natural man, by the sense of duty, we see that the law which was ordained
to life is found to be unto death. The commandment, instead of being a
pleasant friend and companion to the human soul, as it was in the
beginning, has become a strict rigorous task-master. It lays out an
uncongenial work for sinful man to do, and threatens him with punishment
and woe if he does not do it. And yet the law is not a tyrant. It is
holy, just, and good. This work which it lays out is righteous work, and
ought to be done. The wicked disinclination and aversion of the sinner
have compelled the law to assume this unwelcome and threatening attitude.
That which is good was not made death to man by God's agency, and by a
Divine arrangement, but by man's transgression.[2] Sin produces this
misery in the human soul, through an instrument that is innocent, and in
its own nature benevolent and kind. Apostasy, the rebellion and
corruption of the human heart, has converted the law of God into an
exacting task-master and an avenging magistrate. For the law says to
every man what St. Paul says of the magistrate: "Rulers are not a terror
to good works, but to the evil. Wilt thou, then, not be afraid of the
power? Do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same. For
he is the minister of God to thee for good: _but if thou do that which is
evil, be afraid_." If man were only conformed to the law; if the
inclination of his heart were only in harmony with his sense of duty; the
ten commandments would not be accompanied with any thunders or
lightnings, and the discharge of duty would be as easy, spontaneous,
and as much without effort, as the practice of sin now is.
Thus have we considered two particulars in which the Divine law,
originally intended to render man happy, and intrinsically adapted to do
so, now renders him miserable. The commandment which was ordained to
life, he now finds to be unto death, because it places him under a
continual restraint, and drives him to a perpetual effort. These two
particulars, we need not say, are not all the modes in which sin has
converted the moral law from a joy to a sorrow. We have not discussed the
great subject of guilt and penalty. This violated law charges home the
past disobedience and threatens an everlasting damnation, and thus fills
the sinful soul with fears and forebodings. In this way, also, the law
becomes a terrible organ and instrument of misery, and is found to be
unto death. But the limits of this discourse compel us to stop the
discussion here, and to deduce some practical lessons which are
suggested by it.
1. In the first place, we are taught by the subject, as thus considered,
that _the mere sense of duty is not Christianity_. If this is all that a
man is possessed of, he is not prepared for the day of judgment, and the
future life. For the sense of duty, alone and by itself, causes misery in
a soul that has not performed its duty. The law worketh wrath, in a
creature who has not obeyed the law. The man that doeth these things
shall indeed live by them; but he who has not done them must die by them.
There have been, and still are, great mistakes made at this point. Men
have supposed that an active conscience, and a lofty susceptibility
towards right and wrong, will fit them to appear before God, and have,
therefore, rejected Christ the Propitiation. They have substituted ethics
for the gospel; natural religion for revealed. "I know," says Immanuel
Kant, "of but two beautiful things; the starry heavens above my head, and
the sense of duty within my heart."[3] But, is the sense of duty
_beautiful_ to apostate man? to a being who is not conformed to it? Does
the holy law of God overarch him like the firmament, "tinged with a blue
of heavenly dye, and starred with sparkling gold?" Nay, nay. If there be
any beauty in the condemning law of God, for man the _transgressor_, it
is the beauty of the lightnings. There is a splendor in them, but there
is a terror also. Not until He who is the end of the law for
righteousness has clothed me with His panoply, and shielded me from their
glittering shafts in the clefts of the Rock, do I dare to look at them,
as they leap from crag to crag, and shine from the east even unto the
west.
We do not deny that the consciousness of responsibility is a lofty one,
and are by no means insensible to the grand and swelling sentiments
concerning the moral law, and human duty, to which this noble thinker
gives utterance.[4] But we are certain that if the sense of duty had
pressed upon him to the degree that it did upon St. Paul; had the
commandment "come" to him with the convicting energy that it did to St.
Augustine, and to Pascal; he too would have discovered that the law which
was ordained to life is found to be unto death. So long as man stands at
a distance from the moral law, he can admire its glory and its beauty;
but when it comes close to him; when it comes home to him; when it
becomes a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart; then its
glory is swallowed up in its terror, and its beauty is lost in its truth.
