Comfort For The Desponding
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, November 25,
1855,
by
Charles Haddon. Spurgeon
At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.
http://www.apibs.org/chs.htm
"Oh that I were as in months past." - Job 29:2.
FOR THE MOST part the gracious Shepherd leads his people beside the still
waters, and makes them to lie down in green pastures; but at times they wander
through a wilderness, where there is no water, and they find no city to dwell
in. Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainteth within them, and they cry unto the
Lord in their trouble. Though many of his people live in almost constant joy,
and find that religion's ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are
peace, yet there are many who pass through fire and through water: men do ride
over their heads, - they endure all manner of trouble and sorrow. The duty of
the minister is to preach to different characters. Sometimes we admonish the
confident, lest they should become presumptuous; oftentimes we stir up the
slumbering, lest they should sleep the sleep of death. Frequently we comfort
the desponding, and this is our duty this morning - or if not to comfort them,
yet to give them some exhortation which may by God's help be the means of
bringing them out of the sad condition into which they have fallen, so that
they may not be obliged to cry out for ever - "Oh that I were as in months
past!"
At once to the subject. A
complaint; its cause and cure; and then close up with an exhortation
to stir up your pure minds, if you are in such a position.
I. First, there is a COMPLAINT.
How many a Christian looks on the past with pleasure, on the future with dread,
and on the present with sorrow! There are many who look back upon the days that
they have passed in the fear of the Lord as being the sweetest and the best
they have ever had, but as to the present, it is clad in a sable garb of gloom
and dreariness. They could wish for their young days over again, that they
might live near to Jesus, for now they feel that they have wandered from him,
or that he has hidden his face from them, and they cry out, "Oh that I
were as in months past!"
1. Let us take distinct cases
one by one. The first is the case of a man who has lost the brightness of
his evidences, and is crying out, "Oh that I were as in months
past!" Hear his soliloquy: - "Oh that my past days could be recalled!
Then I had no doubt of my salvation. If any man had asked for the reason of the
hope that was in me, I could have answered with meekness and with fear. No
doubt distressed me, no fear harassed me; I could say with Paul, 'I know whom I
have believed,' and with Job, 'I know that my Redeemer liveth;'
'My steady soul did fear no more
Than solid rocks when billows roar.'
I felt myself to be standing on the rock Christ Jesus. I said -
'Let cares like a wild deluge come,
And storms of sorrow fall;
Sure I shall safely reach my home,
My God, my heaven, my all'
But ah! how changed it is now! Where there was no cloud it; all cloud;
where I could read my 'my title clear,' I tremble to read my damnation quite as
clearly. I hoped that I trusted in Christ, but now the dark thought rises up,
that I was a hypocrite, and had deceived myself and others. The most I can
attain to, is - Methinks I will hope in him still; and if I may not be
refreshed with the light of his countenance, still in the shadow
of his wings will I trust.' I feel that if I depart from him there is no other
Saviour; but oh! what thick darkness surrounds me! Like Paul of old, there have
been days and nights wherein neither sun, nor moon nor stars have appeared. I
have lost my roll in the Arbour of Ease; I cannot now take it out of my breast,
and read it to console me on my journey; but I fear that when I get to the end
of the way they will deny me entrance, because I came not in by the door to
receive his grace and know his love, but have been deceived, have taken carnal
fancies for the workings of the Spirit, and have imputed what was but natural
conviction to the work of God the Holy Ghost."
This is one phase, and a very
common one. You will meet many who are crying out like that - "Oh that I
were as in months past!"
2. Another phase of this great
complaint, which it also very frequently assumes, is one under which we are
lamenting - not so much because our evidences are withered as because we do
not enjoy a perpetual peace of mind as to other matters. "Oh
"says one, "Oh that I were as in months past; for then whatever
troubles and trials came upon me, were less than nothing. I had learned to sing
-
'Father, I wait thy daily will;
Thou shalt divide my portion still;
Give me on earth what seems thee best,
Till death and heaven reveal the rest.'
I felt that I could give up everything to him; that if he had taken away every
mercy I could have said -
'Yea, if thou take them all away,
Yet will I not repine;
Before they were possessed by me,
They were entirely thine.'
