A Sermon Delivered on Sabbath Morning, October 7, 1855, by
the
Rev. C.H. SPURGEON
At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.
"Brethren, if any of you do err from the truth; and one convert him; Let him know that he which converteth sinner from the error of his way, shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins."—James 5:19-20.
The true believer is always pleased to hear of anything
which concerns the salvation of his own soul. He rejoices to hear of the
covenant plan drawn up for him from all eternity, of the great fulfillment on
the cross at Calvary, of all the stipulations of the Savior, of the application
of them by the Holy Spirit, of the security which the believer has in the person
of Christ, and of those gifts and graces which accompany salvation to all those
who are heirs thereof: But I feel certain that, deeply pleased as we are when we
hear of things touching our own salvation and deliverance from hell, we, as
preachers of God, and as new creatures in Christ, being made like unto him, have
true benevolence of spirit, and therefore are always delighted when we hear,
speak, or think, concerning the salvation of others. Next to our own salvation,
I am sure, as Christians, we shall always prize the salvation of other people;
we shall always desire that what has been so sweet to our own taste, may also be
tasted by others; and what has been of so inestimably precious a value to our
own souls, may also become the property of all those whom God may please to
shall unto everlasting life. I am sure, beloved, now that I am about to preach
concerning the conversion of the ungodly, you will take as deep an interest in
it as if it were something that immediately concerned your own souls, for, after
all, such were some of you once. You were unconverted and ungodly; and had not
God taken thought for you, and set his people to strive for your souls, where
had you been? Seek, then, to exercise that charity and benevolence towards
others which God and God's people first exercised towards you.
Our text has in it, first of all, a principle involved—that of
instrumentality.—"Brethren, if any of you do err from the truth, and one
convert him; let him know that he who converteth a sinner from the error of his
way, shall save a soul from death." Secondly, here is a general fact stated:—"He
who converteth a sinner from the error of his way, shall save a soul from death,
and shall hide a multitude of sins." And thirdly, there is a particular
application of this fact made. "Brethren, if any of you do err from the
truth and one convert him,"—that is the same principle as when a sinner is
converted "from the error of his way."
I. First, then, here is a great principle involved—a very important
one—that of INSTRUMENTALITY. God has been pleased in his inscrutable wisdom and
intelligence to work the conversion of others by instrumentality. True, he does
not in all cases SO do, but it is his general way. Instrumentality is the plan
of the universe. In the new creation it is almost always God's invariable rule
to convert by means of instruments. Now we will make one or two brief remarks
upon this first principle.
First, then, we say that instrumentality is not necessary with God. God
can, if he pleases, convert souls without any instruments whatsoever. The mighty
Maker who chooses to use the sword sometimes, can, if he pleases, slay without
it. He who uses the workman, the trowel, and the hammer, can, if he so sees fit,
build the house in a moment, and from the foundation-stone even to the topstone
thereof, can complete it by the words of his own mouth. We never hear of any
instrument used in the conversion of Abraham. He lived in a far-off land in the
midst of idolaters, but he was called Ur of the Cheldees, and thence God called
him and brought him to Canaan by an immediate voice, doubtless from above, by
God's own agency, without the employment of any prophet; for we read of none who
could, as far as we can see, have preached to Abraham and taught him the truth.
