Part 25
repent of my sin. I will look to Jesus, the Crucified Savior, God
helping me! But why am I saying this? Why do I feel thus softened,
I who used to be hard as steel? Why am I moved to this surrender
of myself to my Savior?"
It will be the sweet Spirit of the blessed God gently working upon
your heart and graciously inclining you to yield yourself to the
Lord! I pray that it may be so, even now, for Jesus Christ's sake.
Amen.
Ge 19:17 • The Ship on Fire — A Voice of Warning
ERMON 0550
The Ship On Fire—A Voice Of Warning
"Escape for your life.
Genesis 19:17
HERE is the alarm of mercy declaring the sinner's duty–"Escape
for your life." Here is the work of Grace and the gratitude of the
sinner after he is saved–"You have magnified your mercy, which
you have showed unto me in saving my life."
The other day there sailed down the Thames as stout a vessel as
had ever plowed the deep. The good ship "Amazon," had sailed the
broad Pacific many a time and what is there to hinder her from
once more reaching America in safety? Who would refuse to
underwrite her? Who among her crew or passengers has a fear for
her safety? But in the book of Providence there was a black line
against that ship and never more could she reach her desired haven.
The wind was exceedingly high–the vessel tarried awhile at
Gravesend. There was a little improvement in the weather–she
sailed a little further, but cast anchor again and remained off
Broadstairs.
Matters went as usual in such weather. Night came on. The watch
was changed as usual. The captain turned in, feeling that all was
right and safe. The passengers were snug in their berths–a little the
worse, perhaps, for the roll of the ship, but as assured of security as
men could be. In a moment, what a change had taken place! A
passenger perceives a smell of fire. The warning cry is raised.
Everyone rushes upon deck. Attempts are made to quench the fire.
But when the hatches are lifted up, the wind rushes in and the fire
is fanned to a dreadful, all-devouring conflagration. Further effort
is of no avail.
Rockets are fired, as the signals of distress. The boats are let
down, crowded with the passengers. A lugger puts off to her and a
steam-tug hastens to the rescue and, thanks be unto the God of
Providence, all the passengers–the captain and chief officers last–
are on board the vessels and carried to Margate where they see the
melancholy, and yet satisfactory spectacle of their vessel burning to
the water's edge and then disappearing from view.
Now, as the good Brother who was captain to that vessel
constantly comes here when he is on shore and as he is sitting in
the midst of you tonight, I thought I might use the burning of this
vessel as a picture of spiritual things, out of which I might make an
illustrated sermon These things happen not without design and
should not escape without improvement. Two things, then, tonight–
they are both in the text and in the story of the ship on fire. First, an
alarm–"Escape for your life." Secondly, grateful
acknowledgment–"You have magnified your mercy, which you
have showed unto me in saving my life."
First, AN ALARM. We come here tonight to raise an alarm. True
ministers of God are great alarmists. It is their duty to be like
Barnabas who was a son of consolation. But it is equally their duty
to be like Boanerges–sons of thunder. Thunder does not rock men
to sleep and plays no pleasant tune for fools to dance to. With its
crash and roar it wakes a slumbering world, and its dread volleys,
echoed peal on peal, afford no dulcet notes for dainty ears. God's
servants should learn to thunder–for when God speaks through
them, the voice of the Lord is powerful and full of majesty. And in
His temple does everyone speak of His Glory.
The alarm we have to give tonight is that of the angel to Lot, with
an emphasis of meaning–"Escape for your life." It is an alarm
suggested by tremendous danger. When the cry of, "Fire! Fire!
Fire!" ran along the decks, and the cabins and the saloons of the
"Amazon," everyone knew that there was no small danger to be
encountered, for flame is a cruel tyrant and devours remorselessly.
The very word, "Fire!" has a razor edge about it, cutting to the very
quick. Terror has fire for her first-born.
But the alarm we have to raise is concerning a matter more
terrific, still–add to the word "Fire," that dreadful syllable, "Hell"–
and then what shall more alarm than "Hell fire"? In that cry we
comprehend such weighty matters as eternity alone can reveal. The
wrath to come! The judgment of the eternal! The wrath of the Most
High! Fire, when it is at its most furious pitch, is but a plaything
compared with Hell fire! Yes, when it consumes a city, when it runs
down the red lips of a volcano and buries thousands–when it sets
the sky and earth upon a blaze as in Egypt's plagues–it is but
child's play compared with the wrath of God and that Tophet which
is prepared of old, the pile whereof is wood and much smoke!
Here is something at which the joints of a man's loins may well
be loosed for there is eternity in it, infinity in it, Deity in it! And
where these three are set against a man, woe unto him! It is as
when the fire is set in battle array against the stubble. Well may it
be written by the Prophet, "The sinners in Zion are afraid.
Fearfulness has surprised the hypocrites. Who among us shall
dwell with the devouring fire? Who among us shall dwell with
everlasting burning?" Sinner, by the crushing terror of the woe
which comes, I beseech you, "Escape for your life!"
It is a danger not to be overcome. The fire engine was brought out
upon the deck of the burning ship. Attempts were made to
extinguish the fire. But the mischief was far too much in power to
be driven from its stronghold. The like may be boldly declared of
the evil which comes upon the ungodly. Sinner, your danger is such
that you cannot contend with it by any power of your own. There is
a fire of sin within you which you cannot quench. There is a fire of
Hell without you which no drops, even of your own blood, shall be
able to extinguish.
You are in a danger which you are unable to cope with. There is
no possibility that if you remain in it, your utmost exertions or most
strenuous efforts can avert the certain ruin which your state must
bring upon you. If you neglect the only way of salvation, how can
you escape? What awaits you but a fearful looking for of judgment
and of fiery indignation? The pillars of Heaven tremble and are
astonished at the reproof of the Lord of Hosts–how, then, can you
endure the tempest of His anger and the fury of His hot
displeasure?–
"O Sinner, seek His face,
Whose wrath you can not bear;
Fly to the dying Savior's wounds,
And find salvation there."
It is a danger, too, a terrific danger which makes no exception to
anyone. The captain is as much in danger as the poorest cabin boy
if he cannot escape from the burning ship. The rich man, with
ingots of gold in his cabin, will as certainly be burned alive as the
poor traveler who could scarcely pay his passage. There is no
distinction of persons in the judgments of God. Sinner, you may be
great and mighty, but you shall go down to Hell unless Grace shall
save you! Woman, you may be amiable in your temper and
excellent in your deportment, but you shall perish as surely as a
harlot, unless Christ has pity upon you. Man, you may be upright,
and shine before your fellow merchants as one of excellent repute,
but the wrath of God abides on you except you flee to Jesus–for
there is none other name given under Heaven whereby you must be
saved. And out of that name and apart from that name, whoever
you may be, though you were monarch of seven empires, you are
still in danger! Rich and poor, high and low, learned and ignorant–
my cry is to you all, "O earth, earth, earth, hear the Word of the
Lord!"
