CHARLES SPURGEON SECRET SINS
“Cleanse thou me from secret faults.” Psalm 19:12
SELF-RIGHTEOUSNESS arises partly from pride, but mainly from ignorance
of God’s law. It is because men know little or nothing concerning the
terrible character of the divine law, that they foolishly imagine themselves
to be righteous. They are not aware of the deep spirituality, and the stern
severity of the law, or they would have other and wiser notions. Once let
them know how strictly the law deals with the thoughts, how it brings itself
to bear upon every emotion of the inner man, and there is not one creature
beneath, God’s heaven who would dare to think him, self righteous in
God’s sight in virtue of his own deeds and thoughts. Only let the law be
revealed to a man; let him know how strict the law is, and how infinitely
just, and his self-righteousness will shrivel into nothing — it will become a
filthy rag in his sight, whereas before he thought it to be a goodly garment.
Now, David, having seen God’s law, and having praised it in this Psalm,
which I have read in your hearing, he is brought by reflecting on its
excelleney, to utter this thought, “Who can understand his errors?” and
then to offer this prayer, “Cleanse thou me from secret faults.”
In the Lateran Council of the Church of Rome, a decree was passed that
every true believer must confess his sins, all of them, once in a year to the
priest, and they affixed to it this declaration, that there is no hope of
pardon but in complying with that decree. What can equal the absurdity of
such a decree as that? Do they suppose that they can tell their sins as easily
as they can count their fingers? Why, if we could receive pardon for all our
sins by telling every sin we have committed in one hour, there is not one of
us who would be able to enter heaven, since, besides the sins that are
known to us and that we may be able to confess, there are a vast mass of
sins, which are as truly sine as those which we do observe, but which are
secret, and come not beneath our eye. Oh! if we had eyes like those of
God, we should think very differently of ourselves. The sins that we see
and confess are but like the farmer’s small samples which he brings to
market, when he has left his granary full at home. We have but a very few
sins which we can observe and detect, compared with those which are
hidden to ourselves and unseen by our fellow creatures. I doubt not it is
true of all of us who are here, that in every hour of our existence in which
we are active, we commit tens of thousands of unholinesses for which
conscience has never reproved us, because we have never sees them to be
wrong, seeing we have not studied God’s laws as we ought to have done.
Now, be it known to us all that sin is sin, whether we see it or not — that a
sin secret to us is a sin as truly as if we knew it to be a sin, though not so
great a sin in the sight of God as if it had been committed presumptuously,
seeing that it lacks the aggravation of wilfulness, Let all of us who know
our sins offer the prayer after all our confessions: “Lord, I have confessed
as many as I know, but I must add an etcetera after them, and say, ‘Cleanse
thou me from secret faults.’”
That, however, will not be the pith of my sermon this morning. I am going
after a certain class of men who have sins not unknown to themselves, but
secret to their fellow creatures. Every now and then we turn up a fair stone
which lies upon the green sward of the professing church, surrounded with
the verdure of apparent goodness and to our astonishment we find beneath
it all kinds of filthy insects and loathsome reptiles, and in our disgust at
such hypocrisy, we are driven to exclaim, “All men are liars; there are none
in whom we can put any trust at all.” It is not fair to say so of all, but
really, the discoveries which are made of the insincerity of our fellowcreatures
are enough to make us despise our kind, because they can go so
far in appearances, and yet have so little soundness of heart. To you, sirs,
who sin secretly, and yet make a profession; you break God’s covenants in
the dark and wear a mask of goodness in the light — to you, sirs, who shut
the doors and commit wickedness in secret — to you I shall speak this
morning. O may God also be pleased to speak to you, and make you pray
this prayer: “Cleanse thou me from secret faults.”
I shall endeavor to urge upon all pretenders present to give up, to
renounce, to detest, to hate, to abhor all their secret sins. And, first, I shall
endeavor to show the folly of secret sins; secondly, the misery of secret
sins, thirdly, the guilt of secret sins; fourthly, the danger of secret sins, and
then I shall try to apply some words by way of remedy, that we may all of
us be enabled to avoid secret sins.
