reflections after transgression are very painful. He has a tender
conscience. His senses have been trained and disciplined to discern good
and evil. Hence, the sins that are committed by a child of God are
mourned over with a very deep sorrow. The longer he lives, the more
odious does sin become to him, and the more keen and bitter is his
lamentation over it. Now this, in itself, is an "evil thing." Man was not
made for sorrow, and sorrow is not his natural condition. This wearisome
struggle with indwelling corruption, these reproaches of an impartial
conscience, this sense of imperfection and of constant failure in the
service of God,--all this renders the believer's life on earth a season
of trial, and tribulation. The thought of its lasting forever would be
painful to him; and if he should be told that it is the will of God, that
he should continue to be vexed and foiled through all eternity, with the
motions of sin in his members, and that his love and obedience would
forever be imperfect, though he would be thankful that even this was
granted him, and that he was not utterly cast off, yet he would wear a
shaded brow, at the prospect of an imperfect, though a sincere and a
struggling eternity.
But the ungodly are not so. The worldly man loves sin; loves pleasure;
loves self. And the love is so strong, and accompanied with so much
enjoyment and zest, that it is _lust_, and is so denominated in the
Bible. And if you would only defend him from the wrath of God; if you
would warrant him immunity in doing as he likes; if you could shelter him
as in an inaccessible castle from the retributions of eternity; with what
a delirium of pleasure would he plunge into the sin that he loves. Tell
the avaricious man, that his avarice shall never have any evil
consequences here or hereafter; and with what an energy would he apply
himself to the acquisition of wealth. Tell the luxurious man, full of
passion and full of blood, that his pleasures shall never bring down any
evil upon him, that there is no power in the universe that can hurt him,
and with what an abandonment would he surrender himself to his carnal
elysium. Tell the ambitious man, fired with visions of fame and glory,
that he may banish all fears of a final account, that he may make himself
his own deity, and breathe in the incense of worshipers, without any
rebuke from Him who says: "I am God, and my glory I will not give to
another,"-assure the proud and ambitious man that his sin will never find
him out, and with what a momentum will he follow out his inclination.
For, in each of these instances there is a _hankering_ and a _lust_. The
sin is _loved and revelled in_, for its own deliciousness. The heart is
worldly, and therefore finds its pleasure in its forbidden objects and
aims. The instant you propose to check or thwart this inclination; the
instant you try to detach this natural heart from its wealth, or its
pleasure, or its earthly fame; you discover how closely it clings, and
how strongly it loves, and how intensely it enjoys the forbidden object.
Like the greedy insect in our gardens, it has fed until every fibre and
tissue is colored with its food; and to remove it from the leaf is to
tear and lacerate it.
Now it is for this reason, that the natural man receives "good things,"
or experiences pleasure, in this life, at a point where the spiritual man
receives "evil things," or experiences pain. The child of God does not
relish and enjoy sin in this style. Sin in the good man is a burden; but
in the bad man it is a pleasure. It is all the pleasure he has. And when
you propose to take it away from him, or when you ask him to give it up
of his own accord, he looks at you and asks: "Will you take away the only
solace I have? I have no joy in God. I take no enjoyment in divine
things. Do you ask me to make myself wholly miserable?"
And not only does the natural man enjoy sin, but, in this life, he is
much less troubled than is the spiritual man with reflections and
self-reproaches on account of sin. This is another of the "good things"
which Dives receives, for which he must be "tormented;" and this is
another of the "evil things" which Lazarus receives, for which he must
be "comforted." It cannot be denied, that in this world the child of God
suffers more mental sorrow for sin, in a given period of time, than does
the insensible man of the world. If we could look into the soul of a
faithful disciple of Christ, we should discover that not a day passes, in
which his conscience does not reproach him for sins of thought, word, or
deed; in which he does not struggle with some bosom sin, until he is so
weary that he cries out: "Oh that I had wings like a dove, so that I
might fly away, and be at rest." Some of the most exemplary members of
the Church go mourning from day to day, because their hearts are still so
far from their God and Saviour, and their lives fall so far short of what
they desire them to be.[2] Their experience is not a positively wretched
one, like that of an unforgiven sinner when he is feeling the stings of
conscience. They are forgiven. The expiating blood has soothed the
ulcerated conscience, so that it no longer stings and burns. They have
hope in God's mercy. Still, they are in grief and sorrow for sin; and
their experience, in so far, is not a perfectly happy one, such as will
ultimately be their portion in a better world. "If in this life
only,"--says St. Paul,--"we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most
miserable" (1 Cor. xv. 19).
