saw Jesus he cried out, and fell down before him, and with a loud voice
said, What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God most high? I
beseech thee torment me not.”
Here is the devil’s confession of faith. The devils believe and tremble,
while men make a mock of sin, and sport on the brink of eternal ruin. To
many of the human race, Christ appears as a root out of dry ground. They
see in him neither form nor comeliness, and there is no beauty in him
that they should desire him. Some said he was the carpenter’s son, and
would not believe in him; others said he had a devil, and that it was
through Beelzebub the chief of the devils, that he cast out devils; some
cried out, Let him be crucified—let him be crucified; and others said,
Let his blood be on us and on our children. As the Jews would not have
him to reign over them; so many, who call themselves Christians, say that
he is a mere man; as such, he has no right to rule over their
consciences, and demand their obedience, adoration, and praise. But
Diabolus knows better—Jesus is the Son of God most high.
Many of the children of the devil, whose work they do, differ very widely
from their father in their sentiments respecting the person of Christ.
“Jesus commanded the legion of unclean spirits to come out of the man.”
They knew that out they must go. But they were like Scotchmen—very
unwilling to return to their own country. They would rather go into
hogs’ skins than to their own country. And he suffered them to go into
the herd of swine. Methinks that one of the men who fed the hogs, kept a
better look out than the rest of them, and said, “What ail the hogs?
Look sharp there, boys—keep them in—make good use of your whips. Why
don’t you run? Why, I declare, one of them has gone over the cliff!
There goes another! Drive them back.” Never was there such a running,
and whipping, and hallooing; but down go the hogs, before they are aware
of it. One of them said, “They are all gone!” “No, sure not all gone
into the sea!” “Yes, every one of them, the black hog and all! They are
all drowned!—the devil is in them! What shall we do now?—what can we say
to the owners?” “What can we say?” said another. “We must tell the
truth—that is all about it. We did our best—all that was in our power.
What could any man do more?”
So they went their way to the city, to tell the masters what had
happened. “John, where are you going,” exclaimed one of the masters.
“Sir, did you know the demoniac that was among the tombs there?”
“Demoniac among the tombs! Where did you leave the hogs?” “That madman,
sir—” “Madman!—Why do you come home without the hogs?” “That wild and
furious man, sir, that mistress was afraid of so much—” “Why John, I ask
you a plain and simple question—why don’t you answer me? Where are the
hogs?” “That man who was possessed with the devils, sir—” “Why, sure
enough, you are crazy!—you look wild!—tell me your story, if you can, let
it be what it may.” “Jesus Christ, sir, has cast out the unclean spirits
out of the demoniac; they are gone into the swine; and they are all
drowned in the sea; for I saw the tail of the last one!” The Gadarenes
went out to see what was done, and finding that it was even so, they were
afraid, and besought Jesus to depart from them.
How awful must be the condition of those men who love the things of this
world more than Jesus Christ!
The man out of whom the unclean spirits were cast, besought Jesus that he
might be with him. But he told him to return to his own house, and show
how great things God had done unto him. And he went his way and
published throughout the whole city of Decapolis, how great things Jesus
had done unto him. The act of Jesus casting so many devils out of him,
was sufficient to persuade him that Jesus was God as well as man.
I imagine I see him going through the city, crying—“O yes! O yes! O
yes!—Please to take notice of me, the demoniac among the tombs. I am the
man who was a terror to the citizens of this place—that wild man, who
would wear no clothes, and that no man could bind. Here am I, now, in my
right mind. Jesus Christ, the friend of sinners, had compassion on me.
He remembered me when I was in my low estate—when there was no eye to
pity, and no hand to save. He cast out the devils and redeemed my soul
from destruction.”
Most wonderful must have been the surprise of the people, to hear such
proclamation. The ladies running to the windows, the shoemakers throwing
their lasts one way and their awls another, running out to meet him and
to converse with him, that they might be positive there was no
imposition, and found it to be a fact that could not be contradicted.
“O, the wonder of all wonders! Never was there such a thing!”—must, I
think, be the general conversation.