I. First, then, THE FOLLY OF SECRET SINS.
Pretender, thou art fair to look upon; thy conduct outwardly upright,
amiable liberal, generous and Christian, but thou dost indulge in some sin
which the eye of man has not yet detected. Perhaps it is private
drunkenness. Thou dost revile the drunkard when he staggers through the
street; but thou canst thyself indulge in the same habit in private. It may be
some other lust or vice; it is not for me just now to mention what it is. But,
pretender, we say unto thee, thou art a fool to think of harboring a secret
sin, and thou art a fool for this one reason, that thy sin is not a secret sin it
its known, and shall one day be revealed; perhaps very soon. Thy sin is not
a secret; the eye of God hath seen it; thou hast sinned before his face. Thou
hast shut-to the door, and drawn the curtains, and kept out the eye of the
sun, but God’s eye pierceth through the darkness, the brick walls which
surrounded thee were as transparent as glass to the eye of the Almighty,
the darkness which did gird thee was as bright as the summer’s noon to the
eye of him who beholdeth all things. Knowest thou not, O man, that “all
things are naked and open: to the eyes of him with whom we have to do?”
As the priest ran his knife into the entrails of his victim, discovered the
heart and liver, and what else did lie within, so art thou, O man, seen by
God cut open by the Almighty, thou hast no secret chamber where thou
canst hide thyself; thou hast no dark cellar where thou canst conceal thy
soul. Dig deep, ay, deep as hell, but thou canst not find earth enough upon
the globe to cover thy sin; if thou shouldst heap the mountains on its grave,
those mountains would tell the tale of what was buried in their bowels. If
thou couldst cast thy sin into the sea, a thousand babbling waves would tell
the secret out. There is no hiding it from God. Thy sin is photographed in
high beaver; the deed when it was done was photographed upon the sky,
and there it shall remain, and thou shalt see thyself one day revealed to the
gazing eyes of all men, a hypocrite, a pretender, who didst sin in fancied
secret, observed in all thine acts by the all-seeing Jehovah. O what fools
men are, to think they ear, do anything in secret. This world is like the
glass hives wherein bees sometimes work: we look down upon them, and
we see all the operations of the little creatures. So God looketh down and
seeth all our eyes are weak; we cannot look through the darkness but his
eye, like an orb of fire, penetrateth the blackness; and readeth the thought;
of man, and seeth his acts when he thinks himself most concealed. Oh; it
were a thought enough to curb us from all sin, if it were truly applied to us
— “Thou, God, seest me!” Stop thief! Drop thou that which thou hast
taken to thyself. God seeth thee! No eye of detection of earth hath
discovered thee, but God’s eyes are now looking through the clouds upon
thee. Swearer! scarce any for whom thou Barest beard thy oath; but God
heard it; it entered into the ears of the Lord God of Sabbath and that who
leadest a filthy life, and yet art a respectable merchant bearing among men
a fall and goodly character; thy vices are all known written in God’s book.
He keepeth a diary of all thine acts; and what wilt thou think on that day
when a crowd shall be assembled, compared with which this immense
multitude is but a drop of a bucket and God shall read out the story of thy
secret life, and men and angels shall hear it Certain I am there are none of
us who would like to have all our secrets read, especially our secret
thoughts. If I should select out of this congregation the most holy man,
should bring him forward and say “Now, sir, I know all your thoughts, and
am about to tell them,” I am sure he would offer me the largest bribe that
he could gather if I would be pleased to conceal at least some of them.
“Tell,” he would say, “of my acts; of them I am not ashamed; but do not
tell my thoughts and imaginations — of them I must ever stand ashamed
before God.” What, then, sinner, will be thy shame when thy privy lusts,
thy closet transgressions, thy secret crimes shall be gazetted from God’s
throne, published by his own mouth, and with a voice louder than a
thousand thunders preached in the ears of an assembled world? What will
be thy terror and confusion then, when all the deeds thou hast done shall be
published in the face of the sun, in the ears of all mankind. O renounce the
foolish hope of heresy, for thy sin is this day recorded, and shall one day be
advertised upon the walls of heaven.