Then he who was alive without the law becomes slain by the law. Then this
ethical admiration of the decalogue is exchanged for an evangelical trust
in Jesus Christ.
2. And this leads us to remark, in the second place, that this subject
shows _the meaning of Christ's work of Redemption_. The law for an
alienated and corrupt soul is a burden. It cannot be otherwise; for it
imposes a perpetual restraint, urges up to an unwelcome duty, and charges
home a fearful guilt. Christ is well named the _Redeemer_, because He
frees the sinful soul from all this. He delivers it from the penalty, by
assuming it all upon Himself, and making complete satisfaction to the
broken law. He delivers it from the perpetual restraint and the irksome
effort, by so renewing and changing the heart that it becomes a delight
to keep the law. We observed, in the first part of the discourse, that if
man could only bring the inclination of his heart into agreement with his
sense of duty, he would be happy in obeying, and the consciousness of
restraint and of hateful effort would disappear. This is precisely what
Christ accomplishes by His Spirit. He brings the human heart into harmony
with the Divine law, as it was in the beginning, and thus rescues it from
its bondage and its toil. Obedience becomes a pleasure, and the service
of God, the highest Christian liberty. Oh, would that by the act of
faith, you might experience this liberating effect of the redemption that
is in Christ Jesus. So long as you are out of Christ, you are under a
burden that will every day grow heavier, and may prove to be fixed and
unremovable as the mountains. That is a fearful punishment which the poet
Dante represents as being inflicted upon those who were guilty of pride.
The poor wretches are compelled to support enormous masses of stone which
bend them over to the ground, and, in his own stern phrase, "crumple up
their knees into their breasts." Thus they stand, stooping over, every
muscle trembling, the heavy stone weighing them down, and yet they are
not permitted to fall, and rest themselves upon the earth.[5] In this
crouching posture, they must carry the weary heavy load without relief,
and with a distress so great that, in the poet's own language,
"it seemed
As he, who showed most patience in his look,
Wailing exclaimed: I can endure no more."[6]
Such is the posture of man unredeemed. There is a burden on him, under
which he stoops and crouches. It is a burden compounded of guilt and
corruption. It is lifted off by Christ, and by Christ only. The soul
itself can never expiate its guilt; can never cleanse its pollution. We
urge you, once more, to the act of faith in the Redeemer of the world. We
beseech you, once more, to make "the redemption that is in Christ Jesus"
your own. The instant you plead the merit of Christ's oblation, in simple
confidence in its atoning efficacy, that instant the heavy burden is
lifted off by an Almighty hand, and your curved, stooping, trembling,
aching form once more stands erect, and you walk abroad in the liberty
wherewith Christ makes the human creature free.
[Footnote 1:
"She in vice
Of luxury was so shameless, that she made
Liking to be lawful by promulged decree,
To clear the blame she had herself incurr'd."
DANTE: Inferno, v. 56.]
[Footnote 2: Romans vii. 13, 14.]
[Footnote 3: KANT: Kritik der Praktischen Vernunft (Beschlusz).--De
Stael's rendering, which is so well known, and which I have employed,
is less guarded than the original.]
[Footnote 4: Compare the fine apostrophe to Duty. PRAKTISCHE VERNUNFT,
p. 214, (Ed. Rosenkranz.)]
[Footnote 5: "Let their eyes be darkened, that they may not see, and bow
down their back alway." Rom. xi. 10.]
[Footnote 6: DANTE: Purgatory x. 126-128.]
THE SIN OF OMISSION.
Matthew xix. 20.--"The young man saith unto him, All these things have I
kept from my youth up: what lack I yet?"