Do not forget that we are in danger of a consuming fire–a danger
which kills without remedy. It is not a fire which merely singes and
scorches, but a fire which burns to ashes. As yonder ship must be
burned up and every passenger who cannot leave its burning deck
must be consumed, so you, O unconverted Men and Women, are in
danger of utter destruction from the Presence of the Lord. "For,
behold, the day comes that shall burn as an oven. And all the proud,
yes, and all that do wickedly, shall be stubble: and the day that
comes shall burn them up, says the Lord of Hosts, that it shall leave
them neither root nor branch."
I wish I could speak upon this dreadful subject in a proper
manner. Whitfield had tones and emotions which were fitting for
such a subject. He would cry out, "Oh, the wrath to come! The
wrath to come! The wrath to come!" He would cry, I say, until all
his hearers responded with, "What must we do to be saved?" And
good Baxter, trembling, lest he should be guilty of men's blood,
while he delivered the message as a dying man to dying men–knew
the terrors of the half so much need of earnestness as when I see
you in the midst of a mass of sin and corruption which must be
consumed by God's anger and you with it!
Sinner, why will you die? What can ail you? What besots you that
you do not perceive anything dreadful in the wrath of Him who
made you? He can dash whole worlds to pieces–what can He not
do with you? Have you learned to be callous when you hear of
eternity? Have your ears grown cold to that dreadful word,
"Condemnation"? Can you read the story of those to whom He
said, "Depart, you cursed," and not tremble? Can you know that
you are this day in danger of the Judgment and not be afraid? When
the sword is sharp, and furbished and taken out of its sheath, can
you laugh about its edge? Can you yet make mirth? Then is there,
indeed, need for me to cry to you and for all God's faithful
ministers to cry with louder voices than mine–"Escape! Escape!
Escape for your life!"
The alarm of fire was needed because of the security of the
persons in danger. Many on board the "Amazon" were sound
asleep. Oh, how dreadful to be awakened out of sleep with the cry
of, "Fire! Fire! Fire! Some of them, when they awoke, seemed to
have been so startled and so confused that they had fairly to be
dragged out of their berths so that they might he rescued. There
were none there, we have reason to believe, who would have been
kept below through their own drunkenness or the carelessness of
the crew.
They were in a right state, with this exception, of course, that they
were all alarmed–and men alarmed are not always ready to do the
wisest thing. And as for the captain and his men they seemed to
have been as sensible as they were brave. My Hearers, God's
ministers have to deal with passengers much more difficult to
handle. Are not men asleep? Till the voice of God awakens us, we
are all asleep. How you and I walked for years and years and years
upon the brink of the grave, as utterly unconcerned as though we
were to live forever! And when sometimes we were a little
impressed by the passing bell, or an open grave, or an earnest
sermon, how soon we went back again to our old frivolity and
toyed with the flames of Hell as though they were fancy's dream!
It is not so now. God has awakened us. But we had never been
awakened if the voice which awakes the dead had not cried in our
ear, "Escape for your life." No, worse–men are not only asleep, but
when they do perceive their danger, they love their sins too well to
leave them–even though Hell stares them in the face. The best of
them cry with Solomon's sluggard, "Yet a little sleep, a little
slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep." Sinner, how hard it
is to bring you to serious consideration of your ways! We cannot
touch your wits, or make you reason like a man of sound mind. You
will sooner be damned by thoughtlessness than give an hour's
careful meditation to your soul's affairs.
We would gladly drag you out of your sleeping berth and even
kick you and strike you, treating you to rough usage, if we could by
this means drag you from the devouring flames! You would thank
us well enough afterwards for these rough cuffs if we could but
wake you. We hear complaints that the minister speaks too harshly
and talks too much of judgment. Saved sinners never make that
complaint! They know that nothing but these terrors will awaken
some slumbering minds. And if they are awakened themselves,
they are but too glad, however rough the means may have been.
Are there not some in this house tonight who are hard, fearfully
hard, to be brought to sober thinking because they are drunken and
besotted with sin? Some of you, with your Sunday trading will
rather gain your sixpences and your paltry pence on the Sunday,
than find eternal felicity in faith in the Lord Jesus. Others of you
with your tap-room companions, with your theatres, your balls and
worse places, still–where lust wears no mask–are cutting the
throats of your poor miserable souls. You cannot give up your
vices–you will sooner be damned than be Christians.
Well, so it must be, Sirs, if you will have these things and will
pawn your souls for them, so it must be. You have chosen your own
delusions and you shall inherit them. But O, do listen once more
while we warn you in God's name, "Escape for your life!" Trifle no
more with Hell and Heaven, with your own soul and judgment,
with God and His dear bleeding Son! If every preacher in London
should suddenly begin to preach nothing but alarms, it would all be
needed, for what a secure and reckless city this is. If every corner
in the street had a Jonah in it and that Jonah's sermon were nothing
but this–"Yet a few more days and you shall be destroyed," it were
not too much for a city so given to slumber.
We have waxen rich! We have grown careless till we have
become like Nineveh of old, a people at ease and dwelling
carelessly! Isaiah might well say concerning London–"You said I
shall be a lady forever: so that you did not lay these things to your
heart, neither did remember the latter end of it." Let us take heed
unto ourselves lest in the world to come this carnal security of ours
should be like fuel to the fire and the remembrance of our sloth
should pour oil upon the flames. O God, let the alarm be heard
tonight by those who crowd this House, for You know that many of
them are sound asleep.
Again, it is an alarm which requires instant attention. A man on
board a vessel, when he hears the cry of, "Fire!" must not stop to
arrange his clothes. He must not be concerned to see that his face is
washed, that he has bound together that little bundle of papers, or
packed up the suitcase, or counted over the little purse of gold, or
even snatched his little property from the cabin. At once, at once,
must he climb the stairs and reach the deck or he will never have
stairs to climb, nor feet to climb with. Now or never! Quick is the
word. Waste a moment and it is all over with you. The fire is upon
you, for it tarries not in its march.
So is it with you tonight who fear not God. "Escape for your life,"
is a cry for the present moment. Now is the accepted time. Behold,
now is the day of salvation. "Now, now, NOW. This is the only
period God has allotted to you! Take care that you use it, lest when
your todays are past and you hope to see your tomorrows, you
should have to spend your tomorrows in the pit of Hell.