Then in modern times we have a mighty instance of the power of God, in
converting without human might. Saul, on his journey towards Damascus, upon his
horse, fiery and full of fury against the children of God, is hastening to hail
men and women and cast them into prison; to bring them bound unto Jerusalem; but
on a sudden, a voice is heard from heaven, "Saul! Saul! why persecutest thou
me?" and Saul was a new man. No minister was his spiritual parent, no book could
claim him as its convert; no human voice, but the immediate utterance of Jesus
Christ himself, at once, there and then, and upon the spot, brought Saul to know
the truth. Moreover, there are some men who seem never to need conversion at
all; for we have one instance in Scripture of John the Baptist, of whom it is
said, "He was filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother's womb." And I
do not know but what there are some who very early in life have a change of
heart. It is quite certain that all infants, (who, doubtless, being each of them
elect, do ascend to heaven,) undergo a change of heart without instrumentality;
and so there may be some, concerning whom it maybe written that though they were
born in sin and shapen in iniquity, yet they were so early taught to know the
Lord, so soon brought to his name, that it must have been almost without
instrument at all. God can if he pleases cast the instrument aside. The mighty
Maker of the world who used no angels to beat out the great mass of nature and
fashion it into a round globe, he who without hammer or anvil fashioned this
glorious world, can if he pleases, speak, and it is done; command, and it shall
stand fast. He needs not instruments, though he uses them.
Secondly, we make another remark, which is, that instrumentality is very
honorable to God, and not dishonorable. One would think, perhaps, at first
sight, that it would reflect more glory to God, if he effected all conversions
himself, without the use of men; but that is a great mistake. It is as honorable
to God to convert by means of Christians and others, as it would be if he should
effect it alone. Suppose a workman has power and skill with his hands alone to
fashion a certain article, but you put into his hands the worst of tools you can
find; you know he can do it well with his hands, but these tools are so badly
made, that they will be the greatest impediment you could lay in his way. Well
now, I say, if a man with these bad instruments, or these poor tools—things
without edges—that are broken, that are weak and frail, is able to make some
beauteous fabric, he has more credit from the use of those tools, than he would
have had if he had done it simply with his hands because the tools, so far from
being an advantage, were a disadvantage to him; so far from being a help, are of
my supposition, even a detriment to him in his work. So with regard to human
instrumentality. So far from being any assistance to God, we are all hindrances
to him. What is a minister? He is made by God a means of salvation, but it is a
wonderful thing that any one so faulty, so imperfect so little skilled, should
yet be blessed of God to bringing forth children for the Lord Jesus. It seems as
marvellous as if a man should fashion rain from fire, or if he should fabricate
some precious alabaster vase out of the refuse of the dunghill. God in his mercy
does more than make Christians without means; he takes bad means to make good
men with, and so he even reflects credit on himself because his instruments are
all of them such poor things. They are all such earthen vessels, that they do
but set of the glory of the gold which they hold, like the foil that setteth
forth the jewel, or like the dark spot in the painting that makes the light more
brilliant; and yet the dark spot and the foil are not in themselves costly or
valuable. So God uses instruments to set forth his own glory; and to exalt
himself.
This brings us to the other remark, that usually God does employ instruments.
Perhaps in one case out of a thousand, men are converted by the immediate agency
of God—and so indeed are all in one sense,—but usually, in ninety-nine cases out
of a hundred, God is pleased to use the instrumentality of his ministering
servants, of his Word, of Christian men, or some other means to bring us to the
Savior. I have heard of some—I remember them now—who were called like Saul, at
once from heaven. We can remember the history of the brother who in the darkness
of the night was called to know the Savior by what he believed to be a vision
from heaven or some effect on his imagination. On one side he saw a black tablet
of his guilt, and his soul was delighted to see Christ cast a white tablet over
it; and he thought he heard a voice that said, "I am he that blotteth out thy
transgressions for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins." There was a
man converted almost without instrumentality; but you do not meet with such a
case often. Most persons have been convinced by the pious conversation of
sisters, by the holy example of mothers, by the minister, by the Sabbath-school,
or by the reading of tracts or perusing Scripture. Let us not therefore believe
that God will often work without instruments; let us not sit down silently and
say, "God will do his own work." It is quite true he will; but then he does his
work by using his children as instruments. He does not say to the Christian man
when he is converted, "Sit thee down; I have nought for thee to do, but I will
do all myself and have all the glory." No; he says, "Thou art a poor weak
instrument; thou canst do nothing; but lo! I will strengthen thee, and I will
make thee thrash the mountains and beat them small, and make the hills as chaff:
and so shall I get more honor through thy having done it than I should had mine
own strong arm smitten the mountains and broken them in pieces."