I knew no fear for the future. Like a child on its mother's breast I slept
securely; I said, 'Jehovah-jireh, my God will provide,' I put my business into
his hands; I went to my daily labor; like the little bird that waketh up in the
morning, and knoweth not where its breakfast is to come from, but sitteth on
the spray, singing -
'Mortal, cease from toil and sorrow
God provideth for the morrow;'
so was I. I could have trusted Him with my very life, with wife, with children,
with everything, I could give all into his hands, and say each morning, 'Lord,
I have not a will of my own, or if I have one, still, thy will be done; thy
wish shall be my wish; thy desire shall be my desire.' But 'oh that I were as
in months past!' How changed am I now! I begin fretting about my business; and
if I lose now but a live pound note, I am worried incessantly, whereas, if it
were a thousand before, I could have thanked the God who took it away as easily
as I could the God that gave it to me. How the least thing disturbs me. The
least shadow of a doubt as to some calamity that may befall me, rests on my
soul like a thick cloud. I am perpetually self-willed, desiring always to have
just what I wish. I cannot say I can resign all into his hands; there is a
certain something I could not give up. Twined round my heart there is an evil
plant called self-love. It has twisted its roots within the very nerves and
sinews of my soul. There is something I love above my God. I cannot give up all
now; but 'oh that I were as in months past!' For then my mercies were real
mercies, because they were God's mercies. "Oh," says he, "'that
I were as in months past!' I should not have had to bear such trouble as I have
now, for though the burden might have pressed heavily, I would have cast it on
the Lord. Oh! that I knew the heavenly science of taking the burdens off my own
shoulders, and laying them on the Rock that supports them all! Oh! if I knew
how to pour out my griefs and sorrows as I once did! I have been a fool, an
arrant fool, a very fool, that I should have run away from that sweet
confidence I once had in the Saviour! I used then to go to his ear, and tell
him all my griefs.
'My sorrows and my griefs I poured
Into the bosom of my God;
He helped me in the trying hour,
He helped me bear the heavy load.'
But now, I foolishly carry them myself, and bear them in my own breast, Ah!
'What peaceful hours I then enjoyed!'
Would that they would return to me."
3. Another individual perhaps
is speaking thus concerning his enjoyment in the house of God and the means
of grace. "Oh," says one, "in months past, when I went up to
the house of God, how sweetly did I hear! Why, I sat with my ears open, to
catch the words, as if it were an angel speaking; and when I listened, how at
times did the tears come rolling down my cheeks! and how did my eyes flash,
when some brilliant utterance, full of joy to the Christian, aroused my soul!
Oh! how did I awake on the Sabbath morning, and sing,
'Welcome, sweet day of rest,
That saw the Lord arise;
Welcome to this reviving breast,
And these rejoicing eyes!'
And when they sang in the house of God, whose voice was so fond as mine. When I
retired from worship, it was with a light tread; I went to tell my friends and
my neighbors what glorious news I had heard in the sanctuary. Those were sweet
Sabbaths; and when the prayer-meetings came round, how was I found in my places
and the prayers were prayers indeed to my spirit; whoever I heard
preach, provided it was the gospel, how did my soul feed and fatten under it!
for I sat at a very banquet of joy. When I read the Scriptures they were always
illuminated, and glory did gild the sacred page, whenever I turned it over.
When I bent my knee in prayer, I could pour my soul out before God, and I loved
the exercise; I felt that I could not be happy unless I spent my time upon my
knees; I loved my God, and my God loved me; but oh! how changed now! 'Oh that I
were as in months past!' I go up to God's house; it is the same voice that
speaks, the same man I love so much, still addresses me; but I have no tears to
shed now; my heart has become hardened even under his ministry; I have few
emotions of joy; I enter the house of God as a boy goes to school, without much
love to it, and I go away without having my soul stirred. When I kneel down in
secret prayer, the wheels are taken off my chariot, and it drags very heavily;
when I strive to sing, all I can say is, 'I would but cannot'; 'Oh that I were
as in months past!' when the candle of the Lord shone round about me!"
I trust there are not many of
you who can join in this; for I know ye love to come up to the house of God. I
love to preach to a people who feel the word, who give signs of assent to it -
men and women who can afford a tear now and then in a sermon - people whose
blood seems to boil within them when they hear the gospel. I don't think you
understand much of the phase I am describing; but still you may understand a
little of it. The word may not be quite so sweet and pleasant to you as it used
to be; and then you may cry out - "Oh that I were as in months past!"
