109SermonsbyJCRyle (continued)
who can tell but you may say one day, "The blood of Christ does indeed cleanse a man from all sin."
For the last time I offer my invitation. I stand in the life-boat alongside the wreck to which you are clinging, and I entreat you to come in. The day is far spent; the night is coming on; the clouds are gathering; the waves are rising. Yet a little time and the old wreck of this world will go to pieces. Come into the life-boat; come in and be safe. Come to the blood of Christ; wash, and be clean. Come with all your sins to Christ, and cast them on Him. He will bear them away; He will cleanse them; He will pardon them. Only believe and be saved.
3. My last word shall be an EXHORTATION. I address it to all who have been taught by the Spirit to feel their sins, and have fled to the hope set before them in the Gospel. I address it to all who have discovered the grand truth that they are guilty sinners, and have washed in the blood of Christ in order to have their sins cleansed away. That exhortation shall be short and simple. I bid them "cling to Christ."
Cling to Christ, I say—and never forget your debt to Him. Sinners you were, when you were first called by the Holy Spirit, and fled to Jesus. Sinners you have been, even at your best, from the day of your conversion. Sinners you will find yourselves to your dying hour, having nothing to boast of in yourselves. Then cling to Christ. Cling to Christ, I say—and make use of His atoning blood every day. Go to Him every morning as your morning sacrifice, and confess your need of His salvation. Go to Him every night, after the bustle of the day, and plead for fresh absolution. Wash in the great Fountain every evening, after all the defilement of contact with the world. "He who is fully washed, needs only to wash his feet." But his feet he needs to wash. (John 13:10.)
Cling to Christ, I say—and show the world how you love Him. Show it by obedience to His commandments. Show it by conformity to His image. Show it by following His example. Make your Master's cause lovely and beautiful before people, by your own holiness of temper and conversation. Let all the world see that he who is much forgiven is the man who loves much, and that he who loves most is the man who does most for Christ. (Luke 7:47.)
Cling to Christ, I say—and have high thoughts of the atonement made by His blood upon the cross. Think highly of His incarnation and His example—think highly of His miracles and His words—think highly of His resurrection, and intercession, and coming again. But think highest of all of Christ's sacrifice, and the atoning sacrifice made by His death. Contend earnestly for the old faith concerning His atonement. See in the old doctrine that He died as a Substitute for sinners, the only solution of a thousand passages in the Old Testament, and a hundred passages in the New. Never, never be ashamed to let people know that you derive all your comfort from the atoning blood of Christ, and from His substitution for you on the cross.
Cling to Christ, I say lastly—and make much of the old foundation truths concerning salvation by His blood. These are the old friends to which our souls will turn at last in the hour of our departure. These are the ancient doctrines on which we shall lean back our aching heads, when life is ebbing away and death is in sight. We shall not ask ourselves then whether we have been Episcopalians or Presbyterians, Churchmen or Dissenters. We shall not find comfort then in new-fangled notions and human inventions—in baptism and church-membership, in sects and parties—in ceremonies and forms. Nothing will do us good then but the blood of Christ. Nothing will support us then but the witness of the Spirit, that in the blood of Jesus we have washed, and by that blood have been made clean.
I commend these things to the serious attention of all who read this volume. If you never knew these things before, may you soon become acquainted with them! If you have known them in time past, may you know them better for time to come! We can never know too well the right answer to the mighty question, "Where are your sins?"
Where Are You?
by J. C. Ryle
Then the woman saw that the tree was good for food and delightful to look at, and that it was desirable for obtaining wisdom. So she took some of its fruit and ate it; she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves. Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and they hid themselves from the Lord God among the trees of the garden. So the Lord God called out to the man and said to him, "Where are you?" (Genesis 3:6-9)
Reader, The question before your eyes is the first which God asked of man after the fall. It is the question He put to Adam in the day that he ate the forbidden fruit, and became a sinner.