Now another thought, and that is—If God sees fit to make use of any of us for
the conversion of others, we must not therefore be too sure that we are
converted ourselves. It is a most solemn thought, that God makes use of
ungodly men as instruments for the conversion of sinners. And it is strange that
some most terrible acts of wickedness have been the means of the conversion of
men. When Charles II ordered the Book of Sports to be read in churches, and
after the service the clergyman was required to read to all the people to spend
the afternoon in what are called harmless diversions and games that I will not
mention here—even that was made the means of conversion; for one man said within
himself, "I have always disported myself thus on the Sabbath-day; but now to
hear this read in church! how wicked we must have become! how the whole land
must be corrupt." It led him to think of his own corruption, and brought him to
the Savior. There have been words proceeding, I had almost said from devils,
which have been the means of conversion. Grace is not spoiled by the rotten
wooden spout it runs through. God did once speak by an ass to Balaam, but that
did not spoil his words. So he speaks, not simply by an ass, which he often
does, but by something worse than that. He can fill the mouths of ravens with
food for an Elijah, and yet the raven is a raven still. We must not suppose
because God has made us useful that we are therefore converted ourselves.
But then another thing. If God in his mercy does not make us useful to the
conversion of sinners, we are not therefore to say we are sure we are not the
children of God. I believe there are some ministers who have had the painful
labor of toiling from year to year without seeing a single soul regenerated. Yet
those men have been faithful to their charge, and have well discharged their
ministry. I do not say that such cases often occur, but I believe they have
occurred sometimes. Yet, mark you, the end of their ministry has been answered
after all. For what is the end of the gospel ministry? Some will say it is to
convert sinners. That is a collateral end. Others will say it is to convert the
saints. That is true. But the proper answer to give is—it is to glorify God,
and, God is glorified even in the damnation of sinners. If I testify to them the
truth of God and they reject his gospel; if I faithfully preach his truth, and
they scorn it, my ministry is not therefore void. It has not returned to God
void, for even in the punishment of those rebels he will be glorified, even in
their destruction he will get himself honor; and if he cannot get praise from
their songs, he will at last get honor from their condemnation and overthrow,
when he shall cast them into the fire for ever. The true motive for which we
should always labor, is the glory of God in the conversion of souls; and
building up of God's people; but let us never lose sight of the great end. Let
God be glorified; and he will be, if we preach his truth faithfully and
honestly. So, therefore, while we should seek for souls, if God denies them unto
us, let us not say, "I will not have other mercies that he has given; "but let
us comfort ourselves with the thought—that though they be not saved, though
Israel be not gathered in, God will glorify and honor us at last.
One thought more upon this subject—God by using us as instruments confers
upon us the highest honor which men can receive. O beloved! I dare not
dilate upon this. It should make our hearts burn at the thought of it. It makes
us feel thrice honored that God should use us to convert souls; and it is only
the grace of God which teaches us on the other hand, that it is grace and grace
alone which makes us useful; which can keep us humble under the thought, that we
are bringing souls to the Savior. It is a work which he who has once entered if
God has blessed him cannot renounce. He will be impatient; he will long to win
more souls to Jesus; he will account that; he will think that labor is but ease,
so that by any means he may save some, and bring men to Jesus. Glory and honor,
praise and power, be unto God, that he thus honors his people. But when he
exalts us most, we will still conclude with, "Not unto us, not unto us, but unto
thy name be all the glory for ever and ever."