Procrastination is not only the thief of time, but the thief of souls.
Now is the day of salvation! I have never heard of any other day. I
do not know, but I think this is one of the most difficult things in
the Gospel ministry, a matter worthy of the Holy Spirit's power–to
make men seriously think about their souls at the present.
I know, young Man, you intend to think of these things when you
are ill. You expect to have a long time upon a sickbed and then you
suppose all will be right before you die. Who told you you would
ever lie upon a sickbed at all? Yours may be a sudden death. And
sudden death to such as you are would be sudden damnation. As
men stand upon the bank and spring head-first into the water, so
may you dash into Hell. Death enters men's doors without
knocking. The judgment may follow on the heels of your next sin.
And what if you should lie upon a bed of sickness? You will have
enough to do to bear the pain, to mourn over your weeping wife
and worry yourself about those little children who will he left
fatherless–I tell you, Sir, it is hard repenting upon a dying bed.
Do not sew pillows to your armholes and make for yourself this
fond hope, that you shall one day be saved. It is now or never, it is
now or never with you! I speak as a Prophet of God at this moment,
I know I do. There are some of you to whom this now or never is a
more applicable thing than you suppose. You will not see the New
Year. No Christmas festivities will be yours. You will be at home
on Christmas Day, but it will be your long, lost home. "Set your
house in order. For you shall die and not live."
As the Lord my God lives, before whom I stand, thus says the
Lord unto some of you–"There is but a step between you and
death." Be warned, then, for as I will meet you on the other side of
the stream, at my Master's Judgment Seat, I have bid you give
immediate, instantaneous attention to the Word of God. Consider
your ways, O Sinners, born to die! Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ,
O Trembler, and you shall be saved. Trust Him, trust Him! God
help you to trust Jesus tonight, for it is now or never with your
soul!
Again, this alarm demands of every one of us who are unsaved an
undivided attention. You have fifty things to think about. You tell
me you have a thousand cares. O Sirs, a man whose life is in
danger has no other care than to save his life! Did those who were
rescued from the "Amazon" have time to save their money and
their gold? We are told that they were utterly destitute when they
landed at Margate and what difference did it make? Would not a
flush of joy be on their cheeks because their lives were preserved?
If one said to his fellow, "Where is your purse?" "Oh," says the
other, "never mind my purse, I am in the lifeboat, my life is saved."
What shall it profit you, if you gain the whole world and lose
your own soul? And what is the loss after all, if you lose the world–
if you gain your soul? No, those on board the ship had not time to
save their clothes. The instincts of self-preservation made them run,
just as they were, half-naked, to the vessel's deck and so must you.
I know you will tell me you are not living to make money. If you
could just make ends meet, keep your family and supply the wants
of your children–that is all–are you not to think of these things? It
is well and good. Far be it from me to discourage prudent
carefulness in all matters. It is your business to see to temporal
matters, but still your paramount business must be your soul!
Even necessities must not come between your soul and your most
serious thoughts. You must see to this, first and foremost, and
remember there is a promise about it–"Seek you first the kingdom
of God and His righteousness. And all these things shall be added
unto you." Those persons who escaped from the blazing vessel had,
some of them, even to suffer in body. We read of one who broke his
arm in the medley of the escape, but what of that?
I hear since, from the friends of the second mate, that the man did
not break his arm). Better to escape with a broken arm than fry in
those horrible flames with every bone in its place. It would be very
little comfort to the poor passenger to save his bones entire and to
have his body consumed. "It is better for you to enter into life halt
or maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into
everlasting fire."
You are rightly considerate of your bodies, but still, if that poor
body which is to become worm's meat one day is worthy of so
much thought, how much more ought you to give to your immortal
spirit, which is to live forever with God in Heaven, or with fiends
in torment? Think first, I pray you–think chiefly–think now tonight
with undivided heart, with consecrated thought, upon your soul.
Let comforts go, let wealth go, let raiment go, let life itself go–but
do see to that which is better than life–your soul–your everlasting
destiny.
Now the alarm which I have tried to give–"Escape for your life!"
seems to me to suggest a very solemn question. "How can I
escape?" says one. Do you sincerely ask that question–"What must
I do to be saved?" Remember there is but one way of rescue–the
lifeboat of faith must put you into the vessel of salvation–Christ
Jesus. Stop in your own vessel and you are burned. Leap into those
floods of wrath and you are drowned. Get into that boat of saving
faith, let that boat bear you into the vessel of Christ Jesus and you
are safe! Sinner, the road of salvation is out of self into Christ.
There are only two steps to Heaven–out of self, into Christ. That
man who has left himself as a burning vessel behind, left sin and
left self-righteousness as a thing to be destroyed–that man who has
taken Christ to be his All in All and takes the Cross to be the only
thing to which he clings, is safe. Escape, I pray you, for your life,
awakened and seeking Sinner, for Jesus is the only foundation! He
only is your rock and your salvation–come to Him for shelter and
you are saved.
To conclude this matter of alarm, our meditation arouses a very
solemn enquiry–Will all be safe? Will all in the vessel escape?
What joy must there have been in the captain's heart when he heard
that not one had been left to burn in the vessel! Will all escape?
Will every hearer in this huge House of Prayer tonight be a singer
in Heaven? Dare we, in the judgment of charity, hope so? Well,
well, let us try to hope, if so your charity wishes it, but I fear, I fear
it will be hope without any grounds. There are some here who love
the drunkard's cup, others who vomit the swearer's oaths, and some
who have the proud, self-righteous look which God hates. O that
we could hope that these would be transformed by Grace through
Jesus Christ, that so they might be saved!
I am, I admit it, very much afraid that all of you will not be saved,
but that some of you will perish in your iniquities. It is not,
however, our duty to pry into futurity. Let us, therefore, turn to that
which far more concerns us–our own personal salvation. The
enquiry changes–"Shall I be saved? If there is an alarm given,
"Escape for your life!" Shall I be saved? And what if it should be
the preacher's lot to be lost forever? What, if after talking to you
this morning of being sick of love to Christ, he should have to hear
those doleful words, "I never knew you, depart, you cursed!" And
what if this were to be the lot of the Church officers who sit around
me, or of anyone among you? Brother, you have passed the
sacramental cup to others–what if the cup of devils is your portion
forever and ever? My Brothers and Sisters in Church fellowship,
you may well put the question as did the Apostles of old, "Lord is it
I?"–
"Shall I be banished for my life,
And yet forbid to die?
Shall I endure eternal death,
Yet death forever fly?"
