CHARLES SPURGEON MERCY, OMNIPOTENCE, AND JUSTICE
“The Lord is slow to anger, and great in power,
and will not at all acquit the wicked.” Nahum 1:3
WORKS of art require some education in the beholder, before they can be
thoroughly appreciated. We do not expect that the uninstructed should at
once perceive the varied excellencies of a painting from some master hand;
we do not imagine that the superlative glories of the harmonies of the
Princes of Song will enrapture the ears of clownish listeners. There must be
something in the man himself, before he can understand the wonders either
of nature or of art. Certainly this is true of character. By reason of failures
in our character and faults in our life, we are not capable of understanding
all the separate beauties, and the united perfection of the character of
Christ, or of God, his Father. Were we ourselves as pure as the angels in
heaven, were we what our race once was in the garden of Eden,
immaculate and perfect, it is quite certain that we should have a far better
and nobler idea of the character of God than we can by possibility attain
unto in our fallen state. But you cannot fail to notice, that men, through the
alienation of their natures, are continually misrepresenting God, because
they cannot appreciate his perfection. Does God at one time withhold his
hand from wrath? Lo, they say that God hath ceased to judge the world,
and looks upon it with listless phlegmatic indifference. Does he at another
time punish the world for sin? They say he is severe and cruel. Men will
misunderstand him, because they are imperfect themselves, and are not
capable of admiring the character of God.
Now, this is especially true with regard to certain lights and shadows in the
character of God, which he has so marvellously blended in the perfection of
his nature: that although we cannot see the exact point of meeting, yet (if
we have been at all enlightened by the Spirit) we are struck with wonder at
the sacred harmony. In reading Holy Scripture, you can say of Paul, that he
was noted for his zeal — of Peter, that he will ever be memorable for his
courage — of John, that he was noted for his lovingness. But did you ever
notice, when you read the history of our Master, Jesus Christ, that you
never could say he was noble for any one virtue at all? Why was that? It
was because the boldness of Peter did so outgrow itself as to throw other
virtues into the shade, or else the other virtues were so deficient that they
set forth his boldness. The very feet of a man being noted for something is
a sure sign that he is not so notable in other things; and it is because of the
complete perfection of Jesus Christ, that we are not accustomed to say of
him that he was eminent for his zeal, or for his love, or for his courage. We
say of him that he was a perfect character, but we are not able very easily
to perceive where the shadows and the lights blended, where the meekness
of Christ blended into his courage, and where his loveliness blended into
his boldness in denouncing sin. We are not able to detect the points where
they meet; and I believe the more thoroughly we are sanctified, the more it
will be a subject of wonder to us how it could be that virtues which seemed
so diverse were in so majestic a manner united into one character.
It is just the same of God; and I have been led to make the remarks I have
made on my text, because of the two clauses thereof which seem to
describe contrary attributes. You will notice, that there are two things in
my text: he is “slow to anger,” and yet he “will not at all acquit the
wicked.” Our character is so imperfect that we cannot see the congruity of
these two attributes. We are wondering, perhaps, and saying “How is it he
is slow to anger, and yet will not acquit the wicked?” It is because his
character is perfect that we do not see where these two things melt into
each other — the infallible righteousness and severity of the ruler of the
world, and his loving-kindness, his long suffering, and his tender mercies.
The absence of any one of these things from the character of God would
have rendered it imperfect; the presence of them both, though we may not
see how they can be congruous with each other, stamps the character of
God with a perfection elsewhere unknown.
And now I shall endeavor this morning to set forth these two attributes of
God, and the connecting link. “The Lord is slow to anger,” then comes the
connecting link, “great in power.” I shall have to show you how that “great
in power” refers to the sentence foregoing and the sentence succeeding.
And then we shall consider the next attribute — “He will not at all acquit
the wicked:” an attribute of justice.
I. Let us begin with the first characteristic of God. He is said to be “SLOW
TO ANGER.” Let me declare the attribute, and then trace it to its source.