And while they are talking and everybody having something to say,
homeward goes the man. As soon as he comes in sight of the house, I
imagine I see one of the children running in, and crying, “O, mother!
father is coming—he will kill us all!” “Children, come all into the
house,” says the mother. “Let us fasten the doors. I think there is no
sorrow like my sorrow!” says the broken-hearted woman. “Are all the
windows fastened, children?” “Yes, mother.” “Mary, my dear, come from
the window—don’t be standing there.” “Why, mother, I can hardly believe
it is father! That man is well-dressed.” “O yes, my dear children, it
is your own father. I knew him by his walk the moment I saw him.”
Another child stepping to the window, says, “Why, mother, I never saw
father coming home as he does to-day. He walks on the footpath and turns
round the corner of the fence. He used to come towards the house as
straight as a line, over fences, ditches, and hedges; and I never saw him
walking as slow as he does now.”
In a few moments, however, he arrives at the door of the house, to the
great terror and consternation of all the inmates. He gently tries the
door, and finds no admittance. He pauses a moment, steps towards the
window, and says in a low, firm, and melodious voice—“My dear wife, if
you will let me in, there is no danger. I will not hurt you. I bring
you glad tidings of great joy.” The door is reluctantly opened, as it
were between joy and fear. Having deliberately seated himself, he says:
“I am come to show you what great things God has done for me. He loved
me with an eternal love. He redeemed me from the curse of the law and
the threatenings of vindictive justice. He saved me from the power and
the dominion of sin. He cast out the devils out of my heart, and made
that heart, which was a den of thieves, the temple of the Holy Spirit. I
cannot tell you how much I love the Saviour. Jesus Christ is the
foundation of my hope, the object of my faith, and the centre of my
affections. I can venture my immortal soul upon him. He is my best
friend. He is altogether lovely—the chief among ten thousand. He is my
wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption. There is enough
in him to make a poor sinner rich, and a miserable sinner happy. His
flesh and blood is my food—his righteousness my wedding garment—and his
blood is efficacious to cleanse me from all my sins. Through him I can
obtain eternal life; for he is the brightness of the Father’s glory, and
the express image of his person: in whom dwelleth all the fullness of the
Godhead bodily. He deserves my highest esteem and my warmest gratitude.
Unto him who loved me with an eternal love, and washed me in his own
blood, unto him be the glory, dominion, and power, for ever and ever!
For he has rescued my soul from hell. He plucked me as a brand out of
the burning. He took me out of the miry clay, and out of a horrible pit.
He set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings, and put in my
mouth a new song of praise and glory to him! Glory to him for
ever!—Glory to God in the highest!—Glory to God for ever and ever! Let
the whole earth praise him!—Yea, let all the people praise him!”
It is beyond the power of the strongest imagination to conceive the joy
and gladness of this family. The joy of seafaring men delivered from
shipwreck; the joy of a man delivered from a burning house; the joy of
not being found guilty to a criminal at the bar; the joy of receiving
pardon to a condemned malefactor; the joy of freedom to a prisoner of
war, is nothing in comparison to the joy of him who is delivered from
going down to the pit of eternal destruction. For it is a joy
unspeakable and full of glory.
II. ENTERING THE PORT.
“_For so an entrance shall be ministered unto you abundantly into the
ever-lasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ_.”—2 Pet.
i. 11.