The narrative from which the text is taken is familiar to all readers of
the Bible. A wealthy young man, of unblemished morals and amiable
disposition, came to our Lord, to inquire His opinion respecting his own
good estate. He asked what good thing he should do, in order to inherit
eternal life. The fact that he applied to Christ at all, shows that he
was not entirely at rest in his own mind. He could truly say that he had
kept the ten commandments from his youth up, in an outward manner; and
yet he was ill at ease. He was afraid that when the earthly life was
over, he might not be able to endure the judgment of God, and might fail
to enter into that happy paradise of which the Old Testament Scriptures
so often speak, and of which he had so often read, in them. This young
man, though a moralist, was not a self-satisfied or a self-conceited
one. For, had he been like the Pharisee a thoroughly blinded and
self-righteous person, like him he never would have approached Jesus of
Nazareth, to obtain His opinion respecting his own religious character
and prospects. Like him, he would have scorned to ask our Lord's judgment
upon any matters of religion. Like the Pharisees, he would have said, "We
see,"[1] and the state of his heart and his future prospects would have
given him no anxiety. But he was not a conceited and presumptuous
Pharisee. He was a serious and thoughtful person, though not a pious and
holy one. For, he did not love God more than he loved his worldly
possessions. He had not obeyed that first and great command, upon which
hang all the law and the prophets, conformity to which, alone,
constitutes righteousness: "Thou shalt _love_ the Lord thy God with all
thy heart, and all thy soul, and all thy mind, and all thy strength." He
was not right at heart, and was therefore unprepared for death and
judgment. This he seems to have had some dim apprehension of. For why, if
he had felt that his external morality was a solid rock for his feet to
stand upon, why should he have betaken himself to Jesus of Nazareth, to
ask: "What lack I yet?"
It was not what he had done, but what he had left undone, that wakened
fears and forebodings in this young ruler's mind. The outward observance
of the ten commandments was right and well in its own way and place; but
the failure to obey, from the heart, the first and great command was the
condemnation that rested upon him. He probably knew this, in some
measure. He was not confidently certain of eternal life; and therefore he
came to the Great Teacher, hoping to elicit from Him an answer that would
quiet his conscience, and allow him to repose upon his morality while
he continued to love this world supremely. The Great Teacher pierced him
with an arrow. He said to him, "If them wilt be perfect, go and sell that
thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven:
and come and follow me." This direction showed him what he _lacked_.
This incident leads us to consider the condemnation that rests upon every
man, for his _failure_ in duty; the guilt that cleaves to him, on
account of what he has _not_ done. The Westminster Catechism defines sin
to be "any _want of conformity_ unto, or any transgression of, the law of
God." Not to be conformed, in the heart, to the law and will of God, is
as truly sin, as positively to steal, or positively to commit murder.
Failure to come up to the line of rectitude is as punishable, as to step
over that line. God requires of His creature that he stand squarely
_upon_ the line of righteousness; if therefore he is off that line,
because he has not come up to it, he is as guilty as when he
transgresses, or passes across it, upon the other side. This is the
reason that the sin of omission is as punishable as the sin of
commission. In either case alike, the man is off the line of rectitude.
Hence, in the final day, man will be condemned for what he lacks, for
what he comes short of, in moral character. Want of conformity to the
Divine law as really conflicts with the Divine law, as an overt
transgression does, because it carries man off and away from it. One
of the Greek words for sin [Greek: (amurtanein)] signifies, to miss the
mark. When the archer shoots at the target, he as really fails to strike
it, if his arrow falls short of it, as when he shoots over and beyond it.
If he strains upon the bow with such a feeble force, that the arrow drops
upon the ground long before it comes up to the mark, his shot is as total
a failure, as when he strains upon the bow-string with all his force, but
owing to an ill-directed aim sends his weapon into the air. One of the
New Testament terms for sin contains this figure and illustration, in
its etymology. Sin is a want of conformity unto, a failure to come clear
up to, the line and mark prescribed by God, as well a violent and
forcible breaking over and beyond the line and the mark. The _lack_ of
holy love, the _lack_ of holy fear, the _lack_ of filial trust and
confidence in God,--the negative absence of these and other qualities in
the heart is as truly sin and guilt, as is the positive and open
violation of a particular commandment, in the act of theft, or lying, or
Sabbath-breaking.
We propose, then, to direct attention to that form and aspect of human
depravity which consists in coming short of the aim and end presented to
man by his Maker,--that form and aspect of sin which is presented in the
young ruler's inquiry: "What lack I yet?"