4. But I will tell you one
point which perhaps may escape you. There are some of us who lament extremely
that our conscience is not as tender as it used to be; and therefore
doth our soul cry in bitterness, "Oh that I were as in months past!"
"When first I knew the Lord," you say, "I was almost afraid to
put one foot before another, lest I should go astray; I always looked before I leaped;
if there were a suspicion of sin about anything, I faithfully avoided it; it
there were the slightest trace of the trail of the serpent on it, I turned from
it at once; people called me a Puritan; I watched everything; I was afraid to
speak, and some practices that were really allowable I utterly condemned; my
conscience was so tender, I was like a sensitive plant; if touched by the hand
of sin, my leaves curled up in a moment; I could not bear to be touched I was
so tender, I was all over wounds, and if any one brushed against me I cried
out. I was afraid to do anything, lest I should sin against God. If I heard an
oath, my bones shook within me; if I saw a man break the Sabbath, I trembled
and was afraid; wherever I went, the least whisper of sin startled me; it was
like the voice of a demon when I heard a temptation, and I said with violence,
'Get thee behind me, Satan,' I could not endure sin; I ran away from it as from
a serpent; I could not taste a drop of it; but 'Oh that I were as in months past.'
It is true, I have not forsaken his ways; I have not quite forgotten his law;
it is true, I have not disgraced my character, I have not openly sinned before
men, and none but God knoweth my sin; but oh! my conscience is not what it once
was. It did thunder once, but it does not now. O conscience! conscience! thou
art gone too much to sleep, I have drugged thee with laudanum, and thou art
slumbering when thou oughtest to be speaking! Thou art a watchman; but thou
dost not tell the hours of the night as thou once didst. O conscience!
sometimes I heard thy rattle in my ears, and it startled me, now thou sleepest,
and I go on to sin. It is but a little I have done; still, that little shows
the way. Straws tell which way the wind doth blow; and I feel that my having
committed one little sin, evidences in what way my soul is inclined. Oh! that I
had a tender conscience again! Oh! that I had not this rhinoceros conscience,
which is covered over with tough hide, through which the bullets of the law
cannot pierce! Oh! that I had a conscience such as I used to have! ' Oh that I
were as in months past!'"
5. One more form of this sad
condition. There are some of us, dearly beloved, who have not as much zeal
for the glory of God and the salvation of men as we used to have. Months
ago, if we saw a soul going to destruction, our eyes were filled with tears in
a moment; if we did but see a man inclined to sin, we rushed before him with
tears in our eyes, and wished to sacrifice ourselves to save him; we could not
walk the street, but we must be giving somebody a tract, or reproving some one;
we thought we must be for ever speaking of the Lord Jesus; if there were any
good to be done, we were always first and foremost in it: we desired by all
means to save some, and we did think at that time that we could give up
ourselves to death, if we might but snatch a soul from hell. So deep, so ardent
was our love to our fellowmen, that for the love we bore Christ's name, we
would have been content to be scoffed at, hissed at, and persecuted by the
whole world, if we might have done any good in it. Our soul was burning with
intense longing for souls, and we considered all things else to be mean and
worthless; but ah! now souls may be damned, and there is not a tear; sinners may
sink into the scalding pit of hell, and not a groan; thousands may be swept
away each day, and sink into bottomless woe, and yet not an emotion. We can
preach without tears; we can pray for them without our hearts. We can speak to
them without feeling their necessities; we pass by the haunts of infamy - we
wish the inmates better, and that is all. Even our compassion has died out.
Once we stood near the brink of hell, and we thought each day that we heard the
yellings and howlings of the doomed spirits ringing in our ears; and then we
said, "O God, help me to save my fellow-men from going down to the pit!
"But now we forget it all. We have little love to men, we have not half
the zeal and energy we once had. Oh! if that be your state, dearly beloved; if
you can join in that, as your poor minister, alas! can do in some measure, then
may we well say, "Oh that I were as in months past!"
II. But now we are about to
take these different characters, and tell you the CAUSE AND CURE.
1. One of the causes of this
mournful state of things is defect in prayer; and of course the cure
lies somewhere next door to the cause. You are saying, "Oh that I were as
in months past!" Come, my brother; we are going into the very root of the
matter. One reason why it is not with you as in months past is this: you do not
pray as you once did. Nothing brings such leanness into a man's soul as want of
prayer. It is well said that a neglected closet is the birth-place of all evil.
