The Remembrance of Christ

A Sermon

(No. 2)

Delivered on Sabbath Evening, January 7th, 1855, by the

REV. C.H. SPURGEON

At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

"This do in remembrance of me."–1 Corinthians 11:24.

IT SEEMS, then, that Christians may forget Christ. The text implies the
possibility of forgetfulness concerning him whom gratitude and
affection should constrain them to remember. There could be no need for
this loving exhortation, if there were not a fearful supposition that
our memories might prove treacherous, and our remembrance superficial
in its character, or changing in its nature. Nor is this a bare
supposition: it is, alas, too well confirmed in our experience, not as
a possibility, but as a lamentable fact. It seems at first sight too
gross a crime to lay at the door of converted men. It appears almost
impossible that those who have been redeemed by the blood of the dying
Lamb should ever forget their Ransomer; that those who have been loved
with an everlasting love by the eternal Son of God, should ever forget
that Son; but if startling to the ear, it is alas, too apparent to the
eye to allow us to deny the fact. Forget him who ne'er forgot us!
Forget him who poured his blood forth for our sins! Forget him who
loved us even to the death! Can it be possible? Yes it is not only
possible, but conscience confesses that it is too sadly a fault of all
of us, that we can remember anything except Christ. The object which we
should make the monarch of our hearts, is the very thing we are most
inclined to forget. Where one would think that memory would linger, and
unmindfulness would be an unknown intruder, that is the spot which is
desecrated by the feet of forgetfulness, and that the place where
memory too seldom looks. I appeal to the conscience of every Christian
here: Can you deny the truth of what I utter? Do you not find
yourselves forgetful of Jesus? Some creature steals away your heart,
and you are unmindful of him upon whom your affection ought to be set.
Some earthly business engrosses your attention when you should have
your eye steadily fixed upon the cross. It is the incessant round of
world, world, world; the constant din of earth, earth, earth, that
takes away the soul from Christ. Oh! my friends, is it not too sadly
true that we can recollect anything but Christ, and forget nothing so
easy as him whom we ought to remember? While memory will preserve a
poisoned weed, it suffereth the Rose of Sharon to wither.

The cause of this is very apparent: it lies in one or two facts. We
forget Christ, because regenerate persons as we really are, still
corruption and death remain even in the regenerate. We forget him
because we carry about with us the old Adam of sin and death. If we
were purely new-born creatures, we should never forget the name of him
whom we love. If we were entirely regenerated beings, we should sit
down and meditate on all our Saviour did and suffered; all he is; all
he has gloriously promised to perform; and never would our roving
affections stray; but centered, nailed, fixed eternally to one object,
we should continually contemplate the death and sufferings of our Lord.
But alas! we have a worm in the heart, a pest-house, a charnel-house
within, lusts, vile imaginations, and strong evil passions, which, like
wells of poisonous water, send out continually streams of impurity. I
have a heart, which God knoweth, I wish I could wring from my body and
hurl to an infinite distance; a soul which is a cage of unclean birds,
a den of loathsome creatures, where dragons haunt and owls do
congregate, where every evil beast of ill-omen dwells; a heart too vile
to have a parallel–"deceitful above all things and desperately
wicked." This is the reason why I am forgetful of Christ. Nor is this
the sole cause; I suspect it lies somewhere else too. We forget Christ
because there are so many other things around us to attract our
attention. "But," you say, "they ought not to do so, because though
they are around us, they are nothing in comparison with Jesus Christ:
though they are in dread proximity to our hearts, what are they
compared with Christ?" But do you know, dear friends, that the nearness
of an object has a very great effect upon its power? The sun is many,
many times larger than the moon, but the moon has a greater influence
upon the tides of the ocean than the sun, simply because it is nearer,
and has a greater power of attraction. So I find that a little crawling
worm of the earth has more effect upon my soul than the glorious Christ
in heaven; a handful of golden earth, a puff of fame, a shout of
applause, a thriving business, my house, my home, will affect me more
than all the glories of the upper world; yea, than the beatific vision
itself: simply because earth is near, and heaven is far away. Happy
day, when I shall be borne aloft on angels' wings to dwell for ever
near my Lord, to bask in the sunshine of his smile, and to be lost in
the ineffable radiance of his lovely countenance. We see then the cause
of forgetfulness; let us blush over it; let us be sad that we neglect
our Lord so much, and now let us attend to his word, "This do in
remembrance of me," hoping that its solemn sounds may charm away the
demon of base ingratitude.