God is “slow to anger.” When mercy cometh into the world, she driveth
winged steeds; the axles of her chariot-wheels are glowing, hot with speed;
but when wrath cometh, it walketh with tardy footsteps; it is not in haste to
slay, it is not swift to condemn. God’s rod of mercy is ever in his hands
outstretched. God’s sword of justice is in its scabbard: not rusted in it — it
can be easily withdrawn — but held there by that hand that presses it back
into its sheath, crying, “Sleep, O sword, sleep; for I will have mercy upon
sinners, and will forgive their transgressions.” God hath many orators in
heaven, some of them speak with swift words. Gabriel, when he cometh
down to tell glad tidings, speaketh swiftly: angelic hosts when they descend
from glory, fly with wings of lightning, when they proclaim, “Peace on
earth, good will towards men;” but the dark angel of wrath is a slow
orator; with many a pause between, where melting pity joins her languid
notes, he speaks, and when but half his oration is completed he often stays,
and withdraws himself from his rostrum giving way to pardon and to
mercy; he having but addressed the people that they might be driven to
repentance, and so might receive peace from the scepter of God’s love.
Brethren, I shall just try to show you now how God is slow to anger.
First, I will prove that he is “slow to anger,” because he never smites
without first threatening. Men who are passionate and swift in anger give a
word and a blow, sometimes the blow first and the word afterwards.
Oftentimes kings, when subjects have rebelled against them, have crushed
them first, and then reasoned with them afterwards; they have given no
time of threatening, no period of repentance; they have allowed no space
for turning to their allegiance; they have at once crushed them in their hot
displeasure, making a full end of them. Not so God: he will not cut down
the tree that doth much cumber the ground, until he hath digged about it,
and dunged it; he will not at once slay the man whose character is the most
vile; until he has first hewn him by the prophets he will not hew him by
judgments; he will warn the sinner ere he condemn him; he will send his
prophets, “rising up early and late,” giving him “line upon line, and precept
upon precept, here a little and there a little.” He will not smite the city
without warning; Sodom shall not perish, until Lot hath been within her.
The world shall not be drowned, until eight prophets have been preaching
in it, and Noah, the eighth, cometh to prophesy of the coming of the Lord.
He will not smite Nineveh till he hath sent a Jonah. He will not crush
Babylon till his prophets have cried through its streets. He will not slay a
man until he hath given many warnings, by sicknesses, by the pulpit, by
providence, and by consequences. He smites not with a heavy blow at
once; he threateneth first. He doth not in grace, as in nature, send
lightnings first and thunder afterwards, but he sendeth the thunder of his
law first, and the lightning of execution follows it. The lictor of divine
justice carries his axe, bound up in a bundle of rods, for he will not cut off
men, until he has reproved them, that they may repent. He is “slow to
anger.”
But again God is also very slow to threaten. Although he will threaten
before, he condemns, yet he is slow even in his threatening. God’s lips
move swiftly when he promises, but slowly when he threatens. Long rolls
the pealing thunder, slowly roll the drums of heaven, when they sound the
death-march of sinners; sweetly floweth the music of the rapid notes which
proclaim free grace, and love, and mercy. God is slow to threaten. He will
not send a Jonah to Nineveh, until Nineveh has become foul with sin, he
will not even tell Sodom it shall be burned with fire, until Sodom has
become a reeking dunghill, obnoxious to earth as well as heaven, he will
not drown the world with a deluge, or even threaten to do it, until the sons
of God themselves make unholy alliances and begin to depart from him. He
doth not even threaten the sinner by his conscience, until the sinner hath
ofttimes sinned. He will often tell the sinner of his sins, often urge him to
repent; but he will not make hell stare him hard in the face, with all its
dreadful terror, until much sin has stirred up the lion from his lair, and
made God hot in wrath against the iniquities of man. He is slow even to
threaten.
But, best of all, when God threatens, how slow he is to sentence the
criminal! When he has told them that he will punish unless they repent,
how long a space he gives them, in which to turn unto himself! “He doth
not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men for nought,” he stayeth
his hand, he will not be in hot haste, when he hath threatened them, to
execute the sentence upon them. Have you ever observed that scene in the
garden of Eden at the time of the fall? God had threatened Adam, that if he
sinned he should surely die. Adam sinned: did God make haste to sentence
him? ‘Tis sweetly said, “The Lord God walked in the garden in the cool of
the day.” Perhaps that fruit was plucked at early morn, mayhap it was
plucked at noon-title; but God was in no haste to condemn; he waited till
the sun was well nigh set, and in the cool of the day came, and as an old
expositor has put it very beautifully, when he did come he did not come on
wings of wrath, but he “walked in the garden in the cool of the day.” He
was in no haste to slay. I think I see him, as he was represented then to
Adam, in those glorious days when God walked with man. Methinks I see
the wonderful similitude in which the unseen did veil himself: I see it
walking among the trees so slowly — ay, if it were right to give such a
picture — beating its breast, and shedding tears that it should have to
condemn man. At last I hear its doleful voice: “Adam, where art thou?