Shall it be so? My dear Hearer, you who make no profession of
religion, will you ask the question, "Shall I, shall I perish in
devouring flames, or shall I escape?" The answer to that question,
so far as you are concerned at this moment, must depend upon
whether there is now a work of Grace in your heart. If you believe
that Jesus is the Christ, you can never perish. If you do not and will
not believe, your destruction is most sure. O God Almighty, You
who alone can impress the heart, lead every one of us now to take
such sure hold of Christ that we may never perish, neither may any
pluck us out of His hand.!
II. My time is fled! Woe is me–I had meant to have spoken with
my whole heart upon another topic–GRATITUDE. Well, we will
just run over the points, although most briefly. I will hope that you
and I are saved. I will trust that we have been put into God's Grace
vessel. I will believe that we have laid hold on Christ–may my
belief be
O my God, I bless You that I was not permitted to sleep the sleep
of death! I thank You for that fever which made me fear, that loss
which made me think, that dear dead babe which brought the
parent to a Savior's feet. I bless You, Lord, for the minister's
earnest voice which shook me in my slumbers, for a mother's tears
which fell like cold drops on my sleeping brow and made me wake.
I thank You, O God, that though others slumber, yet, You have
awakened me and made me look to my soul's concerns. It is no
slight mercy to be able to hear the trumpet of warning! It is a
foundation mercy, but it is not the least of mercies to have an
awakened conscience.
Secondly, I would thank God and let every Believer join with me
that when you and I were awakened, the ship was not out to sea. If
the "Amazon" had been far out to sea when the cry of "Fire" was
given, what must have been the result? How few could have
escaped! But there she was, close to land. You and I, when we were
awakened, were not in Hell–not like the rich man, lifting up our
eyes where hope could never come! We were still on praying
ground, still on pleading terms with God, still where mercy could
come to us and Grace could meet us. Sinner, if you have been
awakened tonight, thank God for this! Thank Him that the trumpet
which wakes you is not the trumpet of the archangel summoning
you to judgment, but the silver trumpet of God's messenger of
mercy, inviting you to the mercy banquet.
Let us thank God it did not blow harder, for there might have
been much trouble in reaching the boat. When you and I were
awakened to a sense of sin, it might have been just when death was
coming, or when the terrors of conscience would have been too
much for us and when the fears of death might have kept us from a
Savior. But, blessed be God, when we were aroused there was wind
enough! We were conscience-stricken and smitten, but still not too
much, or else the fire had been too vehement and we had not
escaped. Thank God, then, that He awakened us while there was
really time to avail ourselves of the Covenant lifeboat.
Let us be thankful, again, that we could use the signals. I told you
that the vessel sent up its rockets–signals of distress. Ah, what a
thousand mercies it was that we could pray. I remember well when
this was the only comfort my bursting spirit had, I could pray. Oh,
to be on pleading terms with God! Thank God for this, awakened
Sinner! Bless God for this! If you have not got so far as being
completely saved, yet do praise Him that you are allowed to fire off
the rockets of desires, sighs, groans, sobs, tears, longing and
panting–and that you can send them up where God can see them.
Your cries and groans and tears will yet bring comfort and peace
from Heaven through the Lamb's redeeming blood. Rejoice, my
beloved Brethren, that the Lord has not abolished a Mercy Seat, nor
forgotten to be gracious. He says not, "to the seed of Jacob, Seek
you Me in vain." He waits to be gracious. He delights in mercy.
Before you call He will answer and while you are yet speaking He
will hear.
Thank God that there were good officers on board to direct the
passengers. Without firm authority men become a mob, and then,
with every appliance which might save, few are rescued. Awakened
Sinner, be grateful that you have Gospel ministers. Oh, what a
mercy to have a Gospel ministry! What an awful thing to sit under
a half-and-half milk-and water, yes-and-no ministry, as was my lot
when under conviction. I attended different places of worship, but
what I heard was not the Gospel. And I venture to say it, that a few
years ago, in nine places out of ten in London, and in the suburbs
and throughout England, such a thing as the Gospel was not
preached except by accident.
It IS preached NOW. It is not preached now as it should be, but it
is preached now. What I mean by the Gospel is the doctrine that
Jesus Christ came to save sinners and that the simple trusting upon
Him is saving faith. This is a doctrine which the revival has
brought up more clearly and which the revival keeps before the
public mind. But before that great movement came, it was a
doctrine ignored and cast behind. Too much of the preaching was a
dry morality, or else philosophy which might tickle the ears of men
who claimed intellect, but could never move the heart. Oh, thank
God, poor Sinner, that you hear it rung in your ears–Come as you
are! Come as you are! You hear the Gospel sung to you–
"Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Your blood was shed for me,
And that You bid me come to You,
O Lamb of God, I come! I come!
Just as I am–Your love I own,
Has broken every barrier down–
Now, to be Yours, yes, Yours alone,
O Lamb of God, I come! I come!"
We hold up to you no ceremonies, no feelings, no works, no
orthodoxies! We only hold up Christ, Christ Crucified, a Substitute
for sinners, a Substitute for you if you trust Him. And we tell you
again and again, till we half fear of tiring you, that trusting Jesus
you are saved! Now we have reason, if saved, to be grateful to God
for Gospel officers. Then how grateful ought you and I to be that
the ship is come to the rescue. Jesus came all the way from Heaven
to earth to save us–"Who though He was rich, yet for our sakes
became poor, that we through His poverty might be made rich."
How shall we be grateful enough for this unspeakable gift?–
"O, for this love let rocks and hills
Their lasting silence break,
And all harmonious human tongues
The Savior's praises speak."
Better still–how grateful we ought to be that we have got on
board that ship. Oh, joy! Joy! Joy! That blessed step which set me
upon Christ! That blessed act which made me one with Him! My
soul would repeat now that Grace-worked deed of faith–
"A wounded, weak and helpless worm,
On Christ's kind arms I fall;
Be You my strength and confidence,
My Jesus and my All."
Be grateful for this. And, Sinner, if you can now step into Christ
and trust Him with yourself, make earth ring with your joy and
make Heaven resound with your praise!
Our gratitude, I think, will be greatest of all when we get safe on
shore and look on this old hulk, the burning world, without a fear.
We will see her blaze and cast her dreadful splendors over the
infinite leagues of space, until beings in faroff worlds shall ask,
"What is this? A world on fire, whose elements dissolve with
fervent heat." But we, caught up together with the Lord, to dwell
forever with Him, shall look on with complacency, having lost
nothing because saved in Him! Having found in Him our Savior,
better than all we had before, and being, once and for all on
Heaven's terra firma, never to put to sea again, never to fear
tempest, rock, wreck, or fire. But saved! Saved! Saved eternally!
