we have been discoursing, painful though it be, is remunerative. There is
something in the very experience of moral pain which brings us nigh to
God. When, for instance, in the hour of temptation, I discern God's calm
and holy eye bent upon me, and I wither beneath it, and resist the
enticement because I fear to disobey, I am brought by this chapter in my
experience into very close contact with my Maker. There has been a vivid
and personal transaction between us. I have heard him say: "If thou doest
that wicked thing thou shalt surely die; refrain from doing it, and I
will love thee and bless thee." This is the secret of the great and swift
reaction which often takes place, in the sinner's soul. He moodily and
obstinately fights against the Divine displeasure. In this state of
things, there is nothing but fear and torment. Suddenly he gives way,
acknowledges that it is a good and a just anger, no longer seeks to beat
it back from his guilty soul, but lets the billows roll over while he
casts himself upon the Divine pity. In this act and instant,--which
involves the destiny of the soul, and has millenniums in it,--when he
recognizes the justice and trusts in the mercy of God, there is a great
rebound, and through his tears he sees the depth, the amazing depth, of
the Divine compassion. For, paradoxical as it appears, God's love is best
seen in the light of God's displeasure. When the soul is penetrated by
this latter feeling, and is thoroughly sensible of its own
worthlessness,--when, man knows himself to be vile, and filthy, and fit
only to be burned up by the Divine immaculateness,--then, to have the
Great God take him to His heart, and pour out upon him the infinite
wealth of His mercy and compassion, is overwhelming. Here, the Divine
indignation becomes a foil to set off the Divine love. Read the sixteenth
chapter of Ezekiel, with an eye "purged with euphrasy and rue," so that
you can take in the full spiritual significance of the comparisons and
metaphors, and your whole soul will dissolve in tears, as you perceive
how the great and pure God, in every instance in which He saves an
apostate spirit, is compelled to bow His heavens and come down into a
loathsome sty of sensuality.[8] Would it be love of the highest order, in
a seraph, to leave the pure cerulean and trail his white garments through
the haunts of vice, to save the wretched inmates from themselves and
their sins? O then what must be the degree of affection and compassion,
when the infinite Deity, whose essence is light itself, and whose nature
is the intensest contrary of all sin, tabernacles in the flesh upon the
errand of redemption! And if the pure spirit of that seraph, while filled
with an ineffable loathing, and the hottest moral indignation, at what he
saw in character and conduct, were also yearning with an unspeakable
desire after the deliverance of the vicious from their vice,--the moral
wrath, thus setting in still stronger relief the moral compassion that
holds it in check,---what must be the relation between these two emotions
in the Divine Being! Is not the one the measure of the other? And does
not the soul that fears God in a _submissive_ manner, and acknowledges
the righteousness of the Divine displeasure with entire acquiescence and
no sullen resistance, prepare the way, in this very act, for an equally
intense manifestation of the Divine mercy and forgiveness?
The subject treated of in this discourse is one of the most important,
and frequent, that is presented in the Scriptures. He who examines is
startled to find that the phrase, "fear of the Lord," is woven into the
whole web of Revelation from Genesis to the Apocalypse. The feeling and
principle under discussion has a Biblical authority, and significance,
that cannot be pondered too long, or too closely. It, therefore, has an
interest for every human being, whatever may be his character, his
condition, or his circumstances. All great religious awakenings begin
in the dawning of the august and terrible aspects of the Deity upon the
popular mind, and they reach their height and happy consummation,
in that love and faith for which the antecedent fear has been the
preparation. Well and blessed would it be for this irreverent and
unfearing age, in which the advance in mechanical arts and vice is
greater than that in letters and virtue, if the popular mind could be
made reflective and solemn by this great emotion.