II. Secondly, we come to the GENERAL FACT. "He who converteth the sinner from
the error of his way, shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude
of sins." The choicest happiness which mortal breast can know is the happiness
of benevolence,—of doing good to our fellow-creatures. To save a body from
death, is that which gives us almost heaven on earth. Some men can boast that
they have sent so many souls to perdition; that they have hurled many of their
fellows out of the world. We meet, now and then a soldier who can glory that in
battle he struck down so many foemen; that his swift and cruel sword reached the
heart of so many of his enemies; but I count not that glory. If I thought I had
been the means of the death of a single individual, methinks I should scarce
rest at night, for the uneasy ghost of that murdered wretch would stare me in
mine eyes. I should remember I had slain him, and perhaps sent his soul unshaven
and unwashed into the presence of his Maker. It seems to me wonderful that men
can be found to be soldiers. I say not if it be right or wrong; still I wonder
where they can find the men. I know not how after a battle they can wash their
hands of blood, wipe their swords and put them by, and then lie down to slumber,
and their dreams be undisturbed. Methinks the tears would fall hot and scalding
on my cheek at night, and the shrieks of the dying, and the groans of those
approaching eternity would torture mine ear. I know not how others can endure
it. To me it would be the very portal of hell, if I could think I had been a
destroyer of my fellow-creatures. But what bliss is it to be the instrument of
saving bodies from death! Those monks on Mount St. Bernard, surely, must feel
happiness when they rescue men from death. The dog comes to the door, and they
know what it means; he has discovered some poor weary traveler who has lain him
down to sleep in the snow, and is dying from cold and exhaustion. Up rise the
monks from their cheerful fire, intent to act the good Samaritan to the lost
one. At last they see him, they speak to him, but he answers not. They try to
discover if there is breath in his body, and they think he is dead. They take
him up, give him remedies; and hastening to their hostel, they lay him by the
fire, and warm and chafe him, looking into his face with kindly anxiety, as much
as to say, "Poor creature! art thou dead? "When, at last, they perceive some
heavings of the lungs, what joy is in the breast of those brethren, as they say,
"His life is not extinct." Methinks if there could be happiness on earth, it
would be the privilege to help to chafe one hand of that poor, almost dying man,
and be the means of bringing him to life again. Or, suppose another case. A
house is in flames, and in it is a woman with her children, who cannot by any
means escape. In vain she attempts to come down stairs; the flames prevent her.
She has lost all presence of mind and knows not how to act. The strong man
comes, and says, "Make way! make way! I must save that woman! "And cooled by the
genial streams of benevolence, he marches through the fire. Though scorched, and
almost stifled, he gropes his way. He ascends one staircase, then another, and
though the stairs totter, he places the woman beneath his arm, takes a child on
his shoulder, and down he comes, twice a giant, having more might than he ever
possessed before. He has jeopardized his life, and perhaps an arm may be
disabled, or a limb taken away, or a sense lost, or an injury irretrievably done
to his body, yet he claps his hands, and says, "I have saved lives from death!"
The crowd in the street hail him as a man who has been the deliverer of his
fellow-creatures, honoring him more than the monarch who had stormed a city,
sacked a town, and murdered myriad's.
But ah! brethren, the body which was saved from death to-day may die tomorrow.
Not so the soul that is saved from death: it is saved everlastingly. It is saved
beyond the fear of destruction. And if there be joy in the breast of a
benevolent man when he saves a body from death, how much more blessed must he be
when he is made the means in the hand of God of saving "a soul from death, and
hiding a multitude of sins." Suppose that by some conversation of yours
you are made the means of delivering a soul from death. My friends, you are apt
to imagine that all conversion is under God done by the minister. You make a
great mistake. There are many conversions effected by a very simple observation
from the most humble individual. A single word spoken maybe more the means of
conversion than a whole sermon. There you sit before me. I thrust at you, but
you are too far off. Some brother, however, addresses an observation to you—it
is a very stab with a short poignard in your heart. God often blesses a short
pithy expression from a friend more than a long discourse from a minister. There
was once in a village, where there had been a revival in religion, a man who was
a confirmed infidel. Notwithstanding all the efforts of the minister and many
Christian people, he had resisted all attempts, and appeared to be more and more
confirmed in his sin. At length the people held a prayer meeting specially to
intercede for his soul. Afterwards God put it into the heart of one of the
elders of the church to spend a night in prayer in behalf of the poor infidel.