In vain did Adam and his wife hide themselves among the trees of the garden of Eden. In vain did they try to escape the eye of the allseeing God. Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and they hid themselves from the Lord God among the trees of the garden. So the Lord God called out to the man and said to him, "Where are you?" Think for a moment how awful those words must have sounded! Think what the feelings of Adam and Eve must have been!
Reader, 6,000 years have well-near passed away since this question was first asked. Millions of Adam's children have lived and died, and gone to their own place. Millions are yet upon earth, and everyone of them has a soul to be lost or saved. But no question ever has been, or even can be asked more solemn than that which is before you— Where are you? Where are you in the sight of God? Come now, and give me your attention, while I tell you a few things which may throw light upon this question.
I know not who you are—whether you are a Churchman or a Dissenter—whether you are learned or unlearned—whether you are rich or poor—whether you are old or young—about all this I know nothing. But I do know that you have got an immortal soul, and I want that soul to be saved. I do know that you have got to stand before the judgment seat of God, and I want you to be prepared for it. I do know that you will be forever in heaven or hell, and I want you to escape hell, and reach heaven. I do know that the Bible contains most solemn things about the inhabitants of the earth, and I want every man, woman, and child in the world to hear them. I believe every word in the Bible; and because I believe it, I ask every reader of this paper, "Where are you in the sight of God?"
I. In the first place, there are many people about whom the Bible shows me I ought to be exceedingly afraid. Reader, are you one of them?
These are they, who, if Bible words mean anything, have not yet been converted and born again. They are not justified. They are not sanctified. They have not the Spirit. They have no faith. They have no grace. Their sins are not forgiven. Their hearts are not changed. They are not ready to die. They are not fit for heaven. They are neither godly, nor righteous, nor saints. If they are, Bible words mean nothing at all.
Some of these people, to all appearance, think no more about their souls than the beasts that perish. There is nothing to show that they think of a life to come any more than the horse and ox, which have no understanding. Their treasure is evidently all on earth. Their good things are plainly all on this side of the grave. Their attention is swallowed up by the perishable things of time. Eating, drinking, and clothing—money, houses, and land—business, pleasure, or politics— marrying, games, or entertainment—these are the kind of things which fill their hearts. They live as if there were no such book as the Bible. They go on as if resurrection and eternal judgment were a mere fable. As to grace, and conversion, and justification, and holiness—they are things which, like Gallio, they have no concern for —they are words and names they are either ignorant of, or despise. They are all going to die. They are all going to be judged. And yet they seem to be even more hardened than the devil, for they appear neither to believe nor tremble. Alas, what a state this is for an immortal soul to be in! But oh, how common!
Some of the people I speak of have got a form of religion—but after all it is nothing but a form. They profess and call themselves Christians. They go to a place of worship on Sunday. But when you have said that—you have said all. Where is the religion of the New Testament to be seen in their lives? Nowhere at all! Sin is plainly not considered their worst enemy, nor the Lord Jesus their best friend— nor the will of God their rule of life—nor salvation the great end of their existence. The spirit of slumber keeps possession of their hearts, and they are at ease, self-satisfied, and content. They are in a Laodicean frame of mind, and fancy they have enough religion.
God speaks to them continually; by mercies—by afflictions—by sermons; but they will not hear. Jesus knocks at the door of their hearts—but they will not open. They are told of death and eternity, and remain unconcerned. They are warned against the love of the world, and plunge into it week after week without shame. They hear of Christ coming upon earth to die for sinners, and go away unmoved. There seems a place in their hearts for everything but God
—room for business—room for pleasures—room for trifling—room for sin—room for the devil—room for the world—but, like the inn at Bethlehem, no room for Him who made them—no admission for Jesus, the Spirit, and the Word. Alas, what a condition of things is this! But alas, how common!