Escape, Sinner, escape for your life! Remember, though thus I
talk to you, if you shall escape, Free Grace must have all the praise.
And in the language of good Lot, you will have to say–"You have
magnified Your mercy in saving my life." May God send you away
with a blessing, for Jesus' sake. Amen.
Ge 19:20 • Little Sins
ERMON 0248
Little Sins
"Is it not a little one?"
Genesis 19:20
THESE words we shall take for a motto, rather than a text in the
ordinary acceptation of that term. I shall not this morning attempt
to explain the connection. It was the utterance of Lot, when he
pleaded for the salvation of Zoar. But I shall take it altogether away
from the connection in which it stands and make use of it in
another fashion. The great Father of Lies has multitudes of devices
by which he seeks to ruin the souls of men. He uses false weights
and false balances in order to deceive them. Sometimes he uses
false times, declaring at one hour that it is too early to seek the
Lord and at another that it is now too late. And he uses false
quantities, for he will declare that great sins are but little and as for
what he confesses to be little sins, he makes them afterwards to be
nothing at all–mere peccadilloes, almost worthy of forgiveness in
themselves. Many souls, I doubt not, have been caught in this trap
and being snared thereby, have been destroyed. They have ventured
into sin where they thought the stream was shallow and, fatally
deceived by its depth, they have been swept away by the strength
of the current to that cataract which is the ruin of such vast
multitudes of the souls of men.
It shall be my business this morning to answer this temptation and
try to put a sword in your hands to resist the enemy when he shall
come upon you with this cry–"Is it not a little one?" and tempt you
into sin because he leads you to imagine that there is but very little
harm in it. "Is it not a little one?"
With regard, then, to this temptation of Satan concerning the
littleness of sin, I would make this first answer, the best of men
have always been afraid of little sins. The holy martyrs of God
have been ready to endure the most terrible torments rather than
step so much as one inch aside from the road of truth and
righteousness. Witness Daniel–when the king's decree went forth
that no man should worship God for such-and-such a time,
nevertheless he prayed three times a day as aforetime, with his
window open towards Jerusalem, not fearing the king's
commandment. Why could he not have retired into an inner
chamber? Why might he not have ceased from vocal prayer and
have kept his petitions in his thought and in his heart? Would he
not have been as well accepted as when he kneeled, as usual, with
the window open, so that all the world might see him?
Ah, but Daniel judged that little as the offense might seem, he
would rather suffer death at the jaws of the lion than he would by
that little offense provoke the anger of his God, or lead men to
blaspheme His holy name, because His servant had been afraid to
obey. Mark, too, the three holy children. They are asked by king
Nebuchadnezzar simply to bend the knee and worship the golden
image which he had set up. How slight the homage! One bend of
the knee and all is done. One prostration and they may go their way
safely. Not so. They will not worship the golden image which the
king has set up. They can burn for God, but they cannot turn from
God. They can suffer, but they will not sin. And though all the
world might have excused them with the plea of expediency if they
had performed that one little act of idol worship, yet they will not
do it, but would rather be exposed to the fury of a furnace, seven
times heated, than commit an offense against the Most High.
So also among the early Christians. You may have read of that
noble warrior for Christ, Martin Arethusa, the bishop. He had led
the people to pull down the idol temple in the city over which he
presided. And when the apostate emperor Julian came to power, he
commanded the people to rebuild the temple. They were bound to
obey on pain of death. But Arethusa all the while lifted up his voice
against the evil they were doing, until the wrath of the king fell
upon him of a sudden. He was, however, offered his life on
condition that he would subscribe so much as a single half penny
towards the building of the temple–no, less than that–if he would
cast one grain of incense into the censer of the false god he might
escape. But he would not do it. He feared God and he would not do
the most tiny little sin to save his life. They therefore exposed his
body and gave him up to the children to prick him with knives.
Then they smeared him with honey and he was exposed to wasps
and stung to death. But all the while the grain of incense he would
not give. He could give his body to wasps and die in the most
terrible pains, but he could not, he would not, he dared not sin
against God. A noble example!
Now, Brethren, if men have been able to perceive so much of sin
in little transgressions that they would bear inconceivable tortures
rather than commit them, must there not be something dreadful
after all in the thing of which Satan says, "Is it not a little one?"
Men, with their eyes well opened by Divine Grace, have seen a
whole Hell slumbering in the most minute sin. Gifted with a
microscopic power, their eyes have seen a world of iniquity hidden
in a single act, or thought, or imagination of sin. And hence they
have avoided it with horror–have passed by and would have
nothing to do with it. If the straight road to Heaven is through
flames, through floods, through death itself, they had sooner go
through all these torments than turn one inch aside to tread an easy
and an erroneous path.
I say this should help us when Satan tempts us to commit little
sins–this should help us to the answer, "No, Satan, if God's people
think it great, they know better than you do. You are a deceiver.
They are true. I must shun all sin, even though you say it is but
little." It may be further answered, in reply to this temptation of
Satan with regard to little sins, thus–"Little sins lead to great ones.
Satan! You bid me commit a small iniquity. I know you, whom you
are, you unholy one! You desire me to put in the thin end of the
wedge. You know when that is once inserted you can drive it home
and split my soul in two. No, stand back! Little though the
temptation is, I dread you, for your little temptation leads to
something greater and your small sin makes way for something
worse."
We all see in nature how easily we may prove this–that little
things lead to greater things. If it is desired to bridge a gulf, it is
often the custom to shoot an arrow and cross it with a line almost
as thin as film. That line passes over and a string is drawn after it
and after that some small rope and after that a cable and after that
the swinging suspension bridge, that makes a way for thousands.
So it is oftentimes with Satan. It is but a thought that he would
shoot across the mind. That thought shall carry a desire. That desire
a look. That look a touch. That touch a deed. That deed a habit.
And that habit something worse, until the man, from little
beginnings, shall be swamped and drowned in iniquity. Little
things, we say, lead on to something worse. And thus it has always
been. A spark is dropped by some unwary traveler amidst the dry
grass of the prairie. It is but a spark–"Is it not a little one?" A
child's foot may tread it out–one drop from the rain-cloud may
quench it. But ah, what sets the prairie in a blaze? What bids the
rolling waves of flame drive before them all the beasts of the field?
What is it that consumes the forest, locking it in its fiery arms?
What is it that burns down the habitation of man, or robs the reaper
of his harvest? It is this solitary spark–the one spark–the breeder of
the flames.
So is it with little sins. Keep them back Satan! They are sparks,
but the very fire of Hell is only a growth from them. The spark is
the mother of conflagration and though it is a little one I can have
nothing to do with it. Satan always begins with us as he did with
Achan. He showed Achan, first of all, a goodly Babylonian
garment and a wedge of gold. Achan looked at it–was it not a little
thing to do–to look? Achan touched it–was not that a little thing?