We would, therefore, pass by all other feelings, and endeavor to fix the
eye upon the distinct and unambiguous fear of God, and would urge the
young, especially, to seek for it as for hid treasures. The feeling is a
painful one, because it is a _preparatory_ one. There are other forms of
religious emotion which are more attractive, and are necessary in their
place; these you may be inclined to cultivate, at the expense of the one
enjoined by our Lord in the text. But we solemnly and earnestly entreat
you, not to suffer your inclination to divert your attention from your
duty and your true interest. We tell you, with confidence, that next to
the affectionate and filial love of God in your heart, there is no
feeling or principle in the whole series that will be of such real solid
service to you, as that one enjoined by our Lord upon "His disciples
first of all." You will need its awing and repressing influence, in many
a trying scene, in many a severe temptation. Be encouraged to cherish it,
from the fact that it is a very effective, a very powerful emotion. He
who has the fear of God before his eyes is actually and often kept from
falling. It will prevail with your weak will, and your infirm purpose,
when other motives fail. And if you could but stand where those do, who
have passed through that fearful and dangerous passage through which you
are now making a transit; if you could but know, as they do, of what
untold value is everything that deters from the wrong and nerves to the
right, in the critical moments of human life; you would know, as they do,
the utmost importance of cherishing a solemn and serious dread of
displeasing God. The more simple and unmixed this feeling is in your own
experience, the more influential will it be. Fix it deeply in the mind,
that the great God is holy. Recur to this fact continually. If the dread
which it awakens casts a shadow over the gayety of youth, remember that
you need this, and will not be injured by it. The doctrine commends
itself to you, because you are young, and because you are strong. If it
fills you with misgivings, at times, and threatens to destroy your peace
of mind, let the emotion operate. Never stifle it, as you value your
salvation. You had better be unhappy for a season, than yield to
temptation and grievous snares which will drown you in perdition. Even if
it hangs dark and low over the horizon of your life, and for a time
invests this world with sadness, be resolute with yourself, and do not
attempt to remove the feeling, except in the legitimate way of the
gospel. Remember that every human soul out of Christ ought to fear, "for
he that believeth not on the Son, the wrath of God abideth on him." And
remember, also, that every one who believes in Christ ought not to fear;
for "there is no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus, and he
that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life."
And with this thought would we close. This fear of God may and should end
in the perfect love that casteth out fear. This powerful and terrible
emotion, which we have been considering, may and ought to prepare the
soul to welcome the sweet and thrilling accents of Christ saying, "Come
unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden," with your fears of death,
judgment, and eternity, "and I will give you rest." Faith in Christ lifts
the soul above all fears, and eventually raises it to that serene world,
that blessed state of being, where there is no more curse and no more
foreboding.
"Serene will be our days, and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security."
[Footnote 1: The moral and healthful influence of fear is implied in the
celebrated passage in Aristotle's Poetics, whatever be the
interpretation. He speaks of a _cleansing [Greek: (katharsin)]_ of the
mind, by means of the emotions of pity and terror [Greek: (phobos)]
awakened by tragic poetry. Most certainly, there is no portion of
Classical literature so purifying as the Greek Drama. And yet, the
pleasurable emotions are rarely awakened by it. Righteousness and justice
determine the movement of the plot, and conduct to the catastrophe; and
the persons and forms that move across the stage are, not Venus and the
Graces but,
"ghostly Shapes
To meet at noontide; Death the Skeleton
And Time the Shadow."
All literature that tends upward contains the tragic element; and all
literature that tends downward rejects it. Æschylus and Dante assume a
world of retribution, and employ for the purposes of poetry the fear it
awakens. Lucretius and Voltaire would disprove the existence of such a
solemn world, and they make no use of such an emotion.]
[Footnote 2: WORDSWORTH: Intimations of Immortality.]
[Footnote 3: LUCRETIUS: De Rerum Natura, III. 989 sq.; V. 1160 sq.]
[Footnote 4: BATES: Discourse of the Fear of God.]
[Footnote 5: "Praise be to Thee, glory to Thee, O Fountain of mercies: I
was becoming more miserable and Thou becoming nearer, Thy right hand was
continually ready to pluck me out of the mire, and to wash me thoroughly,
and I knew it not; nor did anything call me back from a yet deeper gulf
of carnal pleasures, but _the fear of death, and of Thy judgment to
come_; which, amid all my changes, never departed from my breast."
AUGUSTINE: Confessions, vi. 16., (Shedd's Ed., p. 142.)]