It is a comprehensive answer to this question to say, that every natural
man lacks _sincere and filial love of God_. This was the sin of the
moral, but worldly, the amiable, but earthly-minded, young man. Endow
him, in your fancy, with all the excellence you please, it still lies
upon the face of the narrative, that he loved money more than he loved
the Lord God Almighty. When the Son of God bade him go and sell his
property, and give it to the poor, and then come and follow Him as a
docile disciple like Peter and James and John, he went away sad in his
mind; for he had great possessions. This was a reasonable requirement,
though a very trying one. To command a young man of wealth and standing
immediately to strip himself of all his property, to leave the circle in
which he had been born and brought up, and to follow the Son of Man, who
had not where to lay His head, up and down through Palestine, through
good report and through evil report,--to put such a burden upon such a
young man was to lay him under a very heavy load. Looking at it from a
merely human and worldly point of view, it is not strange that the young
ruler declined to take it upon his shoulders; though he felt sad in
declining, because he had the misgiving that in declining he was sealing
his doom. But, had he _loved_ the Lord God with all his heart; had he
been _conformed unto_ the first and great command, in his heart and
affections; had he not _lacked_ a spiritual and filial affection towards
his Maker; he would have obeyed.
For, the circumstances under which this command was given must be borne
in mind. It issued directly from the lips of the Son of God Himself. It
was not an ordinary call of Providence, in the ordinary manner in which
God summons man to duty. There is reason to suppose that the young ruler
knew and felt that Christ had authority to give such directions. We know
not what were precisely his views of the person and office of Jesus of
Nazareth; but the fact that he came to Him seeking instruction respecting
the everlasting kingdom of God and the endless life of the soul, and the
yet further fact that he went away in sadness because he did not find it
in his heart to obey the instructions that he had received, prove that he
was at least somewhat impressed with the Divine authority of our Lord.
For, had he regarded Him as a mere ordinary mortal, knowing no more than
any other man concerning the eternal kingdom of God, why should His words
have distressed him? Had this young ruler taken the view of our Lord
which was held by the Scribes and Pharisees, like them he would never
have sought instruction from Him in a respectful and sincere manner; and,
like them, he would have replied to the command to strip himself of all
his property, leave the social circles to which he belonged, and follow
the despised Nazarene, with the curling lip of scorn. He would not have
gone away in sorrow, but in contempt. We must assume, therefore, that
this young ruler felt that the person with whom he was conversing, and
who had given him this extraordinary command, had authority to give it.
We do not gather from the narrative that he doubted upon this point. Had
he doubted, it would have relieved the sorrow with which his mind was
disturbed. He might have justified his refusal to obey, by the
consideration that this Jesus of Nazareth had no right to summon him, or
any other man, to forsake the world and attach himself to His person and
purposes, if any such consideration had entered his mind. No, the sorrow,
the deep, deep sorrow and sadness, with which he went away to the
beggarly elements of his houses and his lands, proves that he knew too
well that this wonderful Being who was working miracles, and speaking
words of wisdom that never man spake, had indeed authority and right to
say to him, and to every other man, "Go and sell that thou hast, and give
to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow
me."
Though the command was indeed an extraordinary one, it was given in an
extraordinary manner, by an extraordinary Being. That young ruler was not
required to do any more than you and I would be obligated to do, _in the
same circumstances_. It is indeed true, that in the _ordinary_ providence
of God, you and I are not summoned to sell all our possessions, and
distribute them to the poor, and to go up and down the streets of this
city, or up and down the high-ways and by-ways of the land, as
missionaries of Christ. But if the call were _extra-ordinary_,--if
the heavens should open above our heads, and a voice from the skies
should command us in a manner not to be doubted or disputed to do this
particular thing, we ought immediately to do it. And if the love of God
were in our hearts; if we were inwardly "conformed unto" the Divine law;
if there were nothing lacking in our religious character; we should obey
with the same directness and alacrity with which Peter and Andrew, and
James and John, left their nets and their fishing-boat, their earthly
avocations, their fathers and their fathers' households, and followed
Christ to the end of their days. In the present circumstances of the
church and the world, Christians must follow the ordinary indications of
Divine Providence; and though these do unquestionably call upon them to
make far greater sacrifices for the cause of Christ than they now make,
yet they do not call upon them to sell _all_ that they have, and give it
to the poor. But they ought to be ready and willing to do so, in case God
by any remarkable and direct expression should indicate that this is
His will and pleasure. Should our Lord, for illustration, descend again,
and in His own person say to His people, as He did to the young ruler:
"Sell all that ye have, and give to the poor, and go up and down the
earth preaching the gospel," it would be the duty of every rich Christian
to strip himself of all his riches, and of every poor Christian to make
himself yet poorer, and of the whole Church to adopt the same course that
was taken by the early Christians, who "had all things common, and sold
their possessions and goods and parted them to all men, as every man had
need." The direct and explicit command of the Lord Jesus Christ to do any
particular thing must be obeyed at all hazards, and at all cost. Should
He command any one of His disciples to lay down his life, or to undergo
a severe discipline and experience in His service, He must be obeyed.