In the morning the elder rose from his knees, saddled his horse, and rode down
to the man's smithy. He meant to say a great deal to him, but he simply went up
to him, took him by the hand, and all he could say was, "O sir! I am deeply
concerned for your salvation. I am deeply concerned for your salvation. I have
been wrestling with God all this night for your salvation." He could say no
more, his heart was too full. He then mounted on his horse and rode away again.
Down went the blacksmith's hammer, and he went immediately to see his wife. She
said, "What is the matter with you?" "Matter enough," said the man, "I have been
attacked with a new argument this time. There is elder B_______ has been here
this morning; and he said," I am concerned about your salvation.' Why, now, if
he is concerned about my salvation, it is a strange thing that I am not
concerned about it." The man's heart was clean captured by that kind word from
the elder; he took his own horse and rode to the elder's house. When he arrived
there the elder was in his parlor, still in prayer, and they knelt down
together. God gave him a contrite spirit and a broken heart, and brought that
poor sinner to the feet of the Savior. There was "a soul saved from death, and a
multitude of sins covered."
Again, you may be the means of conversion by a letter you may write. Many of you
have not the power to speak or say much; but when you sit down alone in your
chamber you are able, with God's help, to write a letter to a dear friend of
yours. Oh! I think that is a very sweet way to endeavor to be useful. I think I
never felt so much earnestness after the souls of my fellow-creatures as when I
first loved the Savior's name, and though I could not preach, and never thought
I should be able to testify to the multitude, I used to write texts on little
scraps of paper and drop them anywhere, that some poor creatures might pick them
up, and receive them as messages of mercy to their souls. There is your brother.
He is careless and hardened. Sister, sit down and write a letter to him, when he
receives it, he will perhaps smile, but he will say, "Ah, well! it is Betsy's
letter after all!" And that will have some power. I knew a gentleman, whose dear
sister used often to write to him concerning his soul. "I used," said he, "to
stand with my back up against a lamp-post, with a cigar in my mouth, perhaps at
two o'clock in the morning, to read her letter. I always read them; and I have,"
said he, "wept floods of tears after reading my sister's letters. Though I still
kept on the error of my ways, they always checked me, they always seemed a hand
pulling me away from sin; a voice crying out," Come back! come back!'" And at
last a letter from her, in conjunction with a solemn providence, was the means
of breaking his heart, and he sought salvation through a Savior.
Again. How many nave been converted by the example of true Christians.
Many of you feel that you cannot write or preach, and you think you can do
nothing. Well, there is one thing you can do for your Master—you can live
Christianity. I think there are more people who look at the new life in Christ
written out in you, than they will in the old life that is written in the
Scriptures. An infidel will use arguments to disprove the Bible, if you set it
before him; but, if you do to others as you would that they should do to you, if
you give of your bread to the poor and disperse to the needy, living like Jesus,
speaking words of kindness and love, and living honestly and uprightly in the
world, he will say, "Well, I thought the Bible was all hypocrisy; but I cannot
think so now, because there is Mr. So-and-so, see how he lives. I could believe
my infidelity if it were not for him. The Bible certainly has an effect upon his
life, and therefore I must believe it."
And then how many souls may be converted by what some men are privileged to
write and print. There is "Dr. Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion."
Though I decidedly object to some things in it, I could wish that everybody lad
read that book, so many have been the conversions it has produced. I think it
more honor to have written "Watts's Psalms and Hymns," than "Milton's Paradise
Lost, "and more glory to have written that book of old Wilcocks," A Drop of
Honey; "or the tract that God has used so much—"The Sinner's Friend"—than all
the books of Homer. I value books for the good they may do to men's souls. Much
as I respect the genius of Pope, or Dryden, or Burns, give me the simple lines
of Cowper, that God has owned in bringing souls to him. Oh! to think that we may
write and print books which shall reach poor sinners' hearts. The other day my
soul was gladdened exceedingly by an invitation from a pious woman to go and see
her. She told me she had been ten years on her bed, and had not been able to
stir from it. "Nine years," she said, "I was dark, and blind, and unthinking;
but my husband brought me one of your sermons. I read it, and God blessed it to
the opening of my eyes. He converted my soul with it. And now, all glory to him!