We shall speak, first of all, concerning the blessed object of memory;
secondly, upon the advantages to be derived from remembering this
Person; thirdly, the gracious help, to our memory–"This do in
remembrance of me;" and fourthly, the gentle command, " This do in
remembrance of me." May the Holy Ghost open my lips and your hearts,
that we may receive blessings.

I. First of all, we shall speak of THE GLORIOUS AND PRECIOUS OBJECT OF
MEMORY–"This do in remembrance of ME." Christians have many treasures
to lock up in the cabinet of memory. They ought to remember their
election–"Chosen of God ere time began." They ought to be mindful of
their extraction, that they were taken out of the miry clay, hewn out
of the horrible pit. They ought to recollect their effectual calling,
for they were called of God, and rescued by the power of the Holy
Ghost. They ought to remember their special deliverances–all that has
been done for them, and all the mercies bestowed on them. But there is
one whom they should embalm in their souls with the most costly
spices–one who, above all other gifts of God, deserves to be had in
perpetual remembrance. One I said, for I mean not an act, I mean not a
deed; but it is a Person whose portrait I would frame in gold, and hang
up in the state-room of the soul. I would have you earnest students of
all the deeds of the conquering Messiah. I would have you conversant
with the life of our Beloved. But O forget not his person; for the text
says, "This do in remembrance of me." It is Christ's glorious person
which ought to be the object of our remembrance. It is his image which
should be enshrined in every temple of the Holy Ghost.

But some will say, "How can we remember Christ's person, when we never
saw it? We cannot tell what was the peculiar form of his visage; we
believe his countenance to be fairer than that of any other
man–although through grief and suffering more marred–but since we did
not see it, we cannot remember it. We never saw his feet as they trod
the journeys of his mercy; we never beheld his hands as he stretched
them out full of lovingkindness; we cannot remember the wondrous
intonation of his language, when in more than seraphic eloquence, he
awed the multitude, and chained their ears to him; we cannot picture
the sweet smile that ever hung on his lips, nor that awful frown with
which he dealt out anathemas against the Pharisees; we cannot remember
him in his sufferings and agonies, for we never saw him." Well,
beloved, I suppose it is true that you cannot remember the visible
appearance, for you were not then born; but do you not know that even
the apostle said, though he had known Christ after the flesh, yet,
thenceforth after the flesh he would know Christ no more. The natural
appearance, the race, the descent, the poverty, the humble garb, were
nothing in the apostle's estimation of his glorified Lord. And thus,
though you do not know him after the flesh, you may know him after the
spirit; in this manner you can remember Jesus as much now as Peter, or
Paul, or John, or James, or any of those favoured ones who once trod in
his footsteps, walked side by side with him, or laid their heads upon
his bosom. Memory annihilates distance and over leapeth time, and can
behold the Lord, though he be exalted in glory.