All good is born in the closet, all good springeth from it; there the Christian
getteth it; but if he neglecteth his closet, then all evil comes of it. No man
can progress in grace if he forsakes his closet. I care not how strong he may
be in faith. It is said that fat men may for a time live on the flesh they have
acquired; but there is not a Christian so full of flesh that he can live on old
grace. If he waxes fat he kicks, but he cannot live upon his fat. Those who are
strong and mighty in themselves cannot exist without prayer. If a man should
have the spiritual might of fifty of God's choicest Christians in himself, he
must die, if he did not continue to plow. My brother, cannot you look back and
say, "Three or four months ago my prayers were more regular, more
constant, more earnest than they are now; but now they are feeble, they are not
sincere, they are not fervent, they are not earnest? "O brother, do not
ask anybody what is the cause of your grief; it is as plain as possible; you
need not ask a question about it. There is the cause; and where is the remedy?
Why, in more prayer, beloved. It was little prayer that brought you down; it is
great prayer that will lift you up. It was lack of prayer that brought you into
poverty, it must be increase of prayer that will bring you into riches again.
Where no oxen are the crib is clean. There is nothing for men to eat where
there are no oxen to plough; and where there are no prayers to plough the soil,
you have little to feed upon. We must be more earnest in prayer. Oh! beloved,
might not the beam out of the wall cry against us? Our dusty closets might bear
witness to our neglect of secret devotion; and that is the reason why it is not
with us as in months past. My friends: if you were to compare the Christian to
a steam-engine, you must make his prayers, fed by the Holy Spirit, to be the
very fire which sustains his motion. Prayer is God's chosen vehicle of grace,
and he is unwise who neglects it. Let me be doubly serious on this matter, and
let me give a home-thrust to some. Dear friend, do you mean what you say, and
do you believe what you say - that neglect of prayer will bring your soul into
a most hazardous condition? If so, I will say no more to thee; for thou wilt
easily guess the remedy for thy lamentable cry, "Oh that I were as in months
past!" A certain merchant wishes that he were as rich as he used to be: -
he was wont to send his ships over to the gold country, to bring him home
cargoes of gold, but ne'er a ship has been out of port lately, and therefore
can he wonder that he has had no cargo of gold? So when a man prayeth he sends
a ship to heaven, and it comes back laden with gold; but if he leaves off
supplication, then his ship is weather-bound and stays at home, and no wonder
he cometh to be a poor man.
2. Perhaps, again, you are
saying, "Oh that I were as in months past!" not so much from your own
fault as from the fault of your minister. There is such a thing, my dear
friends, as our getting into a terribly bad condition through the ministry that
we attend. Can it be expected that men should grow in grace when they are never
watered with the streams that make glad the city of our God? Can they be
supposed to wax strong in the Lord Jesus, when they do not feed on spiritual
food? We know some who grumble, Sabbath after Sabbath, and say they cannot hear
such and such a minister. Why don't you buy an ear-trumpet then? Ah! but I
mean, that I can't hear him to my soul's profit. Then do not go to hear
him, if you have tried for a long while and don't get any profit. I always
think that a man who grumbles as he goes out of chapel ought not to be pitied,
but whipped, for he can stay away if he likes, and go where he will be pleased.
There are plenty of places where the sheep may feed in their own manner; and
every one is bound to go where he gets the pasture most suited to his soul; but
you are not bound to run away directly your minister dies, as many of you did
before you came here. You should not run away from the ship directly the storm
comes, and the captain is gone, and you find her not exactly sea-worthy; stand
by her, begin caulking her, God will send you a captain, there will be fine
weather by-and-bye, and all will be right; but very frequently a bad minister
starves God's people into walking skeletons, so that you can tell all their
bones; and who wonders that they starve out their minister, when they get no
food and no nutriment from his ministrations. This is a second reason why men
frequently cry out, "Oh that I were as in months past!"
