished
he would turn him away. The man was dependent on his master. and he
knew not what he should do for his daily bread. So he said to his
master honestly at once, "Sir, I don't know of any other situation, I
should be very sorry to leave you, for I have been very comfortable.
but if it comes to that, sir, I would sooner starve than submit my
conscience to any one." The man left, and the master had to go after
him to bring him back again. And so it will be in every case. If
Christians are but faithful they must win the day. It is no use your
kicking against them; you cannot hurt them. They must, they shall be
conquerors through him that hath loved them.

But there is another way of putting it. When the ox kicked against the
goad, he got no good by it. Kick as he might, he was never benefited by
it. If the ox had stopped and nibbled a blade of grass or a piece of
hay, why, then he would have been wise, perhaps, in standing still. but
to stand still simply to be goaded and to kick, simply to have iron
stuck into your flesh, is a rather foolish thing. Now, I ask you, what
have you ever got by opposing Christ? Suppose you say you don't like
religion, what have you ever got by hating it? I will tell you what you
have got. You have got those red eyes sometimes on the Monday morning,
after the drunkenness of the Sunday night. I will tell you what you
have got, young man. You have got that shattered constitution, which,
even if you had now turned it to the paths of virtue, must hang about
you till you leave it in your grave. What have you got? Why, there are
some of you who might have been respectable members of society, who
have got that old broken hat, that old ragged coat, that drunken,
slouched manner about you, and that character that you would like to
let down and run away from, for it is no good to you. That is what you
have got by opposing Christ. What have you got by opposing him? Why, a
house without furniture–for through your drunkenness you have had to
sell everything of value you had. You have got your children in rags.
and your wife in misery, and your eldest daughter, perhaps, running
into shame, and your son rising up to curse the Saviour, as you
yourself have done. What have you got by opposing Christ! What man in
all the world ever got anything by it? There is a serious loss
sustained, but as for gain, there is nothing of the sort.

But you say, though you have opposed Christ, still you are moral. Again
I will put it to you–Have you ever got anything even then by opposing
Christ? Has it made your family any the happier, do you think? Has it
made you any the happier yourself? Do you feel after you have been
laughing at your wife, or your child or your man, that you can sleep
any the sounder? Do you feel that to be a thing which will quiet your
conscience when you come to die? Remember, you must die; and do you
think that when you are dying, it will afford you any consolation to
think that you did your best to destroy the souls of other people? No.
you must confess it is a poor game. You are getting no good by it, but
you are doing yourself a positive injury. Ah, drunkard, go on with your
drunkenness, remember that every drunken fit leaves a plague behind
it–that you will have to feel one day. It is pleasant to sin to-day,
but it will not be pleasant to reap the harvest of it tomorrow the
seeds of sin are sweet when we sow them, but the fruit is frightfully
bitter when we come to house it at last. The wine of sin tasteth sweet
when it goeth down, but it is as gall and vinegar in the bowels. Take
heed, ye that hate Christ and oppose his gospel for as certainly as the
Lord Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and his religion is true, you are
heaping on your head a load of injury, instead of deriving good. "Saul,
Saul, why persecutest thou me? it is hard for thee to kick against the
pricks."

But kick as the ox might, it had to go forward at last. We have seen a
horse stand still in the street, and the driver, who had not very much
patience with him, has so belaboured him, that we wondered how the poor
horse could stand still under such a torrent of blows; but we have
observed at last that the horse is obliged to go on, and we wondered
what he got by standing still. It is just the same with you. If the
Lord means to make a Christian out of you, you may kick against
Christianity, but he will have you at last. If Jesus Christ intends
your salvation you may curse him, but he will make you preach his
gospel one day, if he likes to do so. Ah, if Christ had willed it,
Voltaire who cursed him, might have made a second apostle Paul. He
could not have resisted sovereign grace, if Christ had so determined.
If anyone had told the apostle Paul when he was going to Damascus, that
he would one day become a preacher of Christianity, he would no doubt,
have laughed at it as ridiculous nonsense; but the Lord had the key of
his will, and he wound it up as he pleased. And so it will be with
you–if he has determined to have you as one of his followers–

"If, as the eternal mandate ran

Almighty grace arrest that man,"–

Almighty grace will arrest you; and the bloodiest of persecutors will
be made the boldest of saints. Then why persecutest thou me? Perhaps
you are despising the very Saviour you will one day love; trying to
knock down the very thing that you will one day try to build up. Mayhap
you are persecuting the men you will call your brothers and sisters. It
is always well for a man not to go so far that he cannot go back
respectably. Now do not go too far in opposing Christ. for one of these
times it may be you will be very glad to come crouching at his feet.
But there is this sad reflection, if Christ does not save you, still
you must go on. You may kick against the pricks, but you cannot get
away from his dominion; you may kick against Christ, but you cannot
cast him from his throne, you cannot drag him out of heaven. You may
kick against him, but you cannot prevent his condemning you at last.
You may laugh at him, but you cannot laugh away the day of judgment.
You may scoff at religion; but all your scoffs cannot put it out. You
may jeer at heaven; but all your jeers will not take one single note
from the harps of the redeemed. No, the thing is just the same as if
you did not kick; it makes no difference except to yourself: Oh how
foolish must you be, to persevere in a rebellion which is harmful to
none but your own soul, which is not injurious to him whom you hate,
but which, if he pleases, he can stop, or if he doth not stop, he can
and will revenge.