Ah! let us spend five minutes in remembering Jesus. Let us remember him
in his baptism, when descending into the waters of Jordan, a voice was
heard, saying, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased."
Behold him coming up dripping from the stream! Surely the conscious
water must have blushed that it contained its God. He slept within its
waves a moment, to consecrate the tomb of baptism, in which those who
are dead with Christ are buried with him. Let us remember him in the
wilderness, whither he went straight from his immersion. Oh! I have
often thought of that scene in the desert, when Christ, weary and
way-worn, sat him down, perhaps upon the gnarled roots of some old
tree. Forty days that he fasted, he was an hungered, when in the
extremity of his weakness there came the evil spirit. Perhaps he had
veiled his demon royalty in the form of some aged pilgrim, and taking
up a stone, said, "Way-worn pilgrim, if thou be the Son of God command
this stone to be made bread." Methinks I see him, with his cunning
smile, and his malicious leer, as he held the stone, and said,
"If,"–blasphemous if,–"If thou be the Son of God, command that this
stone shall become a meal for me and thee, for both of us are hungry,
and it will be an act of mercy; thou canst do it easily; speak the
word, and it shall be like the bread of heaven; we will feed upon it,
and thou and I will be friends for ever." But Jesus said–and O how
sweetly did he say it–"Man shall not live by bread alone." Oh! how
wonderfully did Christ fight the tempter! Never was there such a battle
as that. It was a duel foot to foot–a single-handed combat–when the
champion lion of the pit, and the mighty lion of the tribe of Judah,
fought together. Splendid sight! Angels stood around to gaze upon the
spectacle, just as men of old did sit to see the tournament of noted
warriors. There Satan gathered up his strength; here Apollyon
concentrated all his satanic power, that in this giant wrestle he might
overthrow the seed of the woman. But Jesus was more than a match for
him; in the wrestling he gave him a deadly fall, and came off more than
a conqueror. Lamb of God! I will remember thy desert strivings, when
next I combat with Satan. When next I have a conflict with roaring
Diabolus, I will look to him who conquered once for all, and broke the
dragon's head with his mighty blows.

Further, I beseech you remember him in all his daily temptations and
hourly trials, in that life-long struggle of his, through which he
passed. Oh! what a mighty tragedy was the death of Christ! and his life
too? Ushered in with a song, it closed with a shriek. "It is finished."
It began in a manger, and ended on a cross; but oh, the sad interval
between! Oh! the black pictures of persecution, when his friends
abhorred him; when his foes frowned at him as he passed the streets;
when he heard the hiss of calumny, and was bitten by the foul tooth of
envy; when slander said he had a devil and was mad: that he was a
drunken man and a wine-bibber; and when his righteous soul was vexed
with the ways of the wicked. Oh! Son of God, I must remember thee; I
cannot help remembering thee, when I think of those years of toil and
trouble which thou didst live for my sake. But you know my chosen
theme–the place where I can always best remember Christ. It is a shady
garden full of olives. O that spot! I would that I had eloquence, that
I might take you there. Oh! if the Spirit would but take us, and set us
down hard by the mountains of Jerusalem, I would say, see there runs
the brook of Kedron, which the king himself did pass; and there you see
the olive trees. Possibly, at the foot of that olive, lay the three
disciples when they slept; and there, ah! there, I see drops of blood.
Stand here, my soul, a moment; those drops of blood–dost thou behold
them? Mark them; they are not the blood of wounds; they are the blood
of a man whose body was then unwounded. O my soul picture him when he
knelt down in agony and sweat,–sweat, because he wrestled with
God,–sweat, because he agonized with his Father. "My Father, if it be
possible, let this cup pass from me." O Gethsemane! thy shades are
deeply solemn to my soul. But ah! those drops of blood! Surely it is
the climax of the height of misery; it is the last of the mighty acts
of this wondrous sacrifice. Can love go deeper than that? Can it stoop
to greater deeds of mercy? Oh! had I eloquence, I would bestow a tongue
on every drop of blood that is there; that your hearts might rise in
mutiny against your languor and coldness, and speak out with earnest
burning remembrance of Jesus. And now, farewell, Gethsemane.

But I will take you somewhere else, where you shall still behold the
"Man of Sorrows." I will lead you to Pilate's hall, and let you see him
endure the mockeries of cruel soldiers: the smitings of mailed gloves;
the blows of clenched fists; the shame; the spitting, the plucking of
the hair: the cruel buffetings. Oh! can you not picture the King of
Martyrs, stript of his garments; exposed to the gaze of fiend-like men?
See you not the crown about his temples, each thorn acting as a lancet
to pierce his head? Mark you not his lacerated shoulders, and the white
bones starting out from the bleeding flesh? Oh, Son of Man! I see thee
scourged and flagellated with rods and whips, how can I henceforward
cease to remember thee? My memory would be more treacherous than
Pilate, did it not every cry, Ecce Homo,–"Behold the man."