How slight a sin–to touch the forbidden thing! He takes it and
carries it away to his tent and–here is worse–he hides it. And at
length he must die for the awful crime. Oh, take heed of those
small beginnings of sin. Beginnings of sin are like the letting out of
water–first, there is an ooze, then a drip, then a slender stream, then
a vein of water–and then, at last, a flood–and a rampart is swept
before it, a continent is drowned.
Take heed of small beginnings, for they lead to worse. There was
never a man yet that came to the gallows but confessed that he
began with small thefts–the stealing of a book at school–the
pilfering, afterwards, from his master's till leading to the joining of
the gang of robbers–the joining of the gang of robbers leading to
worse crimes and, at last, the deed was done, the murder was
committed which brought him to an ignominious death. Little sins
often act as burglars do–burglars sometimes take with them a little
child. They put the little child into a window that is too small for
them to enter and then he goes and opens the door to let in the
thieves. So do little sins act. They are but little ones, but they creep
in and they open the door for great ones. A traitor inside the camp
may be but a dwarf and may go and open the gates of the city and
let in a whole army.
Dread sin. Though it is ever so small, dread it. You cannot see all
that is in it. It is the mother of ten thousand mischiefs. The mother
of mischief, they say, is as small as an insect's egg. And certainly,
the smallest sin has ten thousand mischiefs sleeping within it. St.
Augustine gives a picture of how far men will go when they once
begin to sin. There was a man who in argument declared that the
devil made flies. "Well," said the man with whom he was arguing,
"If the devil made flies, then it is but little more to say the devil
made worms!" "Well" said the other, "I believe it." " Well" said the
man, " If the devil made worms, how do you know but what he
made small birds?" "Well," said the other, "It is likely he did!"
"Well," resumed the man with whom he was arguing, "But if he
made small birds, why may he not have made big ones? And if he
made big birds, why may he not have made man? And if he made
man, why may he have not made the world?" "You see," says St.
Augustine, "By one admission, by once permitting the devil to be
thought the creator of a fly, the man came to believe that the devil
was the Creator."
Just get one small error into your minds, get one small evil into
your thoughts, commit one small act of sin in your life–permit
these things to be dandled and fondled, favored, petted and treated
with respect and you cannot tell whereunto they may grow. They
are small in their infancy–they will be giants when they come to
their full growth. You little know how near your soul may be to
destruction when you wantonly indulge in the smallest act of sin!
Another argument may be used to respond to this temptation of the
devil. He says, "Is it not a little one?" "Yes," we reply, "But little
sins multiply very fast." Like all other little things, there is a
marvelous power of multiplication in little sins. As for murder, it is
a masterly sin. But we do not often hear of it compared with the
multitude of minor sins. The smaller the guilt, the more frequent it
becomes. The elephant has but a small progeny and multiplies
slowly. But the aphid has thousands springing from it within an
hour. It is even so with little sins–they multiply rapidly, beyond all
thought–one becomes the mother of multitudes. And, mark this–
little sins are as mighty for mischief in their multitude, as if they
were greater sins.
Have you ever read the story of the locusts when they sweep
through a land? I was reading but yesterday of a missionary who
called all the people together when he heard that the locusts where
coming up the valley. And kindling huge fires, they hoped to drive
off the living stream. The locusts were but small. But it seemed as
if the whole of the blazing fires were quenched–they marched over
the dead and burning bodies of their comrades and on they went,
one living stream. Before them everything was green, like the
garden of Eden. Behind them everything was dry and desert. The
vines were barked, the trees had lost every leaf and stretched their
naked arms to the sky, as if winter had rent away their foliage.
There was not then so much as a single blade of grass, or sprig
upon the tree, that even a goat might have eaten. The locusts had
done all this and left utter devastation in their track. Why this? The
locust is but a little thing! Yes, but in their number how mighty they
become!
Dread then a little sin, for it will be sure to multiply. It is not one,
it is many of these little sins. The plague of lice, or the plague of
flies in Egypt, was perhaps the most terrible that the Egyptians ever
felt. Take care of those little insect sins which may be your
destruction. Surely if you are led to feel them and to groan under
them and to pray to God for deliverance from them, it may be said
that in your preservation is the finger of God. But let these sins
alone. Let them increase and multiply and your misery is near at
hand. Listen not then to the evil voice of Satan when he cries, "Is it
not a little one?"
Years ago there was not a single thistle in the whole of Australia.
Some Scotchman who very much admired thistles–rather more
than I do–thought it was a pity that a great island like Australia
should be without that marvelous and glorious symbol of his great
nation. He, therefore, collected a packet of thistle seeds and sent it
over to one of his friends in Australia. Well, when it was landed,
the officers might have said, "Oh, let it in–'is it not a little one?'
Here is but a handful of thistle-down, oh, let it come in. It will be
but sown in a garden–the Scotch will grow it in their gardens. They
think it a fine flower, no doubt–let them have it, it is but meant for
their amusement." Ah, yes, it was but a little one. But now whole
districts of country are covered with it and it has become the
farmer's pest and plague. It was a little one. But, all the worse for
that, it multiplied and grew. If it had been a great evil, all men
would have set to work to crush it. This little evil is not to be
eradicated and of that country it may be said till
doomsday–"Thorns and thistles shall it bring forth." Happy would
it have been if the ship that brought that seed had been wrecked.
No blessing is it to those of our countrymen there on the other side
of the earth, but a vast curse. Take heed of the thistle seed–little
sins are like it. Take care they are not admitted into your heart.
Endeavor to shun them as soon as Satan presents them. Go, seek by
the Grace of God and His Holy Spirit to keep them away. For if
not, these little sins will multiply so fast that they will be your ruin
and destruction.
Once again–little sins, after all, if you look at them in another
aspect, are great. A little sin involves a great principle. Suppose that
tomorrow the Austrians should send a body of men into Sardinia. If
they only send a dozen it would be equal to a declaration of war. It
may be said, "Is it not a little one?–a very small band of soldiers
that we have sent?" "Yes," it would be replied, "but it is the
principle of the thing. You cannot be allowed with impunity to send
your soldiers across the border. War must be proclaimed, because
you have violated the frontier and invaded the land." It is not
necessary to send a hundred thousand troops into a country to break
a treaty. It is true the breach of the treaty may appear to be small–
but if the slightest breach is allowed, the principle is gone. There is
very much more in principle than men imagine. In a sin against
God, it is not so much the thing itself as the principle of the thing at
which God looks. And the principle of obedience is as much
broken, as much dishonored by a little sin as by a great sin.