Reader, I put it solemnly to your conscience, as in the sight of God, are you one of those people whom I have just described? There are thousands of such people in our land—thousands in Great Britain— thousands in Ireland—thousands in our country parishes—thousands in our towns—thousands among churchmen—thousands among dissenters—thousands among rich—thousands among poor. Now, are you one of them? If you are, I fear for you—I tremble for you—I am alarmed for you—I am exceedingly afraid for you!
What is it that I fear for you? I fear everything. I fear lest you should persist in rejecting Christ until you have sinned away your own soul. I fear lest you be given over to a reprobate mind, and awake no more. I fear lest you come to such deadness and hardness of heart, that nothing but the voice of the archangel and the trumpet of God will break your sleep. I fear lest you cling to this vain world so closely, that nothing but death will part it and you. I fear lest you should live without Christ, die without pardon, rise again without hope, receive judgment without mercy, and sink into hell without remedy!
Reader, I must warn you, though I may seem like Lot, as one that jests. I do solemnly warn you to flee from the wrath to come. I entreat you to remember that the Bible is all true, and must be fulfilled—that the end of your present ways is misery and sorrow— that without holiness no man shall see the Lord—that the wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the people who forget God—that God shall one day take account of all your doings, and that Christless sinners like yourself can never stand in His sight, for He is holy, and a consuming fire. Oh, that you would consider these things! Where is the man that can hold his finger for a minute in the flame of a candle? Who shall dwell with everlasting burnings?
I know well the thoughts that Satan will put into your heart, as you read these words. I know well the excuses that you are going to make. You will tell me "Religion is all very well—but a man must live." I answer, "It is quite true a man must live—but it is no less true that he must also die." You may tell me, "A man who has to work for his bread, has no time for anything else—he cannot starve." I answer, that "I do not want any one to starve—but neither also do I want anyone to burn in hell." You may tell me, "A man must mind his business first in this world." I answer, Yes! and the first business a man should mind is his eternal business—the business of his soul."
Reader, I beseech you, in all affection, to break off your sins—to repent and be converted. I beseech you to change your course—to alter your ways about religion, to turn from your present carelessness about your soul, and become a new man. I offer to you through Jesus Christ, the forgiveness of all past sins—free and complete forgiveness —ready, present, everlasting forgiveness. I tell you, in my Master's name, that if you will turn to the Lord Jesus Christ, this forgiveness shall at once be your own. Oh, do not refuse so gracious an invitation! Do not hear of Christ dying for you—Christ shedding His own blood for you—Christ stretching out His hands to you, and yet remain unmoved. Do not love this poor perishing world better than eternal life. Dare to be bold and decided. Resolve to come out from the broad way which leads to destruction. Arise and escape for your life, while it is called today. Repent, believe, pray, and be saved.
Reader, I fear for you in your present state. My heart's desire and prayer is that God may teach you to fear for yourself.
II. In the second place, there are many people about whom the Bible shows me I ought to stand in doubt. Reader, are you one of these?
There are many whom I must call "almost Christians," for I know no other expression in the Bible, which so exactly describes their state. They have many things about them which are right, and good, and praiseworthy, in the sight of God. They are regular and moral in their lives. They are free from glaring outward sins. They keep up many decent and proper habits. They are usually diligent in their attendance on means of grace. They appear to love the preaching of the Gospel. They are not offended at the truth as it is in Jesus, however plainly it may be spoken. They have no objection to religious company, religious books, and religious talk. They agree to all you say when you speak to them about their souls. And all this is well.
But still there is no movement in the hearts of these people that even a microscope can detect. They are like those who stand still. Weeks after weeks, years after years roll over their heads, and they are just where they were. They sit under our pulpits. They approve of our sermons. And yet, like Pharaoh's lean cows, they are nothing the better, apparently, for all they receive. There is always the same regularity about them—the same constant attendance on means of grace—the same wishing and hoping—the same way of talking about religion—but there is nothing more. There is no going forward in their Christianity. There is no life, and heart, and reality in it. Their souls seem to be at a deadlock. And all this is sadly wrong.