Where hast thou cast thyself, poor Adam? Thou hast cast thyself from my
favor, thou hast cast thyself into nakedness and into fear; for thou art
hiding thyself: Adam, where art thou? I pity thee. Thou thoughtest to be
God. Before I condemn thee I will give thee one note of pity. Adam, where
art thou?” Yes, the Lord was slow to anger, slow to write the sentence,
even though the command had been broken, and the threatening was
therefore of necessity brought into force. It was so with the flood: he
threatened the earth, but he would not fully seal the sentence, and stamp it
with the seal of heaven, until he had given space for repentance. Noah must
come, and through his hundred and twenty years must preach the word; he
must come and testify to an unthinking and an ungodly generation; the ark
must be builded, to be a perpetual sermon; there it must be upon its
mountain-top, waiting for the floods to float it, that it might he an every
day warning to the ungodly. O heavens, why did ye not at once open your
floods? Ye fountains of the great deep, why did ye not burst up in a
moment? God said, “I will sweep away the world with a flood:” why, why
did ye not rise? “Because,” I hear them saying with gurgling notes,
“because, although God had threatened, he was slow to sentence, and he
said in himself, ‘Haply, they may repent; peradventure they may turn from
their sin;’ and therefore did he bid us rest and be quiet, for he is slow to
anger.”
And yet once more: even when the sentence against a sinner is signed and
sealed by heaven’s broad seal of condemnation, even then God is slow to
carry it out. The doom of Sodom is sealed; God hath declared it shall be
burned with fire. But God is tardy. He stops. He will himself go down to
Sodom, that he may see the iniquity of it. And when he gets there guilt is
rife in the streets. ‘Tis night, and the crew of worse than beasts besiege the
door. Does he then lift his hands? Does he then say, “Rain hell out of
heaven, ye skies?” No, he lets them pursue their riot all night, spares them
to the last moment, and though when the sun-was risen the burning hail
began to fall, yet was the reprieve as long as possible. God was not in haste
to condemn. God had threatened to root out the Canaanites, he declared
that all the children of Ammon should be cut off; he had promised
Abraham that he would give their land unto his seed for ever, and they
were to be utterly slain, but he made the children of Israel wait four
hundred years in Egypt and he let these Canaanites live all through the days
of the patriarchs; and ever; then, when he led his avenging ones out of
Egypt, he stayed them forty years in the wilderness, because he was loth to
slay poor Canaan. “Yet,” said he, “I will give them space. Though I have
stamped their condemnation, though their death warrant has come forth
from the Court of King’s Beneh, and must be executed, yet will I reprieve
them as long as I can:” and he stops, until at last mercy had had enough,
and Jericho’s melting ashes and the destruction of Ai betokened that the
sword was out of its scabbard, and God had awaked like a mighty man,
and like a strong man full of wrath. God is slow to execute the sentence,
even when he has declared it.
And ah I my friends, there is a sorrowful thought that has just crossed my
mind. There are some men yet alive who are sentenced now. I believe that
Scripture bears me out in a dreadful thought which I just wish to hint at.
There are some men that are condemned before they are finally damned;
there are some men whose sins go before them unto judgment, who are
given over to a seared conscience, concerning whom it may be said that
repentance and salvation are impossible. There are some few men in the
world who are like John Bunyan’s man in the iron cage, can never get out.
They are like Esau — they find no place of repentance, though like him
they do not seek it, for if they sought it they would find it. Many there are
who have sinned “the sin unto death,” concerning whom we cannot pray;
for we are told, “I do not say that ye shall pray for it.” But why, why, why
are they not already in the flame? If they be condemned, if mercy has shut
its eye for ever upon them, if it never will stretch out its hand to give them
pardon, why, why, why are they not cut down and swept away? Because
God saith, “I will not have mercy upon them, but I will let them live a little
while longer, though I have condemned them I am loth to carry the
sentence out, and will spare them as long as it is right that man should fire;
I will let them have a long life here, for they will have a fearful eternity of
wrath for ever.” Yes let them have their little whirl of pleasure; their end
shall be most fearful. Let them beware, for although God is slow to anger,
he is sure in it.