Now, finish the scene of woe by a view of Calvary. Think of the pierced
hands and the bleeding side; think of the scorching sun, and then the
entire darkness; remember the broiling fever and the dread thirst;
think of the death shriek, "It is finished!" and of the groans which
were its prelude. This is the object of memory. Let us never forget
Christ. I beseech you, for the love of Jesus, let him have the chief
place in your memories. Let not the pearl of great price be dropped
from your careless hand into the dark ocean of oblivion.

I cannot, however, help saying one thing before I leave this head: and
that is, there are some of you who can very well carry away what I have
said, because you have read it often, and heard it before; but still
you cannot spiritually remember anything about Christ, because you
never had him manifested to you, and what we have never known, we
cannot remember. Thanks be unto God, I speak not of you all, for in
this place there is a goodly remnant according to the election of
grace, and to them I turn. Perhaps I could tell you of some old barn,
hedge-row, or cottage; or if you have lived in London, about some
garret, or some dark lane or street, where first you met with Christ;
or some chapel into which you strayed, and you might say, "Thank God, I
can remember the seat where first he met with me, and spoke the
whispers of love to my soul, and told me he had purchased me."

"Dost mind the place, the spot of ground,

Where Jesus did thee meet?"

Yes, and I would love to build a temple on the spot, and to raise some
monument there, where Jehovah-Jesus first spoke to my soul, and
manifested himself to me. But he has revealed himself to you more than
once–has he not? And you can remember scores of places where the Lord
hath appeared of old unto you, saying, "Behold I have loved you with an
everlasting love." If you cannot all remember such things, there are
some of you that can; and I am sure they will understand me when I say,
come and do this in remembrance of Christ–in remembrance of all his
loving visitations, of his sweet wooing words, of his winning smiles
upon you, of all he has said and communicated to your souls. Remember
all these things tonight, if it be possible for memory to gather up the
mighty aggregate of grace. "Bless the Lord. O my soul, and forget not
all his benefits."

II. Having spoken upon the blessed object of our memory, we say,
secondly, a little upon THE BENEFITS TO BE DERIVED FROM A LOVING
REMEMBRANCE OF CHRIST.

Love never says, "Cui bono?" Love never asks what benefit it will
derive from love. Love from its very nature is a disinterested thing.
It loves; for the creature's sake it loves, and for nothing else. The
Christian needs no argument to make him love Christ; just as a mother
needs no argument to make her love her child. She does it because it is
her nature to do so. The new-born creature must love Christ, it cannot
help it. Oh! who can resist the matchless charms of Jesus Christ?–the
fairest of ten thousand fairs, the loveliest of ten thousand loves. Who
can refuse to adore the prince of perfection, the mirror of beauty, the
majestic Son of God? But yet it may be useful to us to observe the
advantages of remembering Christ, for they are neither few nor small.

And first, remembrance of Jesus will tend to give you hope when you are
under the burden of your sins. Notice a few characters here tonight.
There comes in a poor creature. Look at him! He has neglected himself
this last month; he looks as if he had hardly eaten his daily bread.
What is the matter with you? "Oh!" says he, "I have been under a sense
of guilt; I have been again and again lamenting, because I fear I can
never be forgiven; once I thought I was good, but I have been reading
the Bible, and I find that my heart is deceitful above all things, and
desperately wicked;' I have tried to reform, but the more I try, the
deeper I sink in the mire, there is certainly no hope for me. I feel
that I deserve no mercy; it seems to me that God must destroy me, for
he has declared, The soul that sinneth it shall die;' and die I must,
be damned I must, for I know I have broken God's law." How will you
comfort such a man? What soft words will you utter to give him peace? I
know! I will tell thee that there is one, who for thee hath made a
complete atonement; if thou only believest on him thou art safe for
ever. Remember him, thou poor dying, hopeless creature, and thou shalt
be made to sing for joy and gladness. See, the man believes, and in
ecstasy exclaims, "Oh! come all ye that fear God, and I will tell you
what he hath done for my soul."

"Tell it unto sinners, tell,

I am, I am out of hell."

Hallelujah! God hath blotted out my sins like a thick cloud! That is
one benefit to be derived from remembering Christ. It gives us hope
under a sense of sin, and tells us there is mercy yet.