Reader, are you one of these people? There are thousands of them in this day—thousands in our churches, and thousands in our chapels. I ask you to give an honest answer to the question—Is this the state of your soul in the sight of God? If it is, I can only say your condition is most unsatisfactory. As the apostle said to the Galatians, so say I unto you—"I stand in doubt of you."
How can I feel otherwise about you? There are but two sides in the world—the side of Christ and the side of the devil; and yet you make it doubtful on which side you ought to be placed. I dare not say you are altogether careless about religion—but I cannot call you decided. I shrink from numbering you among the ungodly—but I may not place you among the Lord's children. You have some light; but is it saving knowledge? You have some feeling; but is it grace? You are not profane; but are you a man of God? You may possibly be one of the Lord's people; but you dwell so near the borders, that I cannot discern to what group you belong. You may not perhaps be spiritually dead; but like a sickly tree in winter, I hardly know whether you are alive. And thus you live on without satisfactory evidences. I cannot help doubting about you. Surely there is a cause.
I cannot read the secrets of your hearts. Perhaps there is some bosom sin, which you are holding fast and will not give up. This is a disease which checks the growth of many a professing Christian. Perhaps you are kept back by the fear of man—you are afraid of the blame or laughter of your fellow-creatures. This is an iron chain that fetters many a soul. Perhaps you are careless about private prayer and communion with God. This is one reason why multitudes are weak and sickly in spirit. But whatever your reason be, I warn you in all affection, to take care what you are doing. Your state is neither satisfactory nor safe. Like the Gibeonites, you are found in the train of Israel—but like them you have no title to Israel's portion, Israel's consolations, and Israel's rewards. Oh, awake to a sense of your danger! Strive to enter in.
Reader, you must give up this halting between two opinions, if ever you mean to enjoy good evidences of your salvation. There must be an alteration in you. There must be a move. There is no real standing still in true Christianity. If God's work is not going forward in a man's heart, the devil's is; and if a man is always at the same point in religion, the probability is that he has got no religion at all. It is not enough to wear Christ's livery; we must also fight Christ's battles. It is not enough to cease to do evil; we must also learn to do well. It will not suffice to do no harm; we must also labor to do good. Oh, tremble, lest you should prove an unprofitable receiver of God's talents—a barren cumberer of the ground, and your end be to be burned. Remember, he that is not with Christ, is against Him.
Reader, I charge you strongly never to rest until you have found out whether you have grace in your heart or not. Wishes, and desires, and good feelings, and convictions, are all excellent things in their way—but they alone will never save you. I like to see buds and blossoms on a tree—but I like better to see ripe fruit. The way-side hearers in the parable listened—but the Word took no root in them— they were not saved. The stony ground hearers listened with joy—but the Word had no depth in them—they were not saved. The thorny ground hearers brought forth something like fruit—but the Word was choked by the world—they were not saved. Do you tremble at the Word? So also did Felix—but he was not saved. Do you like to hear good sermons, and do many things which are right? So also did Herod—but he was not saved. Do you wish to die the death of the righteous? So did Balaam—but he was not saved. Have you knowledge? So had Judas Iscariot—but he was not saved. And shall you be saved as you are? I doubt it. Remember Lot's wife!
Reader, once more I call upon you to take care what you are doing. If you will not stir up yourself to go forward, how should I feel anything but doubt about your soul?
But there are others about whom I stand in doubt, who are in worse case even than the "almost Christians." These are they who once made a high profession of religion—but have now given it up. They were once reckoned to be true believers—but they have turned back again to the world and fallen away. They have gone back from the point of religion they once seemed to have reached. They walked no more in the ways they once seemed to choose. In short, they are BACKSLIDERS.
Reader, is this the state of your soul? If it is, know for a certainty that your condition is most unsatisfactory. It matters little what your past experience was. It proves little that you were once counted among true Christians. It may have been all a mistake and a delusion. It is your present condition of soul that I look at, and as I do so, I stand in doubt.