I love his name! Each Sabbath morning," she said, "I wait for your sermon. I
live on it all the week, as marrow and fatness to my spirit." Ah! thought I,
there is something to cheer the printers, and all of us who labor in that good
work. One good brother wrote to me this week, "Brother Spurgeon, keep your
courage up. You are known in multitudes of households of England, and you are
loved too; though we cannot hear you, or see your living form, yet throughout
our villages your sermons are scattered. And I know of cases of conversion from
them, more than I can tell you." Another friend mentioned to me an instance of a
clergyman of the Church of England, a canon of a cathedral, who frequently
preaches the sermons on the Sabbath—whether in the cathedral or not, I cannot
say, but I hope he does. Oh! who can tell, when these things are printed what
hearts they may reach, what good they may effect? Words that I spoke three weeks
ago, eyes are now perusing, while tears are gushing from them as they read!
"Glory be to God most high!"
But, after all, preaching is the ordained means for the salvation of sinners,
and by this ten times as many are brought to the Savior as by any other. Ah! my
friends, to have been the means of saving souls from death by preaching—what an
honor. There is a young man who has not long commenced his ministerial career.
When he enters the pulpit everybody notices what a deep solemnity there is upon
him, beyond his years. His face is white, and blanched by an unearthly
solemnity, his body is shriveled up by his labor, constant study and midnight
lamp have worn him away; but when he speaks he utters wondrous words that lift
the soul up to heaven. And the aged saint says, "Well! ne'er did I go so near to
heaven as when I listened to his voice!" There comes in some gay young man, who
listens and criticizes his aspect. He thinks it is by no means such as to be
desired; but he listens. One thought strikes him, then another. See you that
man; He has been moral all his life long—but he has never been renewed. Now tear
begin to flow down his cheeks. Just put your ear against his breast, and you
will hear him groan out, "God be merciful to me a sinner." Ah! good reward for a
withered frame, or a ruined constitution! Or, take another case. A man is
preaching the Word of God. He is standing up to deliver his Master's message,
and in steals some poor harlot. Such a case I knew not long ago. A poor harlot
determined she would go and take her life on Blackfriars Bridge. Passing by
these doors one Sunday night, she thought she would step in, and for the last
time hear something that might prepare her to stand before her Maker. She forced
herself into the aisle, and she could not escape until I rose from the pulpit.
The text was, "Seest thou this woman?" I dwelt upon Mary Magdalene and her sins;
her washing the Savior's feet with her tears, and wiping them with the hair of
her head. There stood the woman, melted away with the thought that she should
thus hear herself described, and her own life painted. Oh! to think of saving a
poor harlot from death, to deliver such an one from going down to the grave, and
then, as God pleased, to save her soul from going down to hell! Is it not worth
ten thousand lives, if we could sacrifice them all on the altar of God? When I
thought of this text yesterday, I could only weep to think that God should have
so favored me. Oh! men and women, how can ye better spend your time and wealth
than in the cause of the Redeemer? What holier enterprise can ye engage in than
this sacred one of saving souls from death, and hiding a multitude of sins? This
is a wealth that ye can take with you—the wealth that has been acquired under
God, by having saved souls from death, and covered a multitude of sins.