This is what He means when He says, "If any man come to me, and hate not
his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and
sisters, yea and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple. And
whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot be my
disciple" (Luke xiv. 26, 27).
The young ruler was subjected to this test. It was his privilege,--and it
was a great privilege,--to see the Son of God face to face; to hear His
words of wisdom and authority; to know without any doubt or ambiguity
what particular thing God would have him do. And he refused to do it. He
was moral; he was amiable; but he refused _point-blank_ to obey the
direct command of God addressed to him from the very lips of God. It was
with him as it would be with us, if the sky should open over our heads,
and the Son of God should descend, and with His own lips should command
us to perform a particular service, and we should be disobedient to the
heavenly vision, and should say to the Eternal Son of God: "We will not."
Think you that there is nothing _lacking_ in such a character as this? Is
this religious perfection? Is such a heart as this "conformed unto" the
law and will of God?
If, then, we look into the character of the young ruler, we perceive that
there was in it no supreme affection for God. On the contrary, he loved
_himself_ with all his heart, and soul, and mind, and strength. Even his
religious anxiety, which led him to our Lord for His opinion concerning
his good estate, proved to be a merely selfish feeling. He desired
immortal felicity beyond the tomb,--and the most irreligious man upon
earth desires this,--but he did not possess such an affection for God as
inclined, and enabled, him to obey His explicit command to make a
sacrifice of his worldly possessions for His glory. And this lack of
supreme love to God was _sin_. It was a deviation from the line of
eternal rectitude and righteousness, as really and truly as murder,
adultery, or theft, or any outward breach of any of those commandments
which he affirmed he had kept from his youth up. This coming short of the
Divine honor and glory was as much contrary to the Divine law, as any
overt transgression of it could be.
For love is the fulfilling of the law. The whole law, according to
Christ, is summed up and contained, in these words: "Thou shall _love_
the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself." To be
destitute of this heavenly affection is, therefore, to break the law at
the very centre and in the very substance of it. Men tell us, like this
young ruler, that they do not murder, lie, or steal,--that they observe
all the commandments of the second table pertaining to man and their
relations to man,--and ask, "What lack we yet?" Alexander Pope, in the
most brilliant and polished poetry yet composed by human art, sums up the
whole of human duty in the observance of the rules and requirements of
civil morality, and affirms that "an honest man is the noblest work of
God." But is this so? Has religion reached its last term, and ultimate
limit, when man respects the rights of property? Is a person who keeps
his hands off the goods and chattels of his fellow-creature really
qualified for the heavenly state, by reason of this fact and virtue of
honesty? Has he attained the chief end of man?[2] Even if we could
suppose a perfect obedience of all the statutes of the second table,
while those of the first table were disobeyed; even if one could fulfil
all his obligations to his neighbor, while failing in all his obligations
to his Maker; even if we should concede a perfect morality, without any
religion; would it be true that this morality, or obedience of only one
of the two tables that cover the whole field of human duty, is sufficient
to prepare man for the everlasting future, and the immediate presence of
God? Who has informed man that the first table of the law is of no
consequence; and that if he only loves his neighbor as himself, he need
not love his Maker supremely?