III. And now I close up by addressing myself to some here, whose hearts
are already touched. Do you this morning feel your need of a Saviour?
Are you conscious of your guilt in having opposed him, and has the Holy
Spirit made you willing now to confess your sins? Are you saying!
"Lord, have mercy upon me a sinner?" Then I have GOOD NEWS for you.
Paul, who persecuted Christ, was forgiven. He says he was the very
chief of sinners, but he obtained mercy. So shall you. Nay, more, Paul
not only obtained mercy, he obtained honor. He was made an honored
minister to preach the gospel of Christ, and so may you. Yes if thou
repentest, Christ may make use of you to bring others to him. It
strikes me with wonder when I see how many of the very greatest of
sinners have become the most useful of men. Do you see John Bunyan
yonder? He is cursing God. He goes into the belfry and pulls the bell
on Sunday, because he likes the bellringing, but when the church door
is open, he is playing bowls upon the village green. There is the
village tap, and there is no one that laughs so loud there as John
Bunyan. There are some people going to the meeting house; there is no
one curses them so much as John. He is a ringleader in all vice. If
there is a hen roost to be robbed, Jack's your man. If there is any
iniquity to be done, if there be any evil in the parish, you need not
guess twice, John Bunyan is at the bottom of it. But who is it stands
there in the deck before the magistrate? Who is it I heard just
now–"If you let me out of prison today, I will preach the gospel
tomorrow, by the help of God?" Who was it that lay twelve years in
prison, and when they said he might go out if he would promise not to
preach, replied, "No, I will be here till the moss grows on mine
eyelids, but I must and will preach God's gospel as soon as I have
liberty?" Why, that is John Bunyan, the very man who cursed Christ the
other day. A ringleader in vice has become the glorious dreamer, the
very leader of God's hosts. See, what God did for him, and what God did
for him he will do for you, if now you repent and seek the mercy of God
in Christ Jesus.

"He is able, he is willing, doubt no more."

Oh! I trust I have some here who have hated God, but who are
nevertheless God's elect; some that have despised him, but who are
bought with blood; some that have kicked against the pricks, but yet
almighty grace will bring them onward. There are some here, I doubt
not, who have cursed God to his face, who shall one day sing
hallelujahs before his throne; some that have indulged in lusts all but
bestial, who shall one day wear the white robe, and move their fingers
along the golden harps of the glorified spirits in heaven. Happy is it
to have such a gospel to preach to such sinners! To the persecutor,
Christ is preached. Come to Jesus whom thou hast persecuted.

"Come, and welcome, sinner, come."

And now bear with me one moment if I address you yet again. The
probability stares me in the face that I may have but very few more
opportunities of addressing you upon subjects that concern your soul.
My hearer, I shall arrogate nothing to myself, but this one thing–"I
have not shunned to declare the whole counsel of God," and God is my
witness with how many sighs, and tears, and prayers, I have labored for
your good. Out of this place I believe thousands have been called;
among you whom I now see there is a large number of converted persons;
according to your own testimony you have had a thorough change, and you
are not now what you were. But I am conscious of this fact, that there
are many of you who have attended here now almost these two years, who
are just what you were when you first came. There are some of you whose
hearts are not touched. You sometimes weep, but still your lives have
never been changed; you are yet "in the gall of bitterness, and in the
bonds of iniquity." Well, sirs, if I never address you again, there is
one favor that I would crave of you. If you will not turn to God, if
you are determined to be lost, if you will not hear my rebuke nor turn
at my exhortation, I ask this one favor at least let me know, and let
me have this confidence, that I am clear of your blood. I think you
must confess this. I have not shunned to preach of hell with all its
horrors, until I have been laughed at, as if I always preached upon it.
I have not shunned to preach upon the most sweet and pleasing themes of
the gospel, till I have feared lest I should make my preaching
effeminate, instead of retaining the masculine vigor of a Boanerges. I
have not shunned to preach the law; that great commandment has wrung in
your ears, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God, and thou shalt love thy
neighbor as thyself." I have never feared the great, nor have I courted
their smile; I have rebuked nobility as I would rebuke the peasantry,
and to everyone of you I have dealt a portion of meat in due season. I
know that this much can be said of me–"Here stands one that never
feared the face of man yet;" and I hope never wilt. Amidst contumely,
and rebuke, and reproach, I have sought to be faithful to you and to my
God. If then, you will be damned, let me have this one thing as a
consolation for your misery, when I shall think of so frightful a
thought–that you are not damned for the want of calling after; you are
not lost for the want of weeping after, and not lost, let me add, for
the want of praying after. In the name of him who shall judge the quick
and dead according to my Gospel, and of him that shall come in the
clouds of heaven, and by that fearful day when the pillars of this
earth shall totter, and the heavens shall fall about your ears–by that
day when "Depart, ye cursed," or "Come, ye blessed," must be the dread
alternative, I charge you, lay these things to heart, and as I shall
face my God to account for my honesty to you, and my faithfulness to
him, so remember, you must stand before his bar, to give an account of
how you heard, and how you acted after hearing; and woe unto you if,
having been lifted up like Capernaum with privileges, you should be
cast down like Sodom and Gomorrah, or lower still than they, because
you repented not.

Oh! Master! turn sinners to thyself; for Jesus sake! Amen.
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