Every man on his journey through life meets with some one who
deliberately tries to ruin him. Have you met your tempter yet?
Perhaps he is sitting by your side at this moment. Perhaps it
is some one in whose society you delight to be, and of whose
acquaintance you are proud; but the day may come when you will
curse the hour in which you ever saw that face. Some of us, looking
back, can remember well who our tempter was; and we tremble yet,
sometimes, as we remember how nearly we were over the precipice.
One of the chief powers of temptation is the power of surprize. It
comes when you are not looking for it; it comes from the person and
from the quarter you least suspect. The day dawns which is to be the
decisive one in our life; but it looks like any other day. No bell
rings in the sky to give warning that the hour of destiny has come.
But the good angel that watches over us is waiting and trembling.
The fiery moment arrives; do we stand; do we fall? Oh, if we fall,
that good angel goes flying away to heaven, crying, fallen, fallen!
II. The group of the left or those who have fallen before temptation.
Tho I do not know this audience, I know human nature well enough to
be certain that there are some hearing me who are whispering sadly
in their hearts, This is the group I belong to: I have fallen before
temptation; it may not be known; it may not even be suspected; but
it is true.
To such I bear a message of hope to-day.
The great tempter of men has two lies with which he plies us at two
different stages. Before we have fallen, he tells us that one fall
does not matter; it is a trifle; we can easily recover ourselves
again. And, after we have fallen, he tells us that it is hopeless:
we are given over to sin, and need not attempt to rise.
Both are false.
It is a terrible falsehood to say that to fall once does not matter.
Even by one fall there is something lost that can never be recovered
again. It is like the breaking of an infinitely precious vessel,
which may be mended, but will never again be as if it had not been
broken. And, besides, one fall leads to others; it is like going
upon very slippery ice on the face of a hill; even in the attempt to
rise you are carried away again farther than ever. Moreover, we give
others a hold over us. If we have not sinned alone, to have sinned
once involves a tacit pledge that we will sin again; and it is often
almost impossible to get out of such a false position. God keep us
from believing the devil's lie, that to fall once does not matter.
But then, if we have fallen, he plies us with the other lie: It is
of no use to attempt to rise; you can not overcome your besetting
sin. But this is falser still. To those who feel themselves fallen
I come, in Christ's name, to say, Yes, you may rise. If we could
ascend to heaven to-day and scan the ranks of the blest, should we
not find multitudes among them who were once sunk low as man can
fall? But they are washed, they are justified, they are sanctified,
in the name of our Lord Jesus and by the Spirit of our God. And so
may you be.
It is, I know, a doctrine which may be abused; but I will not
scruple to preach it to those who are fallen and sighing for
deliverance. St. Augustine says that we may out of our dead sins
make stepping-stones to rise to the heights of perfection. What did
he mean by that? He meant that the memory of our falls may breed
in us such a humility, such a distrust of self, such a constant
clinging to Christ as we never could have had if we had not fallen.
Does not the Scripture itself go even further? David fell--deep as
man can fall; but what does he say in that great fifty-first Psalm,
in which he confesses his sin? Anticipating forgiveness, he says:
Then will I teach Thy ways unto
Those that transgressors be,
And those that sinners are, shall then
Be turned unto Thee.
And what did our Lord Himself say to St. Peter about his fall?
"When thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren." A man may
derive strength to give to others from having fallen. He may have a
sympathy with the erring; he may be able to describe the steps by
which to rise, as no other can. Thus, by God's marvelous grace, out
of the eater may come forth meat, and out of the strong may come
forth sweetness.
III. The group of the extreme left or those who are tempters of
others.
These three groups on the left form three stages of a natural
descent. First, tempted; secondly, fallen; then, if we have fallen,
we tempt others to fall.
This is quite natural. If we are down ourselves, we try to get
others down beside us. There is a satisfaction in it. To a soul
that has become black a soul that is still white is an offense. It
is said of some, "They rest not except they have done mischief,
and their sleep is taken away, except they cause some to fall."