I believe there was a time when all the saints of God who saw you rejoiced at the sight. You seemed then to love the Lord Jesus in sincerity, and to be willing to give up the broad way forever, and forsake all for the Gospel's sake. The Word of God appeared sweet and precious to you; the voice of Christ's ministers a most pleasant sound; the assembly of the Lord's people the place you loved best; the company of true believers your chief delight. You were never missing at the weekly meetings. Your place was never empty at Church. Your Bible was never long out of your hands. There were no days in your life without prayer. Your zeal was indeed fervent. Your religious affections were truly warm. You did run well for a season. But, oh, reader, where, where are you now?
You have gone back to the world. You lingered; you looked back; you returned—I fear you had left your heart behind you. You have taken up the old man's deeds once more. You have left your first love. Your goodness has proved like the morning clouds, and as the early dew it has gone away. Your serious impressions are fast dying off; they are getting weaker and fainter every day, Your convictions are fast withering up; they are changing color like leaves in autumn—they will soon drop off and disappear. The gray hairs, which tell of decline, are coming here and there upon you. The preaching you once hung upon, now wearies you. The books you delighted in, give pleasure no more. The progress of Christ's Gospel is no longer interesting. The company of God's children is no longer sought. They or you must be changed. You are becoming shy of holy people, impatient of rebuke and advice, uncertain in your tempers, careless about little sins, not afraid of mixing with the world. Once it was not so!
You may keep up some form of religion perhaps—but as to vital godliness you are fast cooling down. Already you are lukewarm; by and by you will be cold; and before long you will be icy, religionfrozen, and more dead than you were before. You are grieving the Spirit, and He will soon leave you. You are tempting the devil, and he will soon come to you; your heart is ready for him—your last state will be worse than your first. Oh, reader, strengthen the things which remain, which are ready to die. How can I possibly help feeling doubt about your soul?*
I find that many people object to the expression, "You are grieving the Spirit, and He will soon leave you." On calm reflection I am not disposed to alter it. I think it is dangerous to attempt to be more systematic than the Bible in our theology. I think there is Scriptural warrant for saying that an unconverted man who possesses great light and knowledge in the things of religion, and yet refuses to give up sin and the world, does, in a certain sense, grieve the Holy Spirit. I would refer to Isaiah 63:10; Acts 7:51; Heb. 10:29. In taking this ground, I believe I am in entire harmony with one of the most Scriptural divines that ever lived—I mean John Bunyan. In "Pilgrim's Progress" he represents the man in the iron cage, at the Interpreter's house, saying to Christian, "I sinned against the light of the Word, and the goodness of God. I have grieved the Spirit, and He is gone. I tempted the devil, and he is come to me. I have provoked God to anger, and He has left me."
The length to which people may go in a profession of religion, and yet remain unconverted in heart, and be lost at last, is one of the most awful and soul-searching points in theology.
But I cannot let you go without trying to do you good. I do pity you indeed, because you are so unhappy. I know it—I am sure of it—it is useless to deny it. You have been unhappy ever since you fell away. You are unhappy at home, and unhappy abroad, unhappy in company, and unhappy alone; unhappy when you lie down, and unhappy when you rise up. You may have got riches, honor, family, friends—but yet the sting remains. There is a famine of consolation about you—there is an utter dearth of inward peace. You are sick at heart—you are ill at ease—you are discontented with everybody, because you are discontented with yourself. You are like a bird that has wandered from her nest—you never feel in your right place. You have too much religion to enjoy the world, and too little religion to enjoy God. You are weary of life, and yet afraid to die. Truly the words of Solomon are made good in your case, "You are filled with your own ways."
Reader, notwithstanding all your backslidings, there is hope even for you. There is no disease of soul that the glorious Gospel cannot cure. There is a remedy even for your case—humbling, pride-lowering, I know—but a sure remedy; and I earnestly beseech you to take it. That remedy is the Fountain opened for all sins—the free mercy of God in Christ Jesus. Go and wash in that Fountain without delay, and Jesus Christ shall make you whole!