Now, I must have another character. And what does he say? "I cannot
stand it any longer; I have been persecuted and ill-treated, because I
love Christ; I am mocked, and laughed at, and despised: I try to bear
it, but I really cannot. A man will be a man; tread upon a worm and he
will turn upon you; my patience altogether fails me; I am in such a
peculiar position that it is of no use to advise me to have patience,
for patience I cannot have; my enemies are slandering me, and I do not
know what to do." What shall we say to that poor man? How shall we give
him patience? What shall we preach to him? You have heard what he has
to say about himself. How shall we comfort him under this great trial?
If we suffered the same, what should we wish some friend to say to us?
Shall we tell him that other persons have borne as much? He will say,
"Miserable comforters are ye all!" No, I will tell him, "Brother, you
are persecuted; but remember the words of Jesus Christ, how he spake
unto us, and said, Rejoice in that day, and leap for joy, for great is
your reward in heaven, for so persecuted they the prophets that were
before you." My brother! think of him, who, when he died, prayed for
his murderers, and said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what
they do." All you have to bear, is as nothing compared with his mighty
sufferings. Take courage; face it again like a man; never say die. Let
not your patience be gone; take up your cross daily, and follow Christ.
Let him be your motto; set him before your eyes. And, now, receiving
this, hear what the man will say. He tells you at once–"Hail,
persecution; welcome shame. Disgrace for Jesus shall be my honor, and
scorn shall be my highest glory.

"Now, for the love I bear his name,

What was my gain I count my loss,

I pour contempt on all my shame,

And nail my glory to his cross.'"

There is another effect, you see, to remembering Christ. It tends to
give us patience under persecution. It is a girdle to brace up the
loins, so that our faith may endure to the end.

Dear friends, I should occupy your time too much if I went into the
several benefits; so I will only just run over one or two blessings to
be received. It will give us strength in temptation. I believe that
there are hours with every man, when he has a season of terrific
temptation. There was never a vessel that lived upon the mighty deep
but sometimes it had to do battle with a storm. There she is, the poor
barque, rocked up and down on the mad waves. See how they throw her
from wave to wave, and toss her to mid heaven. The winds laugh her to
scorn. Old Ocean takes the ship in his dripping fingers, and shakes it
to and fro. How the mariners cry out for fear! Do you know how you can
put oil upon the waters, and all shall be still? Yes. One potent word
shall do it. Let Jesus come; let the poor heart remember Jesus, and
steadily then the ship shall sail, for Christ has the helm. The winds
shall blow no more, for Christ shall bid them shut their mighty mouths,
and never again disturb his child. There is nothing which can give you
strength in temptation, and help you to weather the storm, like the
name of Jesus Christ, the incarnate Son of God. Then again, what
comfort it will give you on a sick bed–the name of Christ! It will
help you to be patient to those who wait upon you, and to endure the
sufferings which you have to bear; yea, it shall be so with you, that
you shall have more hope in sickness than in health, and shall find a
blessed sweetness in the bitterness of gall. Instead of feeling vinegar
in your mouth, through your trouble, you shall find honey for
sweetness, in the midst of all the trial and trouble that God will put
upon you, "For he giveth songs in the night."