There is nothing else, I think, in human nature so diabolical as
the delight which the wicked feel in making others like themselves.
Have you never seen it? Have you never seen a group of evil-doers
deliberately set themselves to ruin a newcomer, scoffing at
his innocence and enticing him to their orgies? And, when they
succeeded, they rejoiced over his fall as if they had won a great
triumph. So low can human nature sink.
Sometimes it may be self-interest that makes man a tempter. The
sin of another may be necessary to secure some end of his own.
The dishonest merchant, for his own gain, undermines the honesty
of his apprentice; the employer, making haste to be rich, tempts
his employees to break the Sabbath; the tyranical landlord forces
his tenants to vote against their conscience. Why, there are trades
which nourish on other people's sins.
But perhaps the commonest way to become a tempter is through
thoughtlessness. I protest, we have no pity for each other's souls.
We trample about among these most brittle and infinitely precious
things, as if they were common ware, and we tempt one another and
ruin one another without even being aware of it. Perhaps, indeed, no
one who goes to the place of wo goes there alone; perhaps every one
takes at least one with him. I hear it said nowadays that the fear
of hell no longer moves men's minds; and that preachers ought no
longer to make use of it as a motive in religion. Well, I confess,
I fear it myself; it is a motive still to me. But I will tell you
what I fear ten times more. What! is there anything which a man can
fear ten times more than the fire that never shall be quenched? Yes!
it is to meet there any one who will say, You have brought me here;
you were my tempter; and but for you I might never have come to this
place of torment. God forbid that this should ever be said to me by
any one. Will it be said to any of you?
But now let us turn away from this side of our subject and look at
the bright side--at the three groups on the right.
IV. The group of the right center, or those who are successfully
resisting temptation.
Not very long ago a letter chanced to come under my eye. It was by a
young man attending one of the great English universities. One day
two or three fellow students had come into his rooms and asked him
to join them in some amusement of a questionable kind, which they
were contemplating. On the spur of the moment he promised; but, when
they had gone, he thought what his parents would say if they knew.
It was a godly home he belonged to and a very happy one, in which
the children were bound to the parents in such a way that they kept
no secrets from them. He thought of his home, and he had doubts
whether what he had promised to do might not cause pain there. He
was afraid it would; and he promptly and frankly went and told his
companions that his engagement was off till he should inquire. The
letter I saw was the inquiry. It affected me deeply to read it; for
it was easy to understand how much manliness was required to do that
which might be interpreted as unmanly.
The memory of that man's home came to him in the hour of temptation
and made him strong to resist. I wonder this influence does not
prove a rescuing power oftener than it does. Young men, when
you are tempted, think of home. I have been a minister away in a
provincial town; and, I think, if you could realize the mother's
terror, and the father's stricken frame, and the silent tearful
circle, as I have seen them--it would make you fling the cup of
temptation from your lips, however persuasive was the hand that
proffered it.
Yet this will not always be a strong enough motive in the struggle
with temptation. There will come times when you are tempted to great
sin which will appear to you absolutely safe from discovery and not
likely to inflict the slightest injury on your fortunes. In such
circumstances nothing will sustain you if you do not respect your
own nature and stand in awe of your own conscience. Nay, even this
is not enough; the only effective defense is that of one who was
surely tempted in this very way, "How can I do this great wickedness
and sin against God?"
There are secret battles fought and victories won on this ground,
never heard of on earth, but essentially more glorious than many
victories which are trumpeted far and wide by the breath of fame.
There is more of courage and manhood needed for them than for
walking up to the cannon's mouth? Many a soldier could do that who
could not say "No" to two or three companions pressing him to enter
the canteen. Not long ago I was speaking to a soldier who told me
that many a time in the barracks he was the only man to go down on
his knees out of twenty or thirty; and he did it among showers of
oaths and derision. Do you think walking up to the cannon's mouth
would have been difficult to that man? Such victories have no record
on earth; but be sure of this, they are widely heard of in heaven,
and there is One there who will not forget them.