If God were not slow to anger, would he not have smitten this huge city of
ours, this behemoth city? — would he not have smitten it into a thousand
pieces, and blotted out the remembrance of it from the earth? The iniquities
of this city are so great, that if God should dig up her very foundations, and
cast her into the sea, she well deserveth it. Our streets at night present
spectacles of vice that cannot be equalled. Surely there can be no nation
and no country that can show a city so utterly debauched as this great city
of London, if our midnight streets are indications of our immorality. You
allow, in your public places of resort, — I mean you, my lords and ladies
— you allow things to be said in your hearing, of which your modesty
ought to be ashamed. Ye can sit in theatres to hear plays at which modesty
should blush, I say nought of piety. That the ruder sex should have listened
to the obscenities of La Traviata is surely bad enough, but that ladies of
the highest refinement, and the most approved taste, should dishonor
themselves by such a patronage of vice is indeed intolerable. Let the sins of
the lower theatres escape without your censure, ye gentlemen of England,
the lowest bestiality of the nethermost hell of a play-house can look to your
opera-houses for their excuse. I thought that with the pretensions this city
makes to piety, for sure, they would not have so far gone and that after
such a warning as they have had from the press itself — a press which is
certainly not too religious — they would not so indulge their evil passions.
But because the pill is gilded, ye suck down the poison: because the thing
is popular, ye patronize it: it is lustful, it abominable, it is deceitful! Ye take
your children to hear what yourselves never ought to listen to. Ye
yourselves will sit in gay and grand company, to listen to things from when
your modesty ought to revolt. And I would fain hope it does, although the
tide may for a while deceive you. Ah! God only knoweth the secret
wickedness of this great city; it demandeth a loud and a trumpet voice; it
needs a prophet to cry aloud, “Sound an alarm, sound an alarm, sound an
alarm,” in this city; for verily the enemy groweth upon us, the power of the
evil one is mighty, and we are fast going to perdition, unless God shall put
forth his hand and roll back the black torrent of iniquity that streameth
down our streets. But God is slow to anger, and doth still stay his sword.
Wrath said yesterday, “Unsheath thyself, O sword;” and the sword
struggled to get free. Mercy put her hand upon the hilt, and said, “Bestill!”
“Unsheath thyself, O sword!” Again it struggled from its scabbard. Mercy
put her hand on it, and said “Back!” — and it rattled back again. Wrath
stamped his foot, and said, “Awake O sword, awake!” It struggled yet
again, till half its blade was outdrawn; “Back, back!” — said Mercy, and
with manly push she sent it back rattling into its sheath: and there it sleeps
still, for the Lord is “slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.”
Now I am to trace this attribute of God to its source: why is he slow to
anger?
He is slow to anger, because he is infinitely good. Good is his name;
“good”-God. Good in his nature; because he is slow to anger.
He is slow to anger, again, because he is great. Little things are always
swift in anger, great things are not so. The silly cur barks at every passerby,
and bears no insult; the lion would bear a thousand times as much; and
the bull sleeps in his pasture, and will bear much, before he lifteth up his
might. The leviathan in the sea, though he makes the deep to be hoary
when he is enraged, yet is slow to be stirred up, whilst the little and puny
are always swift in anger. God’s greatness is one reason of the slowness of
his wrath.