But just to close up the advantages of remembering Christ, do you know
where you will have the benefit most of all? Do you know the place
where chiefly you will rejoice that you ever thought of him? I will
take you to it. Hush! Silence! You are going up stairs into a lonely
room. The curtains hang down. Some one stands there weeping. Children
are around the bed, and friends are there. See that man lying? That is
yourself. Look at him; his eyes are your eyes; his hands are your
hands. That is yourself. You will be there soon. Man! that is yourself.
Do you see it? It is a picture of yourself. Those are your eyes that
soon will be closed in death–your hands, that will lie stiff and
motionless–your lips that will be dry and parched, between which they
will put drops of water. Those are your words that freeze in air, and
drop so slowly from your dying lips. I wonder whether you will be able
to remember Christ there. If you do not, I will picture you. Behold
that man, straight up in the bed; see his eyes starting from their
sockets. His friends are all alarmed; they ask him what he sees. He
represses the emotion; he tells them he sees nothing. They know that
there is something before his eyes. He starts again. Good God! what is
that I see–I seem to see? What is it? Ah! one sigh! The soul is gone.
The body is there. What did he see? He saw a flaming throne of
judgment; he saw God upon it, with his sceptre; he saw books opened; he
beheld the throne of God, and saw a messenger, with a sword brandished
in the air to smite him low. Man! that is thyself; there thou wilt be
soon. That picture is thine own portrait. I have photographed thee to
the life. Look at it. That is where thou shalt be within a few
years–ay, within a few days. But if thou canst remember Christ, shall
I tell thee what thou wilt do? Oh! thou wilt smile in the midst of
trouble. Let me picture such a man. They put pillows behind him; he
sits up in bed, and takes the hand of the loved one, and says,
"Farewell! weep not for me; the kind God shall wipe away all tears from
every eye." Those round about are addressed, "Prepare to meet your God,
and follow me to the land of bliss." Now he has set his house in order.
All is done. Behold him, like good old Jacob, leaning on his staff,
about to die. See how his eyes sparkle; he claps his hands; they gather
round to hear what he has to say; he whispers "Victory!" and summoning
a little more strength, he cries, "Victory!" and at last, with his
final gasp, "Victory, through him that loved us!" and he dies. This is
one of the great benefits to be derived from remembering Christ–to be
enabled to meet death with blessed composure.

III. We are now arrived at the third portion of our meditation, which
is a SWEET AID TO MEMORY.

At schools we used certain books, called "Aids to Memory." I am sure
they rather perplexed than assisted me. Their utility was equivalent to
that of a bundle of staves under a traveller's arm: true he might use
them one by one to walk with, but in the mean time he carried a host of
others which he would never need. But our Saviour was wiser than all
our teachers, and his remembrances are true and real aids to memory.
His love tokens have an unmistakeable language, and they sweetly win
our attention.

Behold the whole mystery of the sacred Eucharist. It is bread and wine
which are lively emblems of the body and blood of Jesus. The power to
excite remembrance consists in the appeal thus made to the senses. Here
the eye, the hand, the mouth, find joyful work. The bread is tasted,
and entering within, works upon the sense of taste, which is one of the
most powerful. The wine is sipped–the act is palpable. We know that we
are drinking, and thus the senses, which are usually clogs to the soul,
become wings to lift the mind in contemplation. Again, much of the
influence of this ordinance is found in its simplicity. How beautifully
simple the ceremony is–bread broken and wine poured out. There is no
calling that thing a chalice, that thing a paten, and that a host. Here
is nothing to burden the memory–here is the simple bread and wine. He
must have no memory at all who cannot remember that he has eaten bread,
and that he has been drinking wine. Note again, the mighty pregnancy of
these signs–how full they are of meaning. Bread broken–so was your
Saviour broken. Bread to be eaten–so his flesh is meat indeed. Wine
poured out, the pressed juice of the grape–so was your Saviour crushed
under the foot of divine justice: his blood is your sweetest wine. Wine
to cheer your heart–so does the blood of Jesus. Wine to strengthen and
invigorate you–so does the blood of the mighty sacrifice. Oh! make
that bread and wine to your souls tonight a sweet and blessed help of
remembrance of that dear Man who once on Calvary died. Like the little
ewe lamb, you are now to eat your Master's bread and drink from his
cup. Remember the hand which feeds you.

But before you can remember Christ well here, you must ask the
assistance of the Holy Spirit. I believe there ought to be a
preparation before the Lord's Supper. I do not believe in Mrs.
Toogood's preparation, who spent a week in preparing, and then finding
it was not the Ordinance Sunday, she said she had lost all the week. I
do not believe in that kind of preparation, but I do believe in a holy
preparation for the Lord's Supper: when we can on a Saturday if
possible, spend an hour in quiet meditation on Christ, and the passion
of Jesus; when, especially on the Sabbath afternoon, we can devoutly
sit down and behold him, then these scenes become realities, and not
mockeries, as they are to some. I fear greatly that there are some of
you who will drink the wine, and not think of his blood: and vile
hypocrites you will be while you do it. Take heed to yourselves, "He
that eateth and drinketh" unworthily, eateth and
drinketh–what?–"damnation to himself." This is a plain English word;
mind what you are doing! Do not do it carelessly; for of all the sacred
things on earth, it is the most solemn. We have heard of some men
banded together by drawing blood from their arms and drinking it all
round; that was most horrid, but at the same time most solemn. Here you
are to drink blood from the veins of Christ, and sip the trickling
stream which gushed from his own loving heart. Is not that a solemn
thing? Ought anybody to trifle with it? To go to church and take it for
sixpence? To come and join us for the sake of getting charities? Out
upon it! It is an awful blasphemy against Almighty God; and amongst the
damned in hell, those shall be among the most accursed who dared thus
to mock the holy ordinance of God. This is the remembrance of Christ.
"This do in remembrance of me." If you cannot do it in remembrance of
Christ, I beseech you, as you love your souls, do not do it at all. Oh!
regenerate man or woman, enter not into the court of the priests, lest
Israel's God resent the intrusion.