3. But there is a better reason
still, that will come more home to some of you. It is not so much the
badness of the food, as the seldomness that you come to eat it. You know,
my dear friends, we find every now and then that there is a man who came twice
a day to the house of God on the Sabbath. On the Monday night he was busy at
work; but his apron was rolled up, and if he could not be present all the
while, he would come in at the end. On the Thursday evening he would, if
possible, come to the sanctuary, to hear a sermon from some gospel minister,
and would sit up late at night and get up early in the morning, to make up the
time he had spent in these religious exercises; but by-and-bye he thought,
"I am too hard-worked; this is tiring; it is too far to walk." And so
he gives up first one service, and then another, and then begins to cry out,
"Oh that I were as in months past!" Why, brethren you need not wonder
at it. The man does not eat so much as he used to do. Little and often is the
way children should be fed, though I have given you a great deal this morning.
Still, little and often is a very good rule. I do think, when people give up
week-day services, unless it is utterly impracticable for them to attend them,
farewell to religion. "Farewell to practical godliness," says
Whitfield, "when men do not worship God on the week-day!" Week-day
services are frequently the cream of all. God giveth his people pails full of
milk on the Sabbath, but he often skims off the cream for the week-day. If they
stay away, is it wonderful that they have to say, "Oh, that I were as in
months past!" I do not blame you, beloved; I only wish to "stir up
your pure minds by way of remembrance." A very plain fellow that is - is
he not? Yes, he always tells you what he means, and always intends to do so.
Stand to your colors, my men! Keep close to the standard if you would win the
battle! And when there seems to be the slightest defection, it is simply our
duty to exhort you, lest by any measure ye depart from the soundness of your
faith.
4. But frequently this
complaint arises from idolatry. Many have given their hearts to
something else save God, and have set their affections upon the things of
earth, instead of the things in heaven. It is hard to love the world and love
Christ, it is impossible: that is more; but it is hard not to love the
creature; it is hard not to give yourself to earth; I had almost said, it is
impossible not to do that; it is difficult, and only God can enable us; he
alone can keep us with our hearts fully set on him; but mark whenever we make a
golden calf to worship sooner or latter it will come to this, - we shall get
our golden calf ground up and put into our water for us to drink, and then we
shall have to say, "He hath made me drunken with wormwood." Never a
man makes an idol for himself to worship but it tumbles down on him and breaks
some of his bones. There was ne'er a man yet who departed to broken cisterns to
find water, but instead thereof he found loathsome creatures therein, and was
bitterly deceived. God will have his people live on him, and on none else, and
if they live on anything else but him he will take care to give them of the
waters of Mara, to embitter their drink, and drive them to the Rock of purest
streams. Oh, beloved, let us take care that our hearts are wholly his, only
Christ's, solely Christ's! If they are so, we shall not have to cry out,
"Oh that I were as in months past!"
5. We scarcely need, however,
detail any more reasons. We will add but one more and that is the most common
one of all. We have, perhaps, become self-confident and self-righteous.
If so, that is a reason why it is not with us as in months past. Ah! my
friends, that old rascal self-righteousness, you will never get rid of him as
long as you live. The devil was well pictured under the form of a serpent
because a serpent can creep in anywhere, though the smallest crevice.
Self-righteousness is a serpent; for it will enter anywhere. If you try to
serve your God, "What a fine fellow you are," says the devil.
"Ah! don't you serve your God well! You are always preaching. You are a
noble fellow." If you go to a prayer meeting, God gives you a little gift,
and you are able to pour out your heart. Presently there is a pat on the back
from Satan. "Did not you pray sweetly? I know the brethren will love you;
you are growing in grace very much." If a temptation comes, and you are
able to resist it, "Ah!" says he at once, "you are a true
soldier of the cross; look at the enemy you have knocked down; you will have a
bright crown by-and-bye; you are a brave fellow!" You go on trusting God
implicitly; Satan then says, your faith is very strong: no trial can overcome
you: there is a weak brother, he is not half as strong as you are!" Away
you go, and scold your weak brother, because he is not as big as you, and all
the while Satan is cheering you up, and saying, "What a mighty warrior you
are! so faithful - always trusting in God, you have not any
self-righteousness." The minister preaches to the Pharisee: but the
Pharisee is not fifty-ninth cousin to you; you are not at all self-righteous in
your own opinion, and all the while you are the most self-righteous creature in
existence. Ah! beloved, just when we think ourselves humble we are sure to be
proud; and when we are groaning over our pride we are generally the most
humble. You may just read your own estimate backwards. Just when we imagine we
are the worst, we are often the best, and when we conceive ourselves the best,
we are often the worst. It is that vile self-righteousness who creeps into our
souls, and makes us murmur, "Oh that I were as in months past!" Your
candle has got the snuff of self-righteousness upon it; you want to have that
taken away, and then you will burn all right. You are soaring too high; you
require something that will bring you down again to the feet of the Saviour, as
a poor lost and guilty sinner - nothing at all; then you will not cry any
longer. "Oh that I were as in months past!"