[Footnote 6: "Si te luxuria tentat, objice tibi memoriam mortis tuae,
propone tibi futuruin judicium, reduc ad memoriam futura tormenta,
propone tibi acterna supplicia; et etiaim propone aute oculos tuos
perpetuosignes infernorum; propone tibi horribiles poenas gehennae.
Memoria ardoris gehennae extinguat in te ardorem luxuriane."
BERNARD: De Modo Bene Vivendi. Sermo lxvii.]
[Footnote 7: BAXTER (Narrative, Part I.) remarks "that fear, being an
easier and irresistible passion, doth oft obscure that measure of love
which is indeed within us; and that the soul of a believer groweth up by
degrees from the more troublesome and safe operation of fear, to the more
high and excellent operations of complacential love."]
[Footnote 8: "Thus saith the Lord God unto Jerusalem, thy birth and thy
nativity is of the land of Canaan; thy father was an Amorite, and thy
mother an Hittite. Thou wast cast out in the open field, to the loathing
of thy person, in the day that thou wast born. And when I passed by thee
and saw thee polluted in thy own blood, I said unto thee when, thou wast
in thy blood, Live; yea I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood,
Live." Ezekiel xvi. 1, 5, 6.]
THE PRESENT LIFE AS RELATED TO THE FUTURE.
LUKE xvi. 25.--"And Abraham said, Son remember that thou in thy lifetime
receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he
is comforted, and thou art tormented."
The parable of Dives and Lazarus is one of the most solemn passages in
the whole Revelation of God. In it, our Lord gives very definite
statements concerning the condition of those who have departed this life.
It makes no practical difference, whether we assume that this was a real
occurrence, or only an imaginary one,--whether there actually was such a
particular rich man as Dives, and such a particular beggar as Lazarus, or
whether the narrative was invented by Christ for the purpose of conveying
the instruction which he desired to give. The instruction is given in
either case; and it is the instruction with which we are concerned. Be
it a parable, or be it a historical fact, our Lord here teaches, in a
manner not to be disputed, that a man who seeks enjoyment in this life as
his chief end shall suffer torments in the next life, and that he who
endures suffering in this life for righteousness' sake shall dwell in
paradise in the next,--that he who finds his life here shall lose his
life hereafter, and that he who loses his life here shall find it here
after.
For, we cannot for a moment suppose that such a Being as Jesus Christ
merely intended to play upon the fears of men, in putting forth such a
picture as this. He knew that this narrative would be read by thousands
and millions of mankind; that they would take it from His lips as
absolute truth; that they would inevitably infer from it, that the souls
of men do verily live after death, that some of them are in bliss and
some of them are in pain, and that the difference between them is due to
the difference in the lives which they lead here upon earth. Now, if
Christ was ignorant upon these subjects, He had no right to make such
representations and to give such impressions, even through a merely
imaginary narrative. And still less could He be justified in so doing,
if, being perfectly informed upon the subject, He knew that there is no
such place as that in which He puts the luxurious Dives, and no such
impassable gulf as that of which He speaks. It will not do, here, to
employ the Jesuitical maxim that the end justifies the means, and say, as
some teachers have said, that the wholesome impression that will be made
upon the vicious and the profligate justifies an appeal to their fears,
by preaching the doctrine of endless retribution, although there is no
such thing. This was a fatal error in the teachings of Clement of
Alexandria, and Origen. "God threatens,"--said they,--"and punishes, but
only to improve, never for purposes of retribution; and though, in public
discourse, the fruitlessness of repentance after death be asserted, yet
hereafter not only those who have not heard of Christ will receive
forgiveness, but the severer punishment which befalls the obstinate
unbelievers will, it may be hoped, not be the conclusion of their
history."[1] But can we suppose that such a sincere, such a truthful and
such a holy Being as the Son of God would stoop to any such artifice as
this? that He who called Himself The Truth would employ a lie, either
directly or indirectly, even to promote the spiritual welfare of men? He
never spake for mere sensation. The fact, then, that in this solemn
passage of Scripture we find the Redeemer calmly describing and minutely
picturing the condition of two persons in the future world, distinctly
specifying the points of difference between them, putting words into
their mouths that indicate a sad and hopeless experience in one of them,
and a glad and happy one in the other of them,--the fact that in this
treatment of the awful theme our Lord, beyond all controversy, _conveys
the impression_ that these scenes and experiences are real and true,--is
one of the strongest of all proofs that they are so.