II. But to proceed at once to the link. A great reason why he is slow to
anger is because he is GREAT IN POWER. This is to be the connecting link
between this part of the subject and the last, and therefore I must beg your
attention. I say that this word great in power connects the first sentence to
the last; and it does so in this way. The Lord is slow to anger, and he is
slow to anger, because he is great in power. “How say you so?” — says
one. I answer, he that is great in power has power over himself; and he that
can keep his own temper down, and subdue himself, is greater than he who
rules a city, or can conquer nations. We heard but yesterday, or the day
before, mighty displays of God’s power in the rolling thunder which
alarmed us; and when we saw the splendor of his might in the glistening
lightning, when he lifted up the gates of heaven and we saw the brightness
thereof, and then he closed them again upon the dusty earth in a moment
— even then we did not see anything but the hidings of his power,
compared with the power which he has over himself. When God’s power
doth restrain himself, then it is power indeed, the power to curb power, the
power that binds omnipotence is omnipotence surpassed. God is great in
power, and therefore doth he keep in his anger. A man who has a strong
mind can bear to be insulted, can bear offenses, because he is strong. The
weak mind snaps and snarls at the little: the strong mind bears it like a
rock; it moveth not, though a thousand breakers dash upon it, and cast
their pitiful malice in the spray upon its summit. God marketh his enemies,
and yet he moveth not; he standeth still, and letteth them curse him, yet is
he not wrathful. If he were less of a God than he is, if he were less mighty
than we know him to be, he would long ere this have sent forth the whole
of his thunders, and emptied the magazines of heaven; he would long ere
this have blasted the earth with the wondrous mines he hath prepared in its
lower surface, the flame that burneth there would have consumed us, and
we should have been utterly destroyed. We bless God that the greatness of
his power is just our protection, he is slow to anger because he is great in
power.
And now, there is no difficulty in showing how this link unites itself with
the next part, of the text. “He is great in power, and will not at all acquit
the wicked.” This needs no demonstration in words; I have but to touch
the feelings and you will see it. The greatness of his power is an assurance,
and an insurance that he will not acquit the wicked. Who among you could
witness the storm on Friday night without having thoughts concerning your
own sinfulness stirred in your bosoms? Men do not think of God the
punisher, or Jehovah the avenger, when the sun is shining and the weather
calm; but in times of tempest, whose cheek is not blanched? The Christian
oftentimes rejoiceth in it; he can say, “My soul is well at ease amidst this
revelry of earth. I do rejoice at it; it is a day of feasting in my Father’s hall,
a day of high-feast and carnival in heaven, and I am glad.
“The God that reigns on high,
And thunders when he please,
That rides upon the stormy sky
And manages the seas,
This awful God is ours
Our Father and our love,
He shall send down his heavenly powers
To carry us above.”
But the man who is not of an easy conscience will be ill at ease when the
timbers of the house are creaking, and the foundations of the solid earth
seem to groan. Ah! who is he then that doth not tremble? Yon lofty tree is
riven in half; that lightning flash has smitten its trunk, and there it lies for
ever blasted, a monument of what God can do. Who stood there and saw
it? Was he a swearer? Did he swear then? Was he a Sabbath breaker? Did
he love his Sabbath breaking then? Was he haughty? Did he then despise
God? Ah! how he shook then. Saw you not his hair stand on end? Did not
his cheek blanch in an instant? Did he not close his eyes and start back in
horror when he saw that dreadful spectacle, and thought God would smite
him too? Yes, the power of God, when seen in the tempest, on sea or on
land, in the earthquake or in the hurricane, is instinctively a proof that he
will not acquit the wicked. I know not how to explain the feeling but it is
nevertheless the truth, majestic displays of omnipotence have an effect
upon the mind of convincing even the hardened, that God, who is so
powerful, “will not at all acquit the wicked.” Thus have I just tried to
explain and make bare the link of the chain.
III. The last attribute, and the most terrible one, is, “HE WILL NOT AT ALL
ACQUIT THE WICKED.” Let me unfold this, first of all, and then let me,
after that, endeavor to trace it also to its source, as I did the first attribute.
God “will not acquit the wicked;” how prove I this? I prove it thus. Never
once has he pardoned an unpunished sin; not in all the years of the Most
High, not in all the days of his right hand, has he once blotted out sin
without punishment. What! say you, were not those in heaven pardoned?
Are there not many transgressors pardoned, and do they not escape
without punishment? Has be not said, “I have blotted out thy
transgressions like a cloud, and like a thick cloud thine iniquities?” Yes,
true, most true, and yet my assertion is true also — not one of all those
sins that have been pardoned were pardoned without punishment. Do you
ask me why and how such a thing as that can be the truth? I point you to
yon dreadful sight on Calvary; the punishment which fell not on the
forgiven sinner fell there. The cloud of justice was charged with fiery hail;
the sinner deserved it; it fell on him; but, for all that, it fell, and spent its
fury; it fell there, in that great reservoir of misery; it fell into the Saviour’s
heart. The plagues, which need should light on our ingratitude did not fall
on us, but they fell somewhere and who was it that was plagued? Tell me,
Gethsemane; tell me, O Calvary’s summit, who was plagued. The doleful
answer comes, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!“ “My God, my God, why hast
thou forsaken me?” It is Jesus suffering all the plagues of sin. Sin is still
punished, though the sinner is delivered.