O Man! The Creator has made you to obey Him. You break His
law. You say it is but a little breach. Still it is a breach. The law is
broken. You are disobedient. His wrath abides on you. The
principle of obedience is compromised in your smallest
transgression and, therefore, it is great. Besides, I don't know
whether the things Christian men call little sins are not, after all,
greater than what they call great sins, in some respects. If you have
a friend and he does you a displeasure for the sake of ten thousand
pounds, you say, "Well, he had a very great temptation. It is true he
has committed a great fault, but still he has wronged me to some
purpose." But suppose your friend should vex and grieve your
mind for the sake of a farthing. What would you think of that?
"This is wanton," you would say. "This man has done it out of
sheer malevolence toward me." Now, if Adam had been denied by
his Maker the whole of Paradise and had been put into a stony
desert, I do not think that, had he taken all Paradise to himself,
there would have been more sin in that act, than when placed in the
midst of the garden, he simply stole one fruit from the forbidden
tree. The transgression involved a great principle, because he did it
wantonly. He had so little to gain, he had so much to lose when he
dishonored God. It has been said that to sin without temptation is to
sin like the devil, for the devil was not tempted when he sinned.
And to sin with but little temptation is to sin like the devil.
When there is great temptation offered, I do not say there is any
excuse, but when there is none, where the deed is but little,
bringing but little pleasure and involving but a small consequence,
there is a wantonness about the sin which makes it greater in moral
obliquity than many other iniquities that men commit. Yes, you cry
out against a great felon, when he is discovered–see of how much
he robbed men–see how he wronged the widow and robbed the
fatherless! I know it. God forbid that I should make any excuse for
him. But that man had a name to maintain. He had thousands of
temptations before him to get immensely rich. He thought he never
should be discovered. He had a family to keep. He had got
involved in expensive habits and there are many things to be said
for his extenuation. But you, if you indulge in some slight sin
which brings you no pleasure, which involves no important
interests–by which you have nothing to gain, I say you sin
wantonly. You have committed an act which has in it the very virus
and bitterness of willful obstinate, designing disobedience–because
there is not even the extenuation, or excuse, or apology, that you
should gain something thereby.
Little sins are, after all, tremendous sins, viewed in the light of
God's Law. Looked upon as involving a breach of that inviolable
standard of right and considered as having been committed
wantonly, I say they are great and I know not that those sins men
conceive to be gross and great, are greater and grosser in reality
than these. Thus I have given you several arguments with which to
answer that temptation, "Is it not a little one?"
Now I am about to speak to the children of God only and I say to
them, "Brothers and Sisters if Satan tempts you to say, 'Is it not a
little one?' " reply to him, "Ah, Satan, but little though it is, it may
mar my fellowship with Christ. Sin cannot destroy but it will
annoy. It cannot ruin my soul, but it will soon ruin my peace. You
say it is a little one, Satan, but my Savior had to die for it, or
otherwise I should have been shut out from Heaven. 'That little
one' may be like a little thorn in my flesh, to prick my heart and
wound my soul. I cannot, I dare not indulge in this little sin, for I
have been greatly forgiven and I must greatly love. A little sin in
others would be a great sin for me. 'How can I do this great
wickedness and sin against God.' "
Is it a little one, Satan? But a little stone in the shoe will make a
traveler limp. A little thorn may breed a fester. A little cloud may
hide the sun. A cloud of the size of a man's hand may bring a
deluge of rain. Be gone, Satan! I can have nothing to do with you.
For since I know that Jesus bled for little sins, I cannot wound His
heart by indulging in them afresh. A little sin, Satan? Has not my
Master said, "Take us the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the vines,
for our vines have tender grapes." Lo, these little things do
mischief to my tender heart. These little sins burrow in my soul and
soon make it to become a very den and hole of the wild beasts that
Jesus hates. They soon drive Him away from my spirit so that He
will hold no comfortable fellowship and communion with me. A
great sin cannot destroy a Christian, but a little sin can make him
miserable. Jesus will not walk with His people unless they drive
out every known sin. He says, "If you keep My Commandments
you shall abide in My love, even as I have kept My Father's
Commandments and abide in His love."
There are very many Christians in the world that do not see their
Savior's face by the month together and seem to be quite content
without His company. I understand you not, nor do I wish to know
how it is, that you can reconcile your souls to the absence of your
Lord. A loving wife, without her husband for months and years,
seems to me to be sorely tried. Surely it must be an affliction for a
tender child to be separated from his father. We know that in our
childhood it was always so and we looked forward to his return
home with joy. And are you a child of God, yet happy without
seeing your Father's face? What? you the spouse of Christ and yet
content without His company? Surely, surely, surely, you have
fallen into a sad state. You must have gone astray, if such is your
experience, for the true chaste spouse of Christ mourns like a dove
without her mate, when He has left her.
Ask, then, the question, what has driven Christ from you? He
hides His face behind the walls of your sins. That wall may be built
up of little pebbles, as easily as of great stones. The sea is made of
drops, the rocks are made of grains. And ah, surely the sea which
divides you from Christ may be filled with the drops of your little
sins. And the rock which is to wreck your boat may have been
made by daily working of the coral insects of your little sins.
Therefore, take heed, for if you would live with Christ and walk
with Christ and see Christ and have fellowship with Christ, take
heed, I pray you, of the little foxes that spoil the vines, for our
vines have tender grapes.
And now, leaving the children of God awhile, I turn myself to
address others of you who have some thought with regard to your
souls, but who could not yet be ranked among those that fear God
with a true heart. To you, I know, Satan often offers this
temptation–"Is it not a little one?" May God help you to answer
him whenever he thus attacks you, "Is it not a little one?" And so,
young man, the devil has tempted you to commit the first petty
theft. "Is it not a little one?" And so he has bid you, young man, for
the first time in your life to spend the day of rest in foolish
pleasure. It was but a little one, he said, and you have taken him at
his word and you have committed it. It was but a little one and so
you have told a lie. It was but a little one and you have gone into
the assembly of the frivolous and mixed in the society of scorners.
It was but a little one, there could not be much hurt in it, it could
not do much mischief to your soul. Ah, stop awhile. Do you know
that a little sin, if wantonly indulged, will prevent your salvation?
"The foundation of God stands sure having this seal, the Lord
knows them that are His and let everyone that names the name of
Christ depart from iniquity."
Christ will reveal salvation from all his sins to the man who hates
all his sins. But if you keep one sin to yourself, you shall never
have mercy at His hands. If you will forsake all your ways and turn
with full purpose of heart to Christ, the biggest sin you have ever
committed shall not destroy your soul. But if a little sin be
harbored, your prayers will be unheard, your sighs disregarded and
your earnest cries shall return into your bosom without a blessing.