THIS language seems to be borrowed from the case of a ship bringing her
passengers to port on a pleasant afternoon, her sails all white and
whole, and her flags majestically waving in the breeze; while the
relatives of those on board ascend the high places, to see their brothers
and their sisters returning home in safety from the stormy main. How
pleasant to a man who is about to emigrate to the new world, America,
when he meets with some one that has been there, and who is well
acquainted with the coast, knows the best landing-place, and will
accompany him on his passage. “Though I walk through the valley and the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and
thy staff they comfort me.” He who passed through death himself, and is
Lord of the sea, is our High-priest; and, with his priestly vestments on,
he will stand in Jordan’s current till the feeblest in all the tribes
shall be safely landed on Canaan’s shore. How delightful must be the
feelings of the dying Christian, the testimony of whose conscience unites
with the witness of the spirit, to assure him that Jesus has paid his
fare: and who knows he carries in his hand the white stone with the new
name, to be exhibited on the pier-head, the other side, hard by his
Father’s house. This is an abundant entrance, on a fair day, over a fine
sea, with a pleasant breeze swelling every sail. “Now lettest thou thy
servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”
O how different the entrance ministered to the careless professor—the
fruitless and idle—who keeps his hand in his bosom, or leaning upon his
implements! Though he may reach the shore with his life, it will be at
midnight, surrounded by roaring tempests, full of bitter remembrances and
most tormenting fears. Yet, with tattered sails and broken ropes,
peradventure he may gain the port; “for the Lord is good, and his mercy
endureth for ever.” But who shall describe the condition of the ungodly,
driven out to sea in all their wickedness; not even allowed a quarantine
within sight of the heavenly Jerusalem, but obliged to drift about,
dismantled and disabled, amid the darkness of eternal storms! Oh! to be
forced from their moorings at midnight, when they cannot see a
handbreadth before them; the thunders rolling; the lightnings flashing;
strange voices of wrath mingling with every blast; and the great bell of
eternity tolling a funeral knell for the lost soul, through all its
dismal, and solitary, and everlasting voyage! Let us flee for refuge, to
lay hold on the hope set before us, which hope is as an anchor of the
soul, sure and steadfast, grasping the Rock of Ages within the vail!
III. THE UNCLEAN SPIRIT IN DRY PLACES.
I SEE the wicked spirit, like a winged dragon, having a long tail,
drawing circles and flying in the air, in search of a dwelling-place.
Casting his fiery look upon a certain neighborhood, he spies a young man,
in the bloom of his days, and in the strength of his powers, sitting on
the box of his cart, going for lime. “There he is,” says the old hellish
dragon; “his veins are full of blood, and his bones are full of marrow; I
will cast the sparks into his bosom, and will set all his lusts on fire;
I will lead him on from bad to worse, until he commit every sin. I will
make him a murderer, and will plunge his soul for ever beneath the
boiling billows of the great fiery furnace.” With this, I see him
descending in all the vehemence of his character—but when close by the
lad, the dragon hears him sing,
“When on the cross the Saviour hung,
The mid-day sank in midnight gloom;
When guilty sinners were redeemed,
The midnight burst in mid-day bloom.”
Upon which the dragon cries out, “This place is too dry for me,”—and away
he flies.
I see him again, a second time, hovering in the air, and seeking for a
resting-place. In a flowery meadow, by a river of clear water, he sees a
maiden, eighteen years of age, among the kine, picking up some beautiful
flowers, here and there. “Behold her,” says Apollyon, full of hellish
joy; “I will poison her mind, and lead her astray from the paths of the
Almighty enemy; I will make her a harlot, and will ultimately cast her
over the precipice, until she sink for ever in the furnace of divine
wrath.” He hastens down; and, approaching the maiden, finds her singing
the following stanzas, in a heavenly, transporting frame of mind, and
with a voice that might almost melt the rocks:
“Unto the righteous will arrive,
A day of rest serene,
When to their joy they see the Lord,
Without a vail between.
“Then from the grave I shall arise,
And take my joyful stand
Among the saints who dwell on high,
Received at God’s right hand.”
“This place is too dry for me,” says the dragon, and off he flies.
From the meadow he ascends like a great balloon, with renewed rage,
blowing smoke and fire from his mouth, and threatening damnation to all
creation. “I will have a place to rest and dwell in,” says Apollyon, “in
spite of the purpose, covenant, and grace of God!” With this he espies
an aged woman, sitting at the door of her cot, and spinning on her little
wheel. “Ah, she is ripe for destruction,” says the dragon; “I will give
her a taste of the burning gall of damnation, and will cast her into the
lake that burneth with fire and brimstone.” With this he descends on the
eaves of the cot, and hears the old woman, with a trembling voice, but
with heavenly feelings, repeat the following beautiful passage: “For the
mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed, but my kindness shall
not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed,
saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee!” “This place is too dry for me,”
says the dragon, and is off again.
It might be thought that all these disappointments would discourage him
from prosecuting his infernal designs farther; but not so: he is
determined, if possible, to find a dwelling-place. For this purpose he
rises again, to mark some spot where he may alight and find a welcome.
He sees in a small village a neat and decent house of refreshment.