But the stupid and impenitent man, a luxurious Dives, knows nothing of
all this. His days glide by with no twinges of conscience. What does he
know of the burden of sin? His conscience is dead asleep; perchance
seared as with a hot iron. He does wrong without any remorse; he disobeys
the express commands of God, without any misgivings or self-reproach. He
is "alive, without the law,"-as St. Paul expresses it. His eyes stand out
with fatness; and his heart, in the Psalmist's phrase, "is as fat as
grease" (Ps. cxix. 70). There is no religious sensibility in him. His sin
is a pleasure to him without any mixture of sorrow, because unattended by
any remorse of conscience. He is receiving his "good things" in this
life. His days pass by without any moral anxiety, and perchance as he
looks upon some meek and earnest disciple of Christ who is battling with
indwelling sin, and who, therefore, sometimes wears a grave countenance,
he wonders that any one should walk so soberly, so gloomily, in such a
cheery, such a happy, such a jolly world as this.
It is a startling fact, that those men in this world who have most reason
to be distressed by sin are the least troubled by it; and those who have
the least reason to be distressed are the most troubled by it. The child
of God is the one who sorrows most; and the child of Satan is the one who
sorrows least. Remember that we are speaking only of _this_ life. The
text reads: "Thou _in thy lifetime_ receivedst thy good things, and
likewise Lazarus evil things." And it is unquestionably so. The meek and
lowly disciple of Christ, the one who is most entitled by his character
and conduct to be untroubled by religious anxiety, is the very one who
bows his head as a bulrush, and perhaps goes mourning all his days,
fearing that he is not accepted, and that he shall be a cast-a-way; while
the selfish and thoroughly irreligious man, who ought to be stung through
and through by his own conscience, and feel the full energy of the law
which he is continually breaking,--this man, who of all men ought to be
anxious and distressed for sin, goes through a whole lifetime, perchance,
without any convictions or any fears.
And now we ask, if this state of things ought to last forever? Is it
right, is it just, that sin should enjoy in this style forever and
forever, and that holiness should grieve and sorrow in this style
forevermore? Would you have the Almighty pay a bounty upon
unrighteousness, and place goodness under eternal pains and penalties?
Ought not this state of things to be reversed? When Dives comes to the
end of this lifetime; when he has run his round of earthly pleasure,
faring sumptuously every day, clothed in purple and fine linen, without a
thought of his duties and obligations, and without any anxiety and
penitence for his sins,--when this worldly man has received all his "good
things," and is satiated and hardened by them, ought he not then to be
"tormented?" Ought this guilty carnal enjoyment to be perpetuated through
all eternity, under the government of a righteous and just God? And, on
the other hand, ought not the faithful disciple, who, perhaps, has
possessed little or nothing of this world's goods, who has toiled hard,
in poverty, in affliction, in temptation, in tribulation, and sometimes
like Abraham in the horror of a great darkness, to keep his robes white,
and his soul unspotted from the world,--when the poor and weary Lazarus
comes to the end of this lifetime, ought not his trials and sorrows to
cease? ought he not then to be "comforted" in the bosom of Abraham, in
the paradise of God? There is that within us all, which answers, Yea, and
Amen. Such a balancing of the scales is assented to, and demanded by the
moral convictions. Hence, in the parable, Dives himself is represented as
acquiescing in the eternal judgment. He does not complain of injustice.
It is true, that at first he asks for a drop of water,--for some slight
mitigation of his punishment. This is the instinctive request of any
sufferer. But when his attention is directed to the right and the wrong
of the case; when Abraham reminds him of the principles of justice by
which his destiny has been decided; when he tells him that having taken
his choice of pleasure in the world which he has left, he cannot now have
pleasure in the world to which he has come; the wretched man makes no
reply. There is nothing to be said. He feels that the procedure is just.
He is then silent upon the subject of his own tortures, and only begs
that his five brethren, whose lifetime is not yet run out, to whom there
is still a space left for repentance, may be warned from his own lips not
to do as he has done,--not to choose pleasure on earth as their chief
good; not to take their "good things" in this life. Dives, the man in
hell, is a witness to the justice of eternal punishment.
1. In view of this subject, as thus discussed, we remark in the first
place, that no man can have his "good things," in other words, his chief
pleasure, in _both_ worlds. God and this world are in antagonism. "For
all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes,
and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. If any
man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him" (1 John i. 15,
16). It is the height of folly, therefore, to suppose that a man can make
earthly enjoyment his chief end while he is upon earth, and then pass to
heaven when he dies. Just so far as he holds on upon the "good things" of
this life, he relaxes his grasp upon the "good things" of the next. No
man is capacious enough to hold both worlds in his embrace. He cannot
serve God and Mammon. Look at this as a _matter of fact_. Do not take it
as a theory of the preacher. It is as plain and certain that you cannot
lay up your treasure in heaven while you are laying it up upon earth,
as it is that your material bodies cannot occupy two portions of space at
one and the same time. Dismiss, therefore, all expectations of being able
to accomplish an impossibility. Put not your mind to sleep with the
opiate, that in some inexplicable manner you will be able to live the
life of a worldly man upon earth, and then the life of a spiritual man in
heaven. There is no alchemy that can amalgamate substances that refuse to
mix. No man has ever yet succeeded, no man ever will succeed, in securing
both the pleasures of sin and the pleasures of holiness,--in living the
life of Dives, and then going to the bosom of Abraham.