But, you say, this has scarcely proved that he will not acquit the wicked. I
hold it has proved it, and proved it clearly. But do ye want any further
proof that God will not acquit the wicked? Need I lead you through a long
list of terrible wonders that God has wrought — the wonders of his
vengeance? Shall I show you blighted Eden? Shall I let you see a world all
drowned — sea monsters whelping and stabling in the palaces of kings?
Shall I let you hear the last shriek of the last drowning man as he falls into
the flood and dies, washed by that huge wave from the hill top? Shall I let
you see death riding upon the summit of a crested billow, upon a sea that
knows no shore, and triumphing because his work is done; his quiver
empty, far all men are slain, save where life flows in the midst of death in
yonder ark? Need I let you see Sodom, with its terrified inhabitants, when
the volcano of almighty wrath spouted fiery hail upon it? Shall I show you
the earth opening its mouth to swallow up Korah, Dathan, and Abiram?
Need I take you to the plagues of Egypt? Shall I again repeat the death
shriek of Pharaoh, and the drowning of his host? Surely, we need not to be
told of cities that are in ruins, or of nations that have been cut off in a day;
ye need not to be told how God has smitten the earth from one side to the
other, when he has been wrath, and how he has melted mountains in his hot
displeasure. Nay, we have proofs enough in history, proofs enough in
Scripture, that “he will not at all acquit the wicked.” If ye wanted the best
proof however, ye should borrow the black wings of a miserable
imagination, and fly beyond the world, through the dark realm of chaos on,
far on, where those battlements of fire are gleaming with a horrid light — if
through them, with a spirit’s safety, ye would fly, and would behold the
worm that never dies, the pit that knows no bottom, and could you there
see the fire unquenchable, and listen to the shrieks and wails of men that
are banished for ever from God — if, sirs, it were possible for you to hear
the sullen groans and hollow moans, and shrieks of tortured ghosts, then
would you come back to this world, amazed and petrified with horror, and
you would say, “Indeed he will not acquit the wicked.” You know, hell is
the argument of the text, may you never have to prove the text by feeling
in yourselves the argument fully carried out, “He will not at all acquit the
wicked.”
And now we trace this terrible attribute to its source. Why is this?
We reply, God will not acquit the wicked, because he is good. What! doth
goodness demand that sinners shall be punished? It doth. The Judge must
condemn the murderer, because he loves his nation. “I cannot, let you go
free; I cannot, and I must not; you would slay others, who belong to this
fair commonwealth, if I were to let you go free; no, I must condemn you
from the very loveliness of my nature.” The kindness of a king demands the
punishment of those who are guilty. It is not wrathful in the legislature to
make severe laws against great sinners; it is but love towards the rest that
sin should be restrained. Yon great floodgates, which keep back the torrent
of sin, are painted black, and look right horrible, like horrid dungeon gates,
they affright my spirit; but are they proofs that God is not good? No sirs; if
ye could open wide those gates, and let the deluge of sin flow on us, then
would you cry, “O God, O God! shut-to the gates of punishment again, let
law again be established, set up the pillars, and swing the gates upon their
hinges; shut again the gates of punishment, that this world may not again
be utterly destroyed by men who have become worse than brutes.” It needs
for very goodness’ sake that sin should be punished. Mercy, with her
weeping eyes (for she hath wept for sinners) when she finds they will not
repent, looks more terribly stern in her loveliness than Justice in all his
majesty; she drops the white flag from her hand, and saith — “No; I called,
and they refused; I stretched out my hand, and no man regarded; let them
die, let them die,” — and that terrible word from the lip of Mercy’s self is
harsher thunder than the very damnation of Justice. Oh, yes, the goodness
of God demands that men should perish, if they will sin.
And again, the justice of God demands it. God is infinitely just, and his
justice demands that men should be punished, unless they turn to him with
full purpose of heart. Need I pass through all the attributes of God to
prove it? Methinks I need not. We must all of us believe that the God who
is slow to anger and great in power is also sure not to acquit the wicked.