“There,” says he, “will I dwell, and lead to bondage every one that shall
cross the threshold, and make him fast in eternal fetters.’” He flies
down like lightning, enters the house, and walks into the parlor; but
there he finds a company of ministers of the New Testament, returning
from an Association, who are talking about the victory of Calvary, and
exchanging appointments with each other. The wicked spirit cannot stay
within the sound of their voice, but retreats with hasty steps, muttering
and growling as he goes,—“This place is too dry for me, I will return to
my house from which I came out!”
IV. SATAN AN ANGEL OF LIGHT.
SATAN perceived that it would be convenient and advantageous for him to
have two suits of clothes. A suit of flaming, impurpled, and blackish
red was his raiment since he instigated the rebellion in heaven: this he
wears at home. This is the garment that is emblematic of his wrath and
cruelty against El-Shaddai. He transformed himself when he tempted the
first Adam, and succeeded in casting him down. The Second Adam knew him,
when he required him to obey his command, and worship him instead of the
true God. The Second Adam would die, rather than eat bread made out of a
stone by the command of Satan.
It was in his flaming, bloody, black-red garb that Satan appeared among
the persecutors, both pagan and popish, lighting up the funeral fires of
the Martyrs. But he soon found it necessary to have a suit of white,
descriptive of his cunning and hypocrisy; and he ordered white garments
for his servants also, to wear upon certain occasions, when from home
upon his expeditions. He met with reception in his white robe, angel
like, in many places where he would not have been received at all in his
suit of flaming red-black, in which he took the lead at pastimes, Sabbath
plays, in taverns, and horse-races. But in his white robe he had an
early admittance into many a cathedral, and he appointed some of his
servants to offices there.
He also, in his white suit, found his way into the houses of evangelical
dissenters, though they profess to have a book which exhibits his
devices. Notwithstanding all the watching that had been at the doors, he
rushed in to the communion table, as he had done to the consecrated altar
of the cathedral, and sowed discord between the minister and the deacons;
and he himself undertook the managing matters between them, seated in his
chair and vested in his white robe. He forced many to assume a
profession, like tares of the field; and some also of his best beloved
servants, who were utterly destitute of the love of Christ and the fear
of God, he raised into the pulpit, while they were living in secret sins;
but they all had a white robe, as white as the sepulchres of the
Pharisees, covering all these things. Satan held these up to deceive
before the eye of God, and all the terrors of eternity. To sustain them
from fainting, he administered unto them his potions from the pitcher of
presumption; and hardened their consciences with the hot iron of
hypocrisy, heated in the fire of hell. He taught them to persecute
religion in the garb of an angel.
Let us not give room to the devil in his white raiment! When he attempts
to destroy the character of a brother, he assumes his white robe, and not
his murdering garment, pretending to vindicate the glory of God and the
cause of justice, asserting that the cause of religion must be cleared;
while all this time envy rankles in his heart, notwithstanding his fair
pretences, as when the Jews delivered Jesus to be crucified. It was his
white garment that Satan wore in the court of Caiaphas, when he charged
the true God with blasphemy. This garb, also, his servant Judas wore,
when he displayed such zeal and sympathy for the poor, in the case of the
ointment at Bethany. Let us ask grace, that we may be able to recognise
the devil in his white raiment, as well as in his old black-red garb. He
is not so easily distinguished in his borrowed white, as in his own
proper suit. Let us cleanse out hypocrisy. Such is our instruction.
V. THE YOUNG CHILD.
HEROD said to the wise men, “Go and search diligently for the young
child.” The magi immediately commenced their inquiries, according to the
instructions they received. I see them approaching some village, and
when they come to the gate they inquire, “Do you know any thing of the
young child?” The gateman comes to the door; and, supposing them to have
asked the amount of the toll, says, “O, three halfpence an ass is to
pay.” “We do not ask what is to pay,” reply they, “but, do you know any
thing of the young child?” “No; I know nothing in the world,” answers
he; “but there is a blacksmith’s shop a little farther on; inquire there,
and you will be very likely to obtain some intelligence concerning him.”