2. And this leads to the second remark, that every man must _make his
choice_ whether he will have his "good things" now, or hereafter. Every
man is making his choice. Every man has already made it. The heart is now
set either upon God, or upon the world. Search through the globe, and
you cannot find a creature with double affections; a creature with _two_
chief ends of living; a creature whose treasure is both upon earth and in
heaven. All mankind are single-minded. They either mind earthly things,
or heavenly things. They are inspired with one predominant purpose, which
rules them, determines their character, and decides their destiny. And
in all who have not been renewed by Divine grace, the purpose is a wrong
one, a false and fatal one. It is the choice and the purpose of Dives,
and not the choice and purpose of Lazarus.
3. Hence, we remark in the third place, that it is the duty and the
wisdom of every man to let this world go, and seek his "good things"
_hereafter_. Our Lord commands every man to sit down, like the steward in
the parable, and make an estimate. He enjoins it upon every man to reckon
up the advantages upon each side, and see for himself which is superior.
He asks every man what it will profit him, "if he shall gain the whole
world and lose his own soul; or, what he shall give in exchange for his
soul." We urge you to make this estimate,--to compare the "good things"
which Dives enjoyed, with the "torments" that followed them; and the
"evil things" which Lazarus suffered, with the "comfort" that succeeded
them. There can be no doubt upon which side the balance will fall. And we
urge you to take the "evil things" _now_, and the "good things"
_hereafter_. We entreat you to copy the example of Moses at the court of
the Pharaohs, and in the midst of all regal luxury, who "chose rather to
suffer affliction with the people of God, than enjoy the pleasures of sin
for a season; esteeming the reproach of Christ, greater riches than the
treasures in Egypt: _for he had respect unto the recompense of reward_."
Take the _narrow_ way. What though it be strait and narrow; you are not
to walk in it forever. A few short years of fidelity will end the
toilsome pilgrimage; and then you will come put into a "wealthy place."
We might tell you of the _joys_ of the Christian life that are mingled
with its trials and sorrows even here upon earth. For, this race to which
we invite you, and this fight to which we call you have their own
peculiar, solemn, substantial joy. And even their sorrow is tinged with
glory. In a higher, truer sense than Protesilaus in the poem says it of
the pagan elysium, we may say even of the Christian race, and the
Christian fight,
"Calm pleasures there abide--_majestic pains_."[3]
But we do not care, at this point, to influence you by a consideration of
the amount of enjoyment, in _this_ life, which you will derive from a
close and humble walk with God. We prefer to put the case in its baldest
form,--in the aspect in which we find it in our text. We will say nothing
at all about the happiness of a Christian life, here in time. We will
talk only of its tribulations. We will only say, as in the parable, that
there are "evil things" to be endured here upon earth, in return for
which we shall have "good things" in another life. There is to be a
moderate and sober use of this world's goods; there is to be a searching
sense of sin, and an humble confession of it before God; there is to
be a cross-bearing every day, and a struggle with indwelling corruption.
These will cost effort, watchfulness, and earnest prayer for Divine
assistance. We do not invite you into the kingdom of God, without telling
you frankly and plainly beforehand what must be done, and what must be
suffered. But having told you this, we then tell you with the utmost
confidence and assurance, that you will be infinitely repaid for your
choice, if you take your "evil things" in this life, and choose your
"good things" in a future. We know, and are certain, that this light
affliction which endures but for a moment, in comparison with the
infinite duration beyond the tomb, will work out a far more exceeding and
eternal weight of glory. We entreat you to look no longer at the things
which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things that
are seen are temporal, but the things that are not seen are eternal.
Learn a parable from a wounded soldier. His limb must be amputated, for
mortification and gangrene have begun their work. He is told that the
surgical operation, which will last a half hour, will yield him twenty or
forty years of healthy and active life. The endurance of an "evil thing,"
for a few moments, will result in the possession of a "good thing," for
many long days and years. He holds out the limb, and submits to the
knife. He accepts the inevitable conditions under which he finds himself.
He is resolute and stern, in order to secure a great good, in the future.