III. And now, the closing up is
to be an EXHORTATION. An exhortation, first of all, to consolation, One
is saying, "Oh! I shall never be in a more happy state than I now am in, I
have lost the light of his countenance; he hath clean gone away from me, and I
shall perish." You remember in John Bunyan's "Pilgrim's
Progress," the description of the man shut up in the iron cage. One says
to him, "Wilt thou never come out of this cage?" "No,
never." "Art thou condemned for ever?" "Yes, I am."
"Why was this?" "Why I grieved the Spirit, and he is gone; I
once thought I loved him, but I have treated him lightly and he has departed. I
went from the paths of righteousness, and now I am locked up here, and cannot
get out." Yes, but John Bunyan does not tell you that the man never did
get out? There have been some in that iron cage that have come out. There may
be one here this morning, who has been for a long while sitting in that iron
cage, rattling the bars, trying to break them, trying to file them through with
his own little might and strength. Oh! dear friend, you will never file through
the iron bars of that terrible cage; you will never escape by yourself. What
must you do? You must begin to sing like the bird in the cage does; then the
kind master will come and let you out. Cry to him to deliver you; and though
you cry and shout, and he shutteth out your prayer, he will hear you
by-and-bye; and like Jonah you shall exclaim in days to come, "Out of the
belly of hell I cried unto the Lord, and he heard me." You will find the
roll under the settle, although you have dropped it down the Hill of
Difficulty; and when thou hast it thou will put it in thy bosom again, and hold
it all the more tightly, because thou hast lost it for a little season.
"Return, O wanderer, return,
And seek an injured Father's face;
Those warm desires that in thee burn
Were kindled by reclaiming grace."
And now another exhortation,
not so much to console you as to stir you up more and more to seek to be what
you ought to be. O Christian men and women, my brethren and sisters in the
faith of Jesus Christ! How many there are of you who are content just to be
saved, and merely to enter heaven. How many do we find who are saying "Oh!
if I can but just get in at the door - if I can simply be a child of God!"
and they carry out their desires literally, for they are as little Christian as
possible. They would have moderation in religion! But what is moderation in
religion? It is a lie; it is a farce. Doth a wife ask her husband to be
moderately loving? Doth a parent expect his child to be moderately obedient? Do
you seek to have your servants moderately honest? No! Then how can you talk
about being moderately religious? To be moderately religious is to be
irreligious. To have a religion that does not enter into the very heart and
influence the life, is virtually to have no religion at all. I tremble
sometimes, when I think of some of you who are mere professors. Ye are content
ye whitewashed sepulchres; because ye are beautifully whitened ye rest
satisfied, without looking at the charnel-house beneath. How many of you make clean
the outside of the cup and platter; and because the church can lay nothing to
your charge, and the world cannot accuse you, you think the outside of the cup
will be sufficient. Take heed! take heed! The judge will look at the inside of
the cup and platter one day; and if it be full of wickedness he will break that
platter, and the fragments shall for ever be cast about in the pit of torment.
Oh! may God give you to be real Christians! Waxen-winged professors! ye can fly
very well here; but when like Icarus, ye fly upwards, the mighty sun of Jesus
shall melt your wings, and ye shall fall into the pit of destruction. Ah!