II. In the next place, let us notice THE MISERY OF SECRET SINS.
Of all sinners the man who makes a profession of religion, and yet lives in
iniquity, is the most miserable. A downright wicked man, who takes a glass
in his hand, and says, “I am a drunkard, I am not ashamed of it,” he shall be
unutterably miserable in worlds to come, but brief though it be, he has his
hour of pleasure. A man who curses and swears, and says, “That is my
habit, I am a profane man,” and makes a profession of it, he has, at least,
some peace in his soul; but the man who walks with God’s minister, who is
united with God’s Church, who comes out before God’s people, and unites
with them, and then lives in sin, what a miserable existence he must have of
it! Why, he has a worse existence than the mouse that is in the parlour,
running out now and then to pick up the crumbs, and then back again to his
hole. Such men must run out now and then to sin; and oh! how fearful they
are to be discovered! One day, perhaps, their character turns up; with
wonderful cunning they manage to conceal and gloss it over, but the next
day something else comes, and they live in constant tear, telling lie after lie,
to make the last lie appear truthful, adding deception to deception, in order
that they may not be discovered.
“Oh! ‘tis a tangled web we weave,
When once we venture to deceive,”
If I must be a wicked man, give me the life of a roystering sinner, who sins
before the face of day; but, if I must sin, let me not act as a hypocrite and a
coward; let me not profess to be God’s, and spend my life for the devil.
That way of cheating the devil is a thing which every honest sinner will be
ashamed of. He will say, “Now, if I do serve my master I will serve him out
and out, I will have no sham about it, if I make a profession, I will carry it
out, but if I do not, if I live in sin I am not going to gloss it over by cant
and hypocrisy.” One thing which has hamstringed the church, and cut her
very sinews in twain, has been this most damnable hypocrisy. Oh! in how
many places have we men whom you might praise to the very skies, if you
could believe their words, but whom you might cast into the nethermost pit
if you could see their secret actions God forgive any of you who are so
acting! I had almost said, I can scarce forgive you. I can forgive the man
who riots openly, and makes no profession of being better, but the man
who fawns, and cants, and pretends, and prays, and then lives in sin, that
man I hate, I cannot bear him, I abhor him from my very soul. If he will
turn from his ways, I will love him, but in his hypocrisy he is to me the
most loathsome of all creatures. ‘Tis said the toad cloth wear a jewel in her
head, but this man hath none, but beareth filthiness about him, while he
pretends to be in love with righteousness. A mere profession, my hearers,
is but painted pageantry to go to hell in; it is like the plumes upon the
hearse and the trappinge upon the black horses which drag men to their
graves, the funeral array of dead souls. Take heed above everything of a
waxen profession that will not stand the sun; take care of all that needs to
have two faces to carry it out; be one thing, or else the other. If you make
up your mind to serve Satan, do not pretend to serve God; and if you serve
God, serve him with all your heart. “No man can serve two masters;” do
not try it, do not endeavor to do it, for no life will be more miserable than
that. Above all beware of committing acts which it will be necessary to
conceal. There is a singular poem by Hood, called “The Dream of Eugene
Aram “ — a most remarkable piece it is indeed, illustrating the point on
which I am now dwelling. Aram has murdered a man and cast his body into
the river — “a sluggish water, black as ink, the depth was so extreme.”
The next morning he visited the scene of his guilt
“And sought the black accursed pool,
With a wild misgiving eye;
And he saw the dead in the river bed,
For the faithless stream was dry.”
Next he covered the corpse with heaps of leaves, but a mighty wind swept
through the wood and left the secret bare before the sun
“Then down I cast me on my face,
And first began to weep,
For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep.
On land or sea though it should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep.”
In plaintive notes he prophesies his own discovery. He buried his victim in
a cave, and trod him down with stones, but when years had run their weary
round the foul deed was discovered and the murderer put to death.
Guilt is a “grim chamberlain,” even when trig fingers are not bloody red.