It is the practice of this same _principle_, though not in the use of the
same kind of power, that we would urge upon you. _Look up to God for
grace and help_, and deliberately forego a present advantage, for the
sake of something infinitely more valuable hereafter. Do not, for the
sake of the temporary enjoyment of Dives, lose the eternal happiness of
Lazarus. Rather, take the place, and accept the "evil things," of the
beggar. _Look up to God for grace and strength_ to do it, and then live
a life of contrition for sin, and faith in Christ's blood. Deny yourself,
and take up the cross daily. Expect your happiness _hereafter_. Lay up
your treasure _above_. Then, in the deciding day, it will be said of you,
as it will be of all the true children of God: "These are they which came
out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them
white in the blood of the Lamb."
[Footnote 1: SHEDD: History of Doctrine, II., 234 sq.]
[Footnote 2: The early religious experience of John Owen furnishes a
striking illustration. "For a quarter of a year, he avoided almost all
intercourse with men; could scarcely be induced to speak; and when he did
say anything, it was in so disordered a manner as rendered him a wonder
to many. Only those who have experienced the bitterness of a wounded
spirit can form an idea of the distress he must have suffered. Compared
with this anguish of soul, all the afflictions which befall a sinner [on
earth] are trifles. One drop of that wrath which shall finally fill the
cup of the ungodly, poured into the mind, is enough to poison all the
comforts of life, and to spread mourning, lamentation, and woe over the
countenance. Though the violence of Owen's convictions had subsided after
the first severe conflict, they still continued to disturb his peace, and
nearly five years elapsed from their commencement before he obtained
solid comfort." ORME: Life of Owen, Chap. I.]
[Footnote 3: WORDSWORTH: Laodamia.]
THE EXERCISE OF MERCY OPTIONAL WITH GOD.
ROMANS ix. 15.--"For He saith to Moses, I will have mercy on whom I will
have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion."
This is a part of the description which God himself gave to Moses, of His
own nature and attributes. The Hebrew legislator had said to Jehovah: "I
beseech thee show me thy glory." He desired a clear understanding of the
character of that Great Being, under whose guidance he was commissioned
to lead the people of Israel into the promised land. God said to him in
reply: "I will make all my goodness pass before thee, and I will proclaim
the name of the Lord before thee; and I will be gracious to whom I will
be gracious, and will shew mercy on whom I will shew mercy."[1]
By this, God revealed to Moses, and through him to all mankind, the fact
that He is a merciful being, and directs attention to one particular
characteristic of mercy. While informing His servant, that He
is gracious and clement towards a penitent transgressor, He at the same
time teaches him that He is under no obligation, or necessity, to shew
mercy. Grace is not a debt. "I will have mercy on whom I _will_ have
mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I _will_ have compassion."
The apostle Paul quotes this declaration, to shut the mouth of him who
would set up a claim to salvation; who is too proud to beg for it,
and accept it as a free and unmerited favor from God. In so doing, he
endorses the sentiment. The inspiration of his Epistle corroborates that
of the Pentateuch, so that we have assurance made doubly sure, that this
is the correct enunciation of the nature of mercy. Let us look into this
hope-inspiring attribute of God, under the guidance of this text.
The great question that presses upon the human mind, from age to age, is
the inquiry: Is God a merciful Being, and will He show mercy? Living
as we do under the light of Revelation, we know little of the doubts and
fears that spontaneously rise in the guilty human soul, when it is left
solely to the light of nature to answer it. With the Bible in our hands,
and hearing the good news of Redemption from our earliest years, it seems
to be a matter of course that the Deity should pardon sin. Nay, a certain
class of men in Christendom seem to have come to the opinion that it is
more difficult to prove that God is just, than to prove that He is
merciful.[2] But this is not the thought and feeling of man when outside
of the pale of Revelation. Go into the ancient pagan world, examine the
theologizing of the Greek and Roman mind, and you will discover that the
fears of the justice far outnumbered the hopes of the mercy; that Plato
and Plutarch and Cicero and Tacitus were far more certain that God would
punish sin, than that He would, pardon it. This is the reason that there
is no light, or joy, in any of the pagan religions. Except when religion
was converted into the worship of Beauty, as in the instance of the later
Greek, and all the solemn and truthful ideas of law and justice were
eliminated from it, every one of the natural religions of the globe is
filled with sombre and gloomy hues, and no others. The truest and best
religions of the ancient world were always the sternest and saddest,
because the unaided human mind is certain that God is just, but is not
certain that He is merciful. When man is outside of Revelation, it is by
no means a matter of course that God is clement, and that sin shall be
forgiven. Great uncertainty overhangs the doctrine of the Divine mercy,
from the position of natural religion, and it is only within the province
of revealed truth that the uncertainty is removed. Apart from a distinct
and direct _promise_ from the lips of God Himself that He will forgive
sin, no human creature can be sure that sin will ever be forgiven. Let
us, therefore, look into the subject carefully, and see the reason why
man, if left to himself and his spontaneous reflections, doubts whether
there is mercy in the Holy One for a transgressor, and fears that there
is none, and why a special revelation is consequently required, to dispel
the doubt and the fear.