The reader of Dante's Inferno is always struck with the sincerity and
realism of that poem. Under the delineation of that luminous, and that
intense understanding, hell has a topographic reality. We wind along down
those nine circles as down a volcanic crater, black, jagged, precipitous,
and impinging upon the senses at every step. The sighs and shrieks jar
our own tympanum; and the convulsions of the lost excite tremors in our
own nerves. No wonder that the children in the streets of Florence, as
they saw the sad and earnest man pass along, his face lined with passion
and his brow scarred with thought, pointed at him and said: "There goes
the man who has been in hell." But how infinitely more solemn is the
impression that is made by these thirteen short verses, of the sixteenth
chapter of Luke's gospel, from the lips of such a Being as Jesus Christ!
We have here the terse and pregnant teachings of one who, in the phrase
of the early Creed, not only "descended into hell," but who "hath the
keys of death and hell." We have here not the utterances of the most
truthful, and the most earnest of all human poets,--a man who, we may
believe, felt deeply the power of the Hebrew Bible, though living in a
dark age, and a superstitious Church,--we have here the utterances of the
Son of God, very God, of very God, and we may be certain that He intended
to convey no impression that will not be made good in the world to come.
And when every eye shall see Him, and all the sinful kindreds of the
earth shall wail because of Him, there will not be any eye that can look
into His and say: "Thy description, O Son of God, was overdrawn; the
impression was greater than the reality." On the contrary, every human
soul will say in the day of judgment: "We were forewarned; the statements
were exact; even according to Thy fear, so is Thy wrath" (Ps. xc. 11).
But what is the lesson which we are to read by this clear and solemn
light? What would our merciful Redeemer have us learn from this passage
which He has caused to be recorded for our instruction? Let us listen
with a candid and a feeling heart, because it comes to us not from an
enemy of the human soul, not from a Being who delights to cast it into
hell, but from a friend of the soul; because it comes to us from One who,
in His own person and in His own flesh, suffered an anguish superior
in dignity and equal in cancelling power to the pains of all the hells,
in order that we, through repentance and faith, might be spared their
infliction.
The lesson is this: _The man who seeks enjoyment in this life, as his
chief end, must suffer in the next life; and he who endures suffering in
this life, for righteousness' sake, shall be happy in the next._ "Son,
remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and
likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art
tormented."
It is a fixed principle in the Divine administration, that the scales of
justice shall in the end be made equal. If, therefore, sin enjoys in this
world, it must sorrow in the next; and if righteousness sorrows in this
world, it must enjoy in the next. The experience shall be reversed, in
order to bring everything to a right position and adjustment. This is
everywhere taught in the Bible. "Woe unto you that are rich! for ye have
received your consolation. Woe unto you that are full! for ye shall
hunger. Woe unto you that laugh now! for ye shall mourn and weep. Blessed
are ye that hunger now; for ye shall be filled. Blessed are ye that weep
now; for ye shall laugh" (Luke vi. 21, 24, 25). These are the explicit
declarations of the Founder of Christianity, and they ought not to
surprise us, coming as they do from Him who expressly declares that His
kingdom is not of this world; that in this world His disciples must have
tribulation, as He had; that through much tribulation they must enter
into the kingdom of God; that whosoever doth not take up the cross daily,
and follow Him, cannot be His disciple.
Let us notice some particulars, in which we see the operation of this
principle. What are the "good things" which Dives receives here, for
which he must be "tormented" hereafter? and what are the "evil things"
which Lazarus receives in this world, for which he will be "comforted" in
the world to come?
I. In the first place, the worldly man _derives a more intense physical
enjoyment_ from this world's goods, than does the child of God. He
possesses more of them, and gives himself up to them with less
self-restraint. The majority of those who have been most prospered by
Divine Providence in the accumulation of wealth have been outside of the
kingdom and the ark of God. Not many rich and not many noble are called.