Secret sins bring fevered eyes and sleepless nights, until men burn out their
consciences, and become in very deed ripe for the pit. Hypocrisy is a hard
game to play at, for it is one deceiver against many observers; and for
certain it is a miserable trade, which will earn at last, as its certain climax, a
tremendous bankruptcy. Ah! ye who have sinned without discovery, “Be
sure your sin will find you out;” and bethink you, it may find you out ere
long. Sin, like murder, will come out; men will even tell tales about
themselves in their dreams. God has sometimes made men so pricked in
their consciences that they hare been obliged to stand forth and confess the
story. Secret sinner! if thou wantest the foretaste of damnation upon earth,
continue in thy secret sin,” for no man is more miserable than he who
sinneth secretly, and yet trieth to preserve a character. Yon stag, followed
by the hungry hounds, with open mouths, is far more happy than the man
who is followed by his sins. Yon bird, taken in the fowler’s net, and
laboring to escape, is far more happy than he who hath weaved around
himself a web of deception, and labors to escape from it day by day by
making the toils more thick and the web more strong. Oh! the misery of
secret sins! Truly, one may pray, “Cleanse thou me from secret faults.”
III. But now, next, the guilt THE SOLEMN GUILT OF SECRET SIN.
Now, John, you do not think there is any evil in a thing unless somebody
sees it, do you? You feel that it is a very great sin if your master finds you
out in robbing the till — but there is no sin if he should not discover it —
none at all. And you, sir, you fancy it to be very great sin to play a trick in
trade, in case you should be discovered and brought before the court; but
to play a trick and never be discovered, that is all fair — do not say a word
about it Mr. Spurgeon, it is all business; you must not touch business;
tricks that are not discovered, of course you are not to find fault with them.
The common measure of sin is the notoriety of it. But I do not believe in
that. A sin is a sin, whether done in private or before the wide world. It is
singular how men will measure guilt. A railway servant puts up a wrong
signal, there is an accident; the man is tried, and severely reprimanded. The
day before he put up the wrong signal, but there was no accident, and
therefore no one cursed him for his neglect. But it was just the same,
accident or no accident, the accident did not make the guilt, it was the deed
which made the guilt, not the notoriety nor yet the consequence of it. It
was his business to have taken care and he was as guilty the first time as he
was the second, for he negligently exposed the lives of men. Do not
measure sin by what other people say of it; but measure sin by what God
says of it, and what your own conscience says of it.
Now, I hold that secret sin, if anything, is the worst of sin; because secret
sin implies that the man who commits it has Atheism in his heart. You will
ask how that can be. I reply, he may be a professing Christian, but I shall
tell him to his face that he is a practical Atheist if he labors to keep up a
respectable profession before man, and then secretly transgresses. Why, is
he not an Atheist who will say there is a God, yet at the same time thinks
more of man than he does of God? Is it not the very essence of Atheism —
is it not a denial of the divinity of the Most High when men lightly esteem
him and think more of the eye of a creature than of the observation of their
Creator? There are some who would not for the life of them say a wicked
word in the presence of their minister, but they can do it knowing God is
looking at them. They are Atheists. There are some who would not trick in
trade for all the world if they thought they would be discovered, but they
can do it while God is with them, that is, they think more of the eye of man
than of the eye of God; and they think it worse to be condemned by man
than to be condemned by God. Call it by what name you will, the proper
name of that is practical Atheism. It is dishonoring God; it is dethroning
him; putting him down below his own creatures; and what is that, but to
take away his divinity? Brethren, do not, I beseech you, incur the fearful
guilt of secret sins. No man can sin a little in secret, it will certainly
engender more sin; no man can be a hypocrite and yet be moderate in guilt,
he will go from bad to worse, and still proceed, until when his guilt shall be
published, he shall be found to be the very worst and the most hardened of
men. Take heed of the guilt of secret sin. Ah, now if could I preach as
Rowland Hill did, I would make some people look to themselves at home,
and tremble too! It is said that when he preached, there was not a man in
the window, or standing in the crowd, or perched up anywhere, but said,
“There, he is preaching at me; he is telling me about my secret sins.” And
when he proclaimed God’s omniscience, it is said men would almost think
they saw God bodily present in the midst of them looking at them. And
when he had done his sermon, they would hear a voice in their ears, “Can
any hide himself in secret places that I cannot see him? saith the Lord. Do
not I fill heaven and earth? saith the Lord.” I would I could do that; that I
could make every man look to himself, and find out his secret sin. Come
my hearer, what is it? Bring it forth to the daylight; perhaps it will die in
the light of the sun. These things love not to be discovered. Tell thine own
conscience, now, what it is. Look it in the face, confess it before God, and
may he give thee grace to remove that sin and every other, and turn to him
with full purpose of heart. But this know — that thy guilt is guilt
discovered or undiscovered, and that if there be any difference it is worse,
because it has been secret. God save us from the guilt of secret sin!