gilded Christians, beautifully painted, varnished, polished, what will ye do
when ye shall be found at last to have been worthless metal? When the wood,
hay, and stubble shall be buried and consumed, what will ye do if ye are not
the genuine coin of heaven, if ye have not been molten in the furnace, if ye
have not been minted from on high? If ye are not real gold, how shall ye stand
the fire in that "great and terrible day of the Lord?" Ah! and there
are some of you who can stand the fire, I trust. You are the children of
God, but, beloved, do I charge you wrongfully when I say, that many of us know
that we are the children of God, but we are content to be as little dwarf
children, we are always crying out, "Oh that I were as in months
past!" That is a mark of dwarfishness. If we are to do great things in the
world we must not often utter this cry, We must often be singing
"I the chief of sinners am; but Jesus died for
me;"
and with cheerful countenance we must be able to say that we "know whom we
have believed." Do you wish to be useful? Do you desire to honor your
Master? Do you long to carry a heavy crown to heaven, that you may put it on
the Saviour's head? If you do - and I know you do - then seek above all things
that your soul may prosper and be in health - that your inner-man may not be
simply in a living state, but that you may be a tree planted by the rivers of
water, bringing forth your fruit in your season, your leaf never withering, and
whatsoever you do prospering. Ah! do you want to go to heaven, and wear a
starless crown there - a crown that shall be a real crown, but that shall have
no star upon it, because no soul has been saved by you? Do you wish to sit in
heaven with a dress of Christ's on, but without one single jewel that God has
given you for your wages here below? Ah! no; methinks you wish to go to heaven
in full dress, and to enter into the fullness of the joy of the Lord. Five
talents well improved, five cities; and let no man be satisfied with his one
talent merely, but let him seek to put it out at interest; "for unto him
that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance."
And finally, to many of you what
I have preached about has no interest whatever. Perhaps you may say, "'Oh
that I were as in months past!' for then I was quite well and a jolly fellow
was I. Then I could drink with the deepest drinker anywhere. Then I could run
merrily into sin, but I cannot now. I have hurt my body. I have injured my
mind. It is not with me as it used to be, I have spent all my money. I wish I
were as I used to be!" Ah! poor sinner, thou hast good reason to say,
"Oh that I were as in months past!" But wait four or five months, and
then you will say it more emphatically, and think even to day better than that
day; and the further you go on, the more you will wish to go back again; for
the path to hell is down, down, down, down - always down - and you will be
always saying, "Oh that I were as in months past!" Thou wilt look
back to the time when a mother's prayer blessed thee, and a father's reproof
warned thee - when thou wentest to a Sabbath-school, and sattest upon thy
mother's knee, to hear her tell thee of a Saviour; and the longer the
retrospect of goodness, the more that goodness will pain you. Ah I my friends,
ye have need to go back, some of you. Remember how far ye have fallen - how
much ye have departed; but oh! ye need not turn back! Instead of looking back
and crying, "Oh that I were as in months past!" say something
different. Say, "Oh that I were a new man in Christ Jesus - "It would
not do for you to begin again in your present state; you would soon be as bad
as you now are; but say, "Oh that I were a new man in Christ Jesus; oh
that I might begin a new life!" Some of you would like to begin a new life
- some of you reprobates, who have gone far away! Well, poor mortal, thou
mayest. "How?" savest thou. Why, if thou art a new man in Christ Jesus
thou wilt begin again. A Christian is as much a new man as if he had
been no man at all before; the old creature is dethroned, he is a new creature,
born again, and starting on a new existence. Poor soul! God can make thee a new
man. God the Holy Spirit can build a new house out of thee, with neither stick
nor stone of the old man in it, and he can give thee a new heart, a new spirit,
new pleasures new happiness, new prospects, and at last give thee a new heaven.
"But," says one "I feel that I want these things; but may I have
them?" Guess whether you may have them, when I tell you - "This is a
faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the
world to save sinners." It does not say it is worthy of some
acceptation, but it is worthy of all the acceptation you will ever give
it. If you now say, "Jesus came into the world so save sinners, I believe
he did! I know he did; he came to save me," you will find it
"worthy of all acceptation." You say still, "But will he save me?"
I will give you another passage: "Whosoever cometh unto me I will in no
wise cast out." Ah! but I do not know whether I may come!
"Whosoever," it saith. "Him that cometh unto me I will in
no wise cast out." "Whosoever will, let him come," it is
written. Dost thou will? I only speak to such as will, who know their need of a
Saviour. Dost thou will? Then God the Holy Spirit says, "Whosoever will
let him come, and take the water of life freely."
The feeble, the
guilty, the weak, the forlorn,
In coming to Jesus shall not meet with scorn;
But he will receive them, and bless them, and save
From death and destruction, from hell and the grave.
and he will lift them up to his kingdom of glory. God so grant it; for his name
sake.