I know there are some now before the throne who first wept the penitential tear
in this house of prayer, and who thanked God that they had listened to this
voice; and methinks, they have a tender and affectionate love still for him whom
God honored thus. Minister of the gospel, if you on earth are privileged to win
souls I think when you die those spirits will rejoice to be your guardian
angels. They will say, "Father, that man is dying whom we love, may we go and
watch him?" "Yea," saith God, "ye may go, and carry heaven with you." Down come
the spirits, ministering angels, and oh! how lovingly they look on us. They
would, if they could, strike out the furrow from the forehead, and take the cold
clammy sweat with their own blessed hands away. They must not do it; but Oh! how
tenderly they watch that suffering man who was made the means of doing good to
their souls, and when he opens his eyes to immortality he shall see them like
guards around his bed, and hear them say, "Come with us, thrice welcome, honored
servant of God; come with us." And when he speeds his way upwards towards heaven
on strong wings of faith, these spirits who stand by him will clap their wings
behind him, and he will enter heaven with many crowns upon his head, each of
which he will delight to cast at the feet of Jesus. Oh, brethren, if ye turn a
sinner from the error of his ways, remember ye have saved a soul from death, and
hidden a multitude of sins.
III. The APPLICATION, I can only just mention. It is this; that he who is the
means of the conversion of a sinner does, under God, "save a soul from death,
and bide a multitude of sins," but particular attention ought to be paid to
backsliders; for in bringing backsliders into the church there is as much
honor to God as in bringing in sinners. "Brethren, if any of you do err from the
truth, and one convert him." Alas! the poor backslider is often the most
forgotten. A member of the church has disgraced his profession, the church
excommunicated him, and he was accounted "a heathen man and a publican." I know
of men of good standing in the gospel ministry, who, ten years ago, fell into
sin; and that is thrown in our teeth to this very day. Do you speak of them? you
are at once informed, "Why, ten years ago they did so-and-so." Brethren,
Christian men ought to be ashamed of themselves for taking notice of such things
so long afterwards. True, we may use more caution in our dealings; but to
reproach a fallen brother for what he did so long ago, is contrary to the spirit
of John, who went after Peter, three days after he had denied his Master with
oaths and curses. Now-a-days it is the fashion, if a man falls, to have nothing
to do with him. Men say, "he is a bad fellow, we will not go after him."
Beloved, suppose he is the worst, is not that the reason why you should go most
after him? Suppose he never was a child of God—suppose he never knew the truth,
is not that the greater reason why you should go after him? I do not understand
your mawkish modesty, your excessive pride, that won't let you after the chief
of sinners. The worse the case, the more is the reason why we should go. But
suppose the man is a child of God, and you have cast him off—remember, he is
your brother; he is one with Christ as much as you are; he is justified, he has
the same righteousness that you have; and if, when he has sinned, you despise
him, in that you despise him you despise his Master. Take heed! thou thyself
mayest be tempted, and mayest one day fall. Like David, thou mayest walk on the
top of thine house rather too high, and thou mayest see something which shall
bring thee to sin. Then what wilt thou say, if then the brethren pass thee
by with a sneer, and take no notice of thee? Oh! if we have one
backslider connected with our church, let us take special care of him. Don't
deal hardly with him. Recollect you would have been a backslider too if it were
not for the grace of God. I advise you, whenever you see professors living in
sin to be very shy of them; but if after a time you see any sign of repentance,
or if you do not, go and seek out the lost sheep of the house of Israel; for
remember, that if one of you do err from the truth, and one convert him, let him
remember, that "he who converteth the sinner from the error of his way, shall
save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins."
"Backsliders, who your misery feel," I will come after you one moment. Poor
backslider, thou wast once a Christian. Dost thou hope thou wast? "No," sayest
thou, "I believe I deceived myself and others; I was no child of God." Well, if
thou didst, let me tell thee, that if thou wilt acknowledge that God will
forgive thee. Suppose you did deceive the church, though art not the first that
did it. There are some members of this church, I fear, who have done so, and we
have not found them out. I tell you your case is not hopeless. That is not the
unpardonable sin. Some who have tried to deceive the very elect have yet been
delivered; and my Master says he is able to save to the uttermost (and ye have
not gone beyond the uttermost) all who come unto him. Come thou, then, to his
feet, cast thyself on his mercy; and though thou didst once enter his came as a
spy, he will not hang thee up for it, but will be glad to get thee anyhow as a
trophy of mercy. But if thou was a child of God, and canst say honestly, "I know
I did love him, and he loved me," I tell thee he loves thee still. If thou hast
gone ever so far astray, thou art as much his child as ever. Though thou hast
run away from thy Father, come back, come back, he is thy Father still. Think
not he has unsheathed the sword to slay thee. Say not, "He has cast me out of
the family." He has not. His bowels yearn over thee now. My Father loves thee;
come then to his feet, and he will not even remind thee of what thou hast done.