“Cleanse thou me from secret faults.”
IV. And note, next, THE DANGER OF SECRET SIN. One danger is, that a
man cannot commit a little sin in secret, without being by-and-by betrayed
into a public sin. You cannot, sir, though you may think you can preserve a
moderation in sin. If you commit one sin, it is like the melting of the lower
glacier upon the Alps; the others must follow in time. As certainly as you
heap one stone upon the cairn to-day, the next day you will cast another,
until the heap, reared stone by stone, shall become a very pyramid. See the
coral insect at work, you cannot decree where it shall stay its work. It will
not build its rock just as high as you please, it will not stay until it shall be
covered with weeds until the weeds shall decay; and there shall be soil
upon it, and an island shall be created by tiny creatures. Sin cannot be held
in with bit and bridle. “But I am going to have a little drink now and then, I
am only going to be intoxicated once a week or so. Nobody will see it; I
shall be in bed directly.” You will be drunk in the streets soon. “I am only
just going to read one lascivious book, I will put it under the sofa-cover
when any one comes in.” You will keep it in your library yet, sir. I am only
going into that company now and then.” You will go there every day, such
is the bewitching character of it; you cannot help it. You may as well ask
the lion to let you put your head into his mouth. You cannot regulate his
jaws: neither can you regulate sin. Once go into it, you cannot tell when
you will be destroyed. You may be such a fortunate individual, that like
Van Amburgh you may put your head in and out a great many times; rest
assured that one of these days it will be a costly venture. Again, you may
labor to conceal your vicious habit, but it will come out, you cannot help it.
You keep your little pet sin at home; but mark this, when the door is ajar
the dog will be out in the street. Wrap him up in your bosom, put over him
fold after fold of hypocrisy to keep him secret, the wretch will be singing
some day when you are in company; you cannot keep the evil bird still.
Your sin will gad abroad; and what is more, you will not mind it some of
these days. A man who indulges in sin privately, by degrees gets his
forehead as hard as brass. The first time he sinned, the drops of sweat
stood on his brow at the recollection of what he had done; the second time,
no hot sweat on his brow, only an agitation of the muscle; the third time
there was the sly, sneaky look, but no agitation; the next time, he sinned a
little further; and by degrees he became the bold blasphemer of his God,
who exclaimed, “Who am I that I should fear Jehovah, and who is he that I
should serve him?” Men go from bad to worse. Launch your boat in the
current — it must go where the current takes it. Put yourself in the
whirlwind — you are but a straw in the wind: you must go which way the
wind carries you — you cannot control yourself. The balloon can mount,
but it cannot direct its course; it must go whichever way the wind blows. If
you once mount into sin there is no stopping. Take heed if you would not
become the worst of characters, take heed of the little sins, they, mounting
one upon another, may at last heave you from the summit and destroy your
soul for ever. There is a great danger in secret sins.
But I have here some true Christians who indulge in secret sins. They say it
is but a little one, and therefore do they spare it. Dear brethren, I speak to
you, and I speak to myself, when I say this — let us destroy all our little
secret sins. They are called little and if they be, let us remember that it is
the foxes, even the little foxes, that spoil our vines; for our vines have
tender shoots. Let us take heed of our little sins. A little sin, like a little
pebble in the shoe, will make a traveler to heaven walk very wearily. Little
sins, like little thieves, may open the door to greater ones outside.