IV. And now to close up. Here is a sweet command: "This do in
remembrance of me." To whom does this command apply? "This do ye." It
is important to answer this question–"This do ye," Who are intended?
Ye who put your trust in me. "This do ye in remembrance of me." Well,
now, you should suppose Christ speaking to you tonight; and he says,
"This do ye in remembrance of me." Christ watches you at the door. Some
of you go home, and Christ says, "I thought I said, This do ye in
remembrance of me.'" Some of you keep your seats as spectators. Christ
sits with you, and he says, "I thought I said, This do ye in
remembrance of me.'" "Lord, I know you did." "Do you love me then?"
"Yes, I love thee; I love, Lord; thou knowest I do." "But, I say, go
down there–eat that bread, drink that wine." "I do not like to, Lord;
I should have to be baptized if I joined that church, and I am afraid I
shall catch cold, or be looked at. I am afraid to go before the church,
for I think they would ask some questions I could not answer." "What,"
says Christ, "is this all you love me? Is this all your affection to
your Lord. Oh! how cold to me, your Saviour. If I had loved you no more
than this, you would have been in hell: if that were the full extent of
my affection, I should not have died for you. Great love bore great
agonies; and is this all your gratitude to me?" Are not some of you
ashamed, after this? Do you not say in your hearts, "it is really
wrong?" Christ says, "Do this in remembrance of me," and are you not
ashamed to stay away? I give a free invitation to every lover of Jesus
to come to this table. I beseech you, deny not yourselves the privilege
by refusing to unite with the church. If you still live in sinful
neglect of this ordinance, let me remind you that Christ has said,
"Whosoever shall be ashamed of me in this generation, of him will I be
ashamed, when I come in the glory of my Father." Oh, soldier of the
cross, act not the coward's part!

And not to lead you into any mistakes, I must just add one thing, and
then I have done. When I speak of your taking the ordinance of the
Lord's Supper, do not imagine that I wish you for one moment to suppose
that there is anything saving in it. Some say that the ordinance of
baptism is non-essential, so is the ordinance of the Lord's Supper, it
is non-essential, if we look upon it in the light of salvation. Be
saved by eating a piece of bread! Nonsense, confounded nonsense! Be
saved by drinking a drop of wine! Why, it is too absurd for common
sense to admit any discussion upon. You know it is the blood of Jesus
Christ; it is the merit of his agonies; it is the purchase of his
sufferings; it is what he did, that alone can save us. Venture on him;
venture wholly, and then you are saved. Hearest thou, poor convinced
sinner, the way of salvation? If I ever meet thee in the next world,
thou mightest, perhaps, say to me, "I spent one evening, sir, in
hearing you, and you never told me the way to heaven." Well, thou shalt
hear it. Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, trust in his righteousness,
and thou art saved beyond the vengeance of the law, or the power of
hell. But trust in thine own works, and thou art lost as sure as thou
art alive.

Now, O ever glorious Son of God, we approach thy table to feast on the
viands of grace, permit each of us, in reliance upon thy Spirit, to
exclaim in the words of one of thine own poets:

"Remember thee, and all thy pains,

And all thy love to me–

Yes, while a pulse or breath remains,

I will remember thee.

And when these failing lips grow dumb,

And thought and memory flee;

When thou shalt in thy kingdom come,

Jesus, remember me!"