Take down your neglected Bible and see how David fell and lay in foul sin a whole year, and yet when he repented and turned to God, there was mercy for him. Turn to the history of the apostle Peter, and see how he denied his Master three times with an oath, and yet when he wept and humbled himself, there was mercy for him. Hear what comfortable words our Lord and Savior sends you this day—"Come unto Me all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." "You have played the harlot with many lovers, yet return again to Me." "Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool." "Return, you backsliding children, and I will heal your backslidings." Oh, that you may take up the words of Israel this day, and reply, "Behold I come unto You, for You are the Lord my God." (Matt. 11:28; Jer. 3:1; Isai. 1:18; Jer. 3:22.)
Reader, I pray God these words may not be brought before you in vain. But remember, until you turn from your backslidings, I must stand in doubt about your soul.
III. In the third place, there are some people about whom the Bible tells me I ought to feel a good hope. Reader, are you one of these?
The people I speak of have found out that they are guilty sinners, and have fled to Christ by faith for salvation. They have found out that sin is a miserable and unhappy thing, and they hate it, and long to be free from its presence altogether. In themselves they see nothing but weakness and corruption—but in the Lord Jesus they see the very things their souls require—pardon, peace, light, comfort, and strength. Christ's blood, Christ's cross, Christ's righteousness, Christ's intercession—these are the things on which their minds love to dwell. Their affections are now set on things above. They care for nothing so much as pleasing God. While they live their chief desire is to live to the Lord. When they die, their only desire is to die in the Lord. After death, their hope is that they shall be with the Lord.
Reader, is this the state of your soul? Do you know anything of the faith and hope, and affections, and experience, which I have just described? Do you find anything in your heart which answers to the account I have just given? If you do, I thank God for it—I congratulate you on your condition—I feel a good hope about your soul.
I know well that you live in a world full of trials. You are yet in the wilderness; you are not at home. I know well that pride, and unbelief, and sloth, are continually struggling for the mastery within you. You have fightings without and fears within. I doubt not your heart is so treacherous and deceitful, that you are often sick of yourself and say, "Never was any heart so bad as mine!" But, notwithstanding all this, I must hope well for your soul.
I hope, because I believe that God has begun a work in you which He will never allow to be overthrown. Who taught you to hate sin and love Christ? Who made you come out from the world and delight in God's service? These things do not come from your own heart. Nature bears no such fruit. These things are the work of God, who where He begins, always finishes; who where He gives grace, will also give glory. Surely here is ground for hope.
I hope, because I believe you have a saving interest in an everlasting covenant, a covenant ordered in all things and sure. The stamp of heaven is upon you. The marks of the Lord Jesus are on your soul. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, have all engaged to complete the salvation of your soul. There is a three-fold cord around you which never yet was broken. Surely here is ground for hope.
I hope, because you have a Savior whose blood can cleanse from all sin—a Savior who invites all, and casts out none who come to Him—a Savior who will not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax—a Savior who can be touched with the feeling of your infirmities, and is not ashamed to call you brethren—a Savior who never alters—the same yesterday, today, and forever, always able to save to the uttermost, always mighty to save. Surely here is ground for hope.
I hope, because the love of Christ is a love that passes knowledge. So free and undeserved! So costly, even unto death! So powerful and allconquering! So unchanging and enduring! So patient and forbearing! So tender and sympathizing! Truly our sins pass knowledge, and this love of Jesus is the very love our souls need. Surely here is ground for hope.
I hope, because God has given to you exceeding great and precious promises—promises of being kept unto the end—promises of grace for every time of need, and strength according to your day—promises that never yet were broken, all yes and amen in Christ Jesus. Surely here is ground for hope.
Oh, reader, if you are a believer, these things are a strong foundation. If God is for you, who shall be against you? There is no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus. Nothing shall ever separate them from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.