Christians, recollect that little sins will spoil your communion with Christ.
Little sins, like little stains in silk, may damage the fine texture of
fellowship; little sins, like little irregularities in the machinery, may spoil the
whole fabric of your religion. The one dead fly spoileth the whole pot of
ointment. That one thistle may seed a continent with noxious weeds. Let
us, brethren, kill our sins as often as we can find them. One said — “The
heart is full of unclean birds; it is a cage of them.” “Ah, but,” said another
divine, “you must not make that an apology, for a Christian’s business is to
wring their necks.” And so it is; if there be evil things, it is our business to
kill them. Christians must not tolerate secret sins. We must not harbour
traitors; it is high treason against the King of Heaven. Let us drag them out
to light, and offer them upon the altar, giving up the dearest of our secret
sins at the will and bidding of God. There is a great danger in a little secret
sin; therefore avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it and shun it, and God give
thee grace to overcome it!
V. And now I come, in finishing up, to plead with all my might with some
of you whom God has pricked in your consciences. I have come to entreat
you, if it be possible, even to tears, that you will give up your secret sins. I
have one here for whom I bless God; I love him, though I know him not.
He is almost persuaded to be a Christian; he halteth between two opinions;
he intendeth to serve God, he strireth to give up sin, but he findeth it a hard
struggle, and as yet he knoweth not what shall become of him. I speak to
him with all love: my friend, will you have your sin and go to hell, or leave
your sin and go to heaven? This is the solemn alternative: to an awakened
sinners I put it; may God choose for you, otherwise I tremble as to which
you may choose. The pleasures of this life are so intoxicating, the joys of it
so ensnaring, that did I not believe that God worketh in us to will and to
do, I should despair of you. But I have confidence that God will decide the
matter. Let me lay the alternative before you: — on the one hand there is a
hour’s merriment, a short life of bliss, and that a poor, poor bliss; on the
other hand, there is everlasting life and eternal glory. On the one hand,
there is a transient happiness, and afterwards overwhelming woe; in this
case there is a solid peace and everlasting joy, and after it overflowing
bliss. I shall not fear to be called an Arminian, when I say, as Elijah did,
“Choose you this day whom you will serve. If God be God, serve him; if
Baal be God serve him.” But, now, make your choice deliberately; and may
God help you to do it! Do not say you will take up with religion, without
first counting the cost of it; remember, there is your lust to be given up,
your pleasure to be renounced; can you do it for Christ’s sake? Can you? I
know you cannot, unless God’s grace shall assist you in making such a
choice. But can you say, “Yes, by the help of God, earth’s gaudy toys, its
pomps, pageantries, gewgaws, all these I renounce? —
“These can never satisfy,
Give me Christ or else I die.”
Sinner, thou wilt never regret that choice, if God help thee to make it; thou
wilt find thyself a happy man here, and thrice happy throughout eternity.
“But,” says one, “Sir, I intend to be religious, but I do not hold with your
strictness.” I do not ask you to do so; I hope, however, you will hold with
God’s strictness, and God’s strictness is ten thousand times greater than
mine. You may say that I am puritanical in my preaching; God will be
puritanical in judging in that great day. I may appear severe, but I can
never be so severe as God will be. I may draw the harrow with sharp teeth
across your conscience, but God shall drag harrows of eternal fire across
you one day. I may speak thundering things! God will not speak them, but
hurl them from his hands. Remember, men may laugh at hell, and say there
is none; but they must reject their Bibles before they can believe the lie.
Men’s consciences tell them that
“There is a dreadful hell,
And everlasting pains.
Where sinners must with devils dwell,
In darkness, fire and chains.”
Sirs, will ye keep your secret sins, and have eternal fire for them?