And now just a home thrust or two with you. What is your state this
morning? My friend, man, woman, what is thy state? Canst thou look up to
heaven, and say, “Though I have sinned greatly, I believe Christ wee
punished in my stead,
‘My faith looks back to see,
The burden he did bear,
When hanging on the cursed tree,
And knows her guilt was there?’”
Can you by humble faith look to Jesus, and say, “My substitute, my refuge,
my shield; thou art my rock, my trust; in thee I do confide?” Then beloved,
to you I have nothing to say, except this, — Never be afraid when you ace
God’s power; for now that you are forgiven and accepted, now that by
faith you have fled to Christ for refuge, the power of God need no more
terrify you, than the shield and sword of the warrior need terrify his wife or
his child. “Nay,” saith the woman, “is he strong? He is strong for me. Is his
arm brawny, and are all his sinews fast and strong? Then are they fast and
strong for me. Whilst he lives, and wears a shield, he will stretch it over my
head; and whilst his good sword can cleave foes, it will cleave my foes too,
and ransom me.” Be of good cheer; fear not his power.
But hast thou never fled to Christ for refuge? Dost thou not believe in the
Redeemer? Hast thou never confided thy soul to his hands? Then, my
friends, hear me; in God’s name, hear me just a moment. My friend, I
would not stand in thy position for an hour, for all the stars twice spelt in
gold! For what is thy position? Thou hast sinned, and God will not acquit
thee, he will punish thee. He is letting thee live, thou art reprieved. Poor is
the life of one that is reprieved without a pardon! Thy reprieve will soon
run out; thine hour-glass is emptying every day. I see on some of you death
has put his cold hand, and frozen your hair to whiteness. Ye need your
staff, it is the only barrier between you and the grave now, and you are, all
of you, old and young, standing on a narrow neck of land, between two
boundless seas — that neck of land, that isthmus of life, narrowing every
moment, and you, and you, and you, are yet unpardoned. There is a city to
be sacked, and you are in it — soldiers are at the gates; the command is
given that every man in the city is to be slaughtered save he who can give
the password. “Sleep on, sleep on; the attack is not to-day, sleep on, sleep
on.” “But it is to-morrow, Sir.” “Ay, sleep on, sleep on, it is not till tomorrow
sleep on, procrastinate, procrastinate.” “Hark! I hear a rumbling at
the gates, the battering ram is at them; the gates are tottering.” “Sleep on,
sleep on; the soldiers are not yet at your doors; sleep on, sleep on; ask for
no mercy yet; sleep on, sleep on!” “Ay, but I hear the shrill clarion sound,
they are in the streets. Hark, to the shrieks of men and women! They are
slaughtering them, they fall they fall, they fall!” “Sleep on; they are not yet
at your door.” “But hark, they are at the gate; with heavy tramp I hear the
soldiers marching up the stairs!” “Nay, sleep on, sleep on, they are not yet
in your room.” “Why, they are there, they have burst open the door that
parted you from them, and there they stand!” “No, sleep on, sleep on, the
sword is not yet at your throat, sleep on, sleep on!” It is at your throat; you
start with horror. Sleep on, sleep on! But you are goner “Demon, why
toldest thou me to slumber! It would have been wise in me to have escaped
the city when first the gates were shaken. Why did I not ask for the
password before the troops came? Why, by all that is wise why did I not
rush into the streets, and cry the password when the soldiers were there?
Why stood I till the knife was at my throat? Ay, demon that thou art, be
cursed; but I am cursed with thee for ever!” You know the application, it is
a parable ye can all expound, ye need not that I should tell you that death is
after you, that justice must devour you, that Christ crucified is the only
password that can save you, and yet you have not learnt it — that with
some of you death is nearing, nearing, nearing, and that with all of you he
is close at hand! I need not expound how Satan is the demon, how in hell
you shall curse him and curse yourselves because you procrastinated —
how, that seeing God was slow to anger you were slow to repentance —
how, because he was great, in power, and kept back his anger, therefore
you kept back your steps from seeking him; and here you are what you are!
Spirit of God, bless these words to some souls that they may be saved!
May some sinners be brought to the Saviour’s feet, and cry for mercy. We
ask it for Jesus’ sake. Amen.
Tags: Spurgeon