The wise men proceed, and when they come to the blacksmith’s shop, they
ask, “Do you know any thing of the young child?” A harsh voice answers,
“There is no such thing possible for you, as having the asses shod now;
you shall in two hours hence.” “We do not ask you to shoe the asses,”
say they; “but inquire for the young child, if you know any thing of
him?” “Nothing in the world,” says the blacksmith; “but inquire at the
tavern that is on your road, and probably you may hear something of him
there.”
On they go, and stand opposite the door of the tavern, and cry, “Do you
know any thing of the young child?” The landlord, thinking they call for
porter, bids the servant attend, saying, “Go, girl; go with a quart of
porter to the strangers.” “We do not ask for either porter or ale,” say
the wise men; “but something about the young child that is born.” “I
know nothing in the world of him,” says the landlord; “but turn to the
shop on the left hand; the shopkeeper reads all the papers, and you will
be likely to hear something respecting him there.”
They proceed accordingly towards the shop, and repeat their inquiry, “Do
you know any thing of the young child, here?” The shopkeeper says to his
apprentice, “Reach half a quarter of tobacco to the strangers.” “We do
not ask for tobacco,” say the wise men; “but for some intelligence of the
young child.” “I do not know any thing of him,” replies the shopkeeper;
“but there is an old Rabbi living in the upper end of the village; call
on him, and very probably he will give you all the information you desire
respecting the object of your search.”
They immediately direct their course towards the house of the Rabbi; and
having reached it, they knock at the door; and being admitted into his
presence, they ask him if he knows any thing of the young child. “Come
in,” says he; and when they have entered and are seated, the Rabbi refers
to his books and chronicles, and says he to the wise men, “There is
something wonderful about to take place; some remarkable person has been
or is to be born; but the best thing for you is to go down yonder street;
there is living there, by the river side, the son of an old priest; you
will be sure to know all of him.”
Having bid the old Rabbi a respectful farewell, on they go; and reaching
the river’s side, they inquire of the by-standers for the son of the old
priest. Immediately he is pointed out to them. There is a “raiment of
camel’s hair about him, and a leathern girdle about his loins.” They ask
him if he knows any thing of the young child. “Yes,” says he, “there he
is: behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world! There
he is; he will bruise the dragon’s head, and bring in everlasting
righteousness to every one that believeth in his name.”
VI. VARIETIES OF PREACHING.
I PERCEIVE four strong men on their journey toward Lazarus’ grave, for
the purpose of raising him to life. One of them, who is eminent for his
piety, says, “I will descend into the grave, and will take with me a bowl
of the salt of duties, and will rub him well with the sponge of natural
ability.” He enters the grave, and commences his rubbing process. I
watch his operations at a distance, and after a while inquire, “Well, are
there any symptoms of life there? Does he arise, does he breathe, my
brother?” “No such thing,” replies he, “he is still quiet, and I cannot
salt him to _will_—and besides this, his smell is rather heavy.”
“Well,” says the second, “come you out; I was afraid that your means
would not answer the purpose; let me enter the grave.” The second
enters, carrying in his hand a whip of the scorpions of threatening; and,
says he, “I will make him feel.” He directs his scorpion and fiery
ministry at the dead corpse; but in vain, and I hear him crying out, “All
is unsuccessful; dead he is after all.”
Says the third, “Make room for me to enter, and I will see if I cannot
bring him to life.” He enters the grave, and takes with him a musical
pipe; it is melodious as the song of love; but there is no dancing in the
grave.
The fourth says, “Means of themselves can effect nothing, but I will go
for Jesus, who is the resurrection and the life.” Immediately he leaves
to seek for Christ, and speedily returns, accompanied by the Saviour.
And when the Lord came, he stands in the door of the sepulchre, and cries
out, “Lazarus, come forth!” and the dead body is instantaneously instinct
with life.
Let our confidence be in the voice of the Son of God. And let us turn
our faces toward the wind, and say, “O breath, come from the four winds,
and breathe upon these slain, that they may live!”
VII. THE SIX CROCODILES.
EVERY church-member should learn to hunt a crocodile. The first
crocodile is a spirit to search closely for faults, instead of hiding
them with brotherly love, according to the directions of the gospel.
This is Ham, the old crocodile, that exposed the nakedness of his father,
instead of hiding it like Shem and Japheth; for which his father banished
him to the river Nilus, where he still remains in Africa, under the curse
of his father.