Remember it is of no use, they must all be given up, or else you cannot be
God’s child. You cannot by any means have both; it cannot be God and the
world, it cannot be Christ and the devil; it must be one or the other. Oh I
that God would give you grace to resign all; for what are they worth? They
are your deceivers now, and rill be your tormentors for ever. Oh! that your
eyes were open to see the rottenness, the emptiness and trickery of
iniquity. Oh! that God would turn you to himself. Oh! may God give you
grace to cross the Rubicon of repentance at this very hour; to say,
“Henceforth it is war to the knife with my sins; not one of them will I
willingly keep, but down with them, down with them; Canaanite, Hittite,
Jebusite, they shall all be driven out.”
“The dearest idol I have known.
Whate’er that idol be.
Help me to tear it from its throne,
And worship only thee.”
“But oh, sir, I cannot do it, it would be like pulling my eyes out.” Ay, but
hear what Christ says: “It were better for thee to enter into life with one
eye, than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire.” “But it would be like
cutting my arm off.” Ay, and it would be better for thee to enter into life
halt or maimed, than to be cast into hell fire for ever. Oh! when the sinner
comes before God at last, do you think he will speak as he does now? God
will reveal his secret sins: the sinner will not then say, “Lord, I thought my
secret sins so sweet, I could not give them up.” I think I see how changed
it will be then. “sir,” you say now, “you are too strict;” will you say that
when the eyes of the Almighty are glowering on you? You say now, “Sir
you are too precise;” will you say that to God Almighty’s face? “Sir, I
mean to heep such-and-such a sin.” Can you say it at God’s bar at last?
You will not dare to do it then. Ah! when Christ comes a second time there
will be a marvellous change in the way men talk. Methinks I see him, there
he sits upon his throne. Now, Caiaphas, come and condemn him now!
Judas! come and kiss him now! What do you stick at, man? Are you afraid
of him? Now, Bar abbas! go; see whether they will prefer you to Christ
now. Swearer, now is your time; you have been a bold man; curse him to
his face now. Now drunkard; stagger up to him now. Now infidel; tell him
there is no Christ now — now that the world is lit with lightning and the
earth is shaken with thunder till the solid pillars thereof do bow themselves
— tell God there is no God now; now laugh at the Bible; now scoff at the
minister. Why men, what is the matter with you? Why, can’t you do it? Ah!
there you are, you have fled to the hills end to the rocks — “Rocks hide
us! mountains fall on us; hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the
throne.” Ah! where are now your boasts, your vauntings, and your glories?
Alas! alas! for you, in that dread day of wonders.
Secret sinner, what will then become of thee? Go out of this place
unmasked; go out to examine thyself, go out to bend thy knee, go out to
weep, go out to pray. God give thee grace to believe! And oh, how sweet
and pleasant the thought, that this day sinners have fled to Christ, and men
have been born again to Jesus! Brethren, ere I finish, I repeat the words at
which so many have cavilled — it is now or never, it is turn or burn.
Solemnly in God’s sight I say it; if it be not God’s truth I must answer for
it in the great day of account. Your consciences tell you it is true. Take it
home, and mock me if you will; this morning I am clear of your blood: if
any seek not God, but live in sin, I shall be clear of your blood in that day
when the watchman shall have your souls demanded of him; oh, may God
grant that you may be cleared in a blessed manner! When I went down
these pulpit stairs a Sabbath or two ago, a friend said to me words which
have been in my mind ever since — “Sir, there are nine thousand people
this day without excuse in the day of judgment.” It is true of you this
morning. If you are damned, it will be not for want of preaching to you,
and it shall not be for want of praying for you. God knoweth that if my
heart could break of itself, it would, for your souls, for God is my witness,
how earnestly I long for you in the bowels of Christ Jesus Oh, that he
might touch your hearts and bring you to him! For death is a solemn thing,
damnation is a horrible thing, to be out of Christ is a dreadful thing, to be
dead in sin is a terrific thing. May God lead you to view these things as
they are, and save you, for his mercy’s sake!” He that believeth and is
baptised shall be saved.”
“Lord, search my soul, try every thought;
Though my own heart accuse me not
Of walking in a false disguise,
I beg the trial of thine eyes,
Doth secret mischief lurk within?
Do I indulge some unknown sin?
O turn my feet whene’er I stray,
And lead me in thy perfect way.”