The prodigal was going to tell his Father all his sins, and to ask him to make
him one of his hired servants, but the Father stopped his mouth He let him say
that he was not worthy to be called his son, but he would not let him say, "make
me as an hired servant." Come back and thy Father will receive thee gladly; he
will put his arms around thee and kiss thee with the kisses of his love, and he
will say, "I have found this my son that was lost; I have recovered this sheep
that had gone astray." My Father loved thee without works, he justified thee
irrespective of them; thou hast no less merit now than thou hadst then. Come and
trust and believe in him.
Lastly, you who believe you are not backsliders, if you are saved, remember that
a soul is saved from death, and a multitude of sins hidden. Oh, my friends, if I
might but be a hundred-handed man to catch you all, I would love to be so. If
aught I could say could win your souls—if by preaching here from now till
midnight, I might by any possibility capture some of you to the love of the
Savior, I would do it. Some of you are speeding your way to hell blindfolded. My
hearers, I do not deceive you, you are going to perdition as fast as time can
carry you. Some of you are deceiving yourselves with the thought that you are
righteous, and you are not so. Many of you have had solemn warnings, and have
never been moved by them. You have admired the way in which the warning has been
given, but the thing itself has never entered your heart. Hundreds of you are
without God, and without Christ, strangers to the commonwealth of Israel: and
may I not plead with you? Is a gloomy religious system to hold me captive and
never let me speak? Why, poor hearts, do you know your sad condition? Do you
know that "God is angry with the wicked every day;" that "the way of
transgressors is hard;" that "he that believeth not is condemned already?" Has
it never been told you that "he that believeth not shall be damned? "and can you
stand damnation? My hearers could you make your bed in hell? Could you lie down
in the pit? Do you think it would be an easy portion for your souls to be rocked
on waves of flame for ever, and to be tossed about with demons in the place
where hope cannot come? You may smile now, but will not smile soon. God sends me
as an ambassador now; but if ye listen not to me, he will not send an ambassador
next time, but an executioner. There will be no wooing words of mercy soon: the
only exhortation thou wilt hear will be the dull cold voice of death, that shall
say, "Come with me." Then thou wilt not be in the place where we sing God's
praises, and where righteous prayers are daily offered. The only music thou wilt
hear will be the sighs of the damned, the shrieks of fiends, and the yellings of
the tormented. O may God in his mercy snatch you as brands from the fire, to be
trophies of his grace throughout eternity. The way to be saved is to "renounce
thy works and ways with grief," and fly to Jesus. And if now thou art a
conscience-stricken sinner, that is all I want. If thou will confess that thou
art a sinner, that is all God requires of thee, and even that he gives thee.
Jesus Christ says "Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest." Do you hear his wooing words? Will ye turn from his sweet
looks of mercy? Has his cross no influence? have his wounds no power to bring
you to his feet? Ah! then, what can I say? The arm of the Spirit, which is
mightier than man, alone can make hard hearts melt, and bow stubborn wills to
the ground. Sinners, if you confess your sins this morning, there is a Christ
for you. You need not say, "Oh, that I knew where to find him." The Word is nigh
thee, on thy lips, and in thy heart. If thou wilt with thine heart believe, and
with thy mouth confess, the Lord Jesus, thou shalt be saved, for "He that
believeth and is baptized shall be saved; and he that believeth not shall be
damned."