You have been in prayer lately, you have been seeking Christ, you
have been praying with all your might that God would meet with
you. Now months have rolled over your head–you are not yet
saved, not yet have you received the comfortable assurance of your
pardon.
Young man, is it not likely that some little known sin is still
harbored in your heart? Mark, then, God will never be at one with
you till you and your sins are two. Part with your sins, or else part
with all hope. Though you hide but so much as a grain of sin back
from God, He will not, He cannot have any mercy on you. Come to
Him just as you are, but renounce your sins. Ask Him to set you
free from every lust, from every false way, from every evil thing, or
else, mark you, you shall never find grace and favor at His hands.
The greatest sin in the world, repented of, shall be forgiven, but the
least unrepented sin shall sink your soul lower than the lowest Hell.
Mark then, again, Sinner, you who indulge in little sins sometimes–
these little sins show that you are yet in the gall of bitterness and in
the bond of iniquity.
Rowland Hill tells a curious tale of one of his hearers who
sometimes visited the theater. He was a member of the Church. So
going to see him, he said, I understand Mr. So-and-So, you are very
fond of frequenting the theater. No, Sir, he said, that's false. I go
now and then just for a great treat, still I don't go because I like it.
It is not a habit of mine. Well, said Rowland Hill, suppose someone
should say to me, Mr. Hill, I understand you eat carrion and I
should say, no, no, I don't eat carrion. It is true, I now and then
have a piece of stinking carrion for a great treat. Why, he would
say, you have convicted yourself, it shows that you like it better
than most people because you save it up for a special treat. Other
men only take it as common daily food, but you keep it by way of a
treat. It shows the deceitfulness of your heart and manifests that
you still love the ways and wages of sin.
Ah, my Friends, those men that say little sins have no vice in
them whatever, do but give indications of their own character. They
show which way the stream runs. A straw may let you know which
way the wind blows, or even a floating feather. And so may some
little sin be an indication of the prevailing tendency of the heart.
My Hearer, if you love sin, though it is but a little one, your heart is
not right in the sight of God. You are still a stranger to Divine
Grace. The wrath of God abides on you. You are a lost soul unless
God changes your heart.
And yet, another remark here. Sinner, you say it is but a little one.
But do you know that God will damn you for your little sins? Look
angry now and say the minister is harsh. But will you look angry at
your God in the day when He shall condemn you forever? If there
were a good man in a prison today and you did not go to see him,
would you think that a great sin? Certainly not, you say, I should
not think of doing such a thing. If you saw a man hungry and you
did not feed him, would you think that a great sin? No, you say, I
should not.
Nevertheless, these are the very things for which men are sent to
Hell. What said the Judge? "I was hungry and you gave Me no
meat, thirsty and you gave Me no drink, I was sick and in prison
and you visited me not. Forasmuch as you have not done this unto
the least of these, My Brethren, you have not done it unto Me."
Now, if these things, which we only consider to be little sins,
actually send myriads to Hell, ought we not to stop and tremble
before we talk lightly of sin, since little sins may be our eternal
destroyers? Ah, Man, the pit of Hell is dug for little sins. An
eternity of woe is prepared for what men call little sins. It is not
alone the murderer, the drunkard, the whoremonger, that shall be
sent to Hell. The wicked, it is true, shall be sent there, but the little
sinner with all the nations that forget God shall have his portion
there also. Tremble, therefore, on account of little sins.
When I was a little lad, I one day read at family prayer the
chapter in the Revelations concerning the "bottomless pit."
Stopping in the midst of it, I said to my grandfather, "Grandfather,
what does this mean–'the bottomless pit?' " He said, "Go on child,
go on." So I read that chapter, but I took great care to read it the
next morning, also. Stopping again I said, "Bottomless pit, what
does this mean?" "Go on," he said, "Go on." Well it came the next
morning and so on for a fortnight. There was nothing to be read by
me of a morning but this same chapter for explained it should be if
I read it a month. And I can remember the horror of my mind when
he told me what the idea was. There is a deep pit and the soul is
falling down–oh how fast it is falling! There! The last ray of light
at the top has disappeared and it falls on–on–on and so it goes on
falling–on–on–on–for a thousand years! "Is it not getting near the
bottom yet? Won't it stop?" No, no–the cry is, on–on–on, "I have
been falling a million years, is it not near the bottom yet?" No, you
are no nearer the bottom yet–it is the "bottomless pit." It is on–on–
on and so the soul goes on falling, perpetually, into a deeper depth
still, falling forever into the "bottomless pit"–on–on–on, into the pit
that has no bottom!
Woe without termination, without hope of it's coming to a
conclusion. The same dreadful idea is contained in those words,
"The wrath to come." Mark, Hell is always "the wrath to come." If
a man has been in Hell a thousand years, it is still "to come." As to
what you have suffered in the past it is as nothing, in the dread
account, for still the wrath is "to come." And when the world has
grown gray with age and the fires of the sun are quenched in
darkness, it is still "the wrath to come." And when other worlds
have sprung up and have turned into their palsied age, it is still "the
wrath to come." And when your soul, burnt through and through
with anguish, sighs at last to be annihilated, even then this awful
thunder shall be heard, "the wrath to come–to come–to come." Oh,
what an idea! I know not how to utter it! And yet for little sins,
remember you incur "the wrath to come."
Oh, if I am to be damned, I would be damned for something. But
to be delivered up to the executioner and sent into "the wrath to
come" for little sins which do not even make me famous as a rebel,
this is to be damned indeed! Oh that you would arise, that you
would flee from the wrath to come, that you would forsake the little
sins and fly to the great Cross of Christ to have little sins blotted
out and little offenses washed away. For oh–again I warn you–if
you die with little sins unforgiven, with little sins unrepented of,
there shall be no little Hell–the great wrath of the great King is ever
to come, in a pit without a bottom, in a Hell the fire of which never
shall be quenched and the worm of which never shall die.
Oh, "the wrath to come! The wrath to come!" It is enough to
make one's heart ache to think of it. God help you to flee from it.
May you escape from it now, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Ge 19:23 • The Flight to Zoar
ERMON 2642
The Flight To Zoar
"The sun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered into Zoar."
Genesis 19:23
THE destruction of Sodom was, undoubtedly, a literal fact. And
the record of it in Genesis is as true a piece of history as any event
that is recorded by Tacitus or Josephus. But it was also intended to
be a great parabolic lesson to us–a lesson in the shape of a parable–
by which we might receive both instruction and blessing. The Old