In the past history of mankind, the great possessions and the great
incomes, as a general rule, have not been in the hands of humble and
penitent men. In the great centres of trade and commerce,--in Venice,
Amsterdam, Paris, London,--it is the world and not the people of God who
have had the purse, and have borne what is put therein. Satan is described
in Scripture, as the "prince of this world" (John xiv. 30); and his words
addressed to the Son of God are true: "All this power and glory is
delivered unto me, and to whomsoever I will, I give it." In the parable
from which we are discoursing, the sinful man was the rich man, and the
child of God was the beggar. And how often do we see, in every-day
life, a faithful, prayerful, upright, and pure-minded man, toiling in
poverty, and so far as earthly comforts are concerned enjoying little or
nothing, while a selfish, pleasure-seeking, and profligate man is
immersed in physical comforts and luxuries. The former is receiving evil
things, and the latter is receiving good things, in this life.
Again, how often it happens that a fine physical constitution, health,
strength, and vigor, are given to the worldling, and are denied to the
child of God. The possession of worldly good is greatly enhanced in
value, by a fine capability of enjoying it. When therefore we see wealth
joined, with health, and luxury in all the surroundings and appointments
combined with taste to appreciate them and a full flow of blood to enjoy
them, or access to wide and influential circles, in politics and fashion,
given to one who is well fitted by personal qualities to move in
them,--when we see a happy adaptation existing between the man and his
good fortune, as we call it,--we see not only the "good things," but the
"good things" in their gayest and most attractive forms and colors. And
how often is all this observed in the instance of the natural man; and
how often is there little or none of this in the instance of the
spiritual man. We by no means imply, that it is impossible for the
possessor of this world's goods to love mercy, to do justly, and to walk
humbly; and we are well aware that under the garb of poverty and toil
there may beat a murmuring and rebellious heart. But we think that from
generation to generation, in this imperfect and probationary world, it
will be found to be a fact, that when _merely_ earthly and physical good
is allotted in large amounts by the providence of God; that when great
incomes and ample means of luxury are given; in the majority of instances
they are given to the enemies of God, and not to His dear children. So
the Psalmist seems to have thought. "I was envious,"--he says,--"when I
saw the prosperity of the wicked. For there are no bands in their death;
but their strength is firm. They are not in trouble as other men; neither
are they plagued like other men. Therefore pride compasseth them about as
a chain; violence covereth them as a garment. Their eyes stand out with
fatness; they have more than heart could wish. Behold these are the
_ungodly_ who prosper in the world; they increase in riches. Verily _I_
have cleansed my heart in vain, and washed my hands in innocency. For all
day long have _I_ been plagued, and chastened every morning" (Ps.
lxxiii). And it should be carefully noticed, that the Psalmist, even
after further reflection, does not _alter_ his statement respecting the
relative positions of the godly and the ungodly in this world. He sees no
reason to correct his estimate, upon this point. He lets it stand. So far
as this merely _physical_ existence is concerned, the wicked man has the
advantage. It is only when the Psalmist looks _beyond_ this life, that he
sees the compensation, and the balancing again of the scales of eternal
right and justice. "When I thought to know this,"--when I reflected upon
this inequality, and apparent injustice, in the treatment of the friends
and the enemies of God,--"it was too painful for me, until I went into
the sanctuary of God,"--until I took my stand in the _eternal_ world, and
formed my estimate there,--"_then_ understood I their end. Surely thou
didst set them in slippery places: thou castedst them down to
destruction. How are they brought into desolation as in a moment! They
are utterly consumed with terrors." Dives passes from his fine linen and
sumptuous fare, from his excessive physical enjoyment, to everlasting
perdition.
II. In the second place, the worldly man _derives more enjoyment from
sin, and suffers less from it_, in this life, than does the child of God.
The really renewed man cannot _enjoy_ sin. It is true that he does sin,
owing to the strength of old habits, and the remainders of his
corruption. But he does not really delight in it; and he says with St.
Paul: "What I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I." His sin
is a sorrow, a constant sorrow, to him. He feels its pressure and burden
all his days, and cries: "O wretched man, who shall deliver me from the
body of this death." If he falls into it, he cannot live in it; as a man
may fall into water, but it is not his natural element.