V. The group of the right or those who have outlived their
temptations.
On this point I do not mean to dwell; but I should like at least
to mention it, as there is contained in it a great encouragement
to some who may be enduring the very hottest fires of temptation.
Perhaps your situation is so intolerable that you often say, I can
not stand this much longer; if it lasts as it is, I must fall--"One
day I shall fall into the hands of Saul."
No, you will not. I bid you take courage; and as one encouragement I
say, you will yet outlive your temptation.
That which is a temptation at one period of life may be no
temptation at all at another. To a child there may be an
irresistible temptation in a sweetmeat which a man would take a
good deal to touch; and some of the temptations which are now the
most painful to you will in time be as completely outlived. God may
lift you, by some turn of providence, out of the position where
your temptation lies; or the person from whom you chiefly suffer
may be removed from your neighborhood. The unholy fire of passion,
which now you must struggle to keep out of your heart, may, through
the mercy of God who setteth men in families, be burnt away and
replaced by the holy fire of love burning on the altar of a virtuous
home. The laughter and scorn which you may now be bearing for your
Christian profession will, if you only have patience, be changed
into respect and veneration; for even the ungodly are forced at last
to do honor to a consistent Christian life.
In these and other ways, if you only have patience, you will outlive
temptation; tho I do not suppose we shall ever in this world be
entirely out of its reach, or be beyond the need of these two
admonitions: "Watch and pray that ye enter not into temptation,"
and, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall."
VI. The group of the extreme right, or those who are helping others
to overcome temptation.
You see, on the right there is an upward progress, as on the left
there was a downward one. The first step is to be successfully
resisting temptation; a higher one is to have outlived temptation;
the highest of all is to be helping others to resist it; tho I do
not say that this must be the chronological order. It is the order
of honor.
This group of the extreme right is the exact opposite of the group
of the extreme left. Those in the latter group are tempting others
to fall; those in this one are encouraging and aiding others to
stand fast. No man ought to be satisfied till he is in this noble
group.
There are many ways in which we may assist others with their
temptations. A big-hearted man will often be doing so without being
aware of it. His very presence, his attractive manhood, his massive
character act as an encouragement to younger men and hold them up. I
do not know anything so much to be coveted as in old age to have men
coming to say, Your example, your presence, your sympathy were like
a protecting arm put round my stumbling youth and helped me over the
perilous years. My brothers, if a few men can honestly say this to
us in the future, will it not be better than Greek and Roman fame?
Many are helping the young against their temptations by providing
them with means of spending their leisure innocently and profitably.
Our leisure time is the problem. While we are at work, there is not
so much fear of us; but it is in the hours of leisure--the hours
between work and sleep--that temptation finds men, and they are
lost; and therefore I say, there is no more Christian work than
providing men with opportunities of spending leisure profitably.
But by far the best way to help men with their temptations is to
bring them to Christ. It may be of some service to a man if, in the
time of trial, I put round him the sympathetic arm of a brother;
but it is infinitely better if I can get him to allow Christ to put
round him His strong arm. This is the effectual defense; and no
other can be really depended on....
BURRELL
HOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
DAVID JAMES BURRELL was born at Mount Pleasant, Pennsylvania, in
1849. He graduated from Yale College in 1867. Since 1891 he has been
pastor of the Marble Collegiate Church, New York, which was founded
in 1628. Dr. Burrell is unusually popular as a pulpit preacher, and
attracts many young people to his evening services. His delivery is
clear-cut and vigorous, and often he rises to dramatic heights of
eloquence. His gesture is marked by grace and appropriateness, and
his illustrations are always chosen with felicity. His sermons are
stenographically reported and printed each week in pamphlets for
wide distribution.
BURRELL
Born in 1849
HOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN[5]
[5] Copyright, 1906, by the American Tract Society. Reprinted by
permission.
_And there arose no small stir about that way._--Acts xix., 23.
The name by which the early Christians were familiarly known was
"The people of that way." In the year 36 the Sanhedrin issued a
commission to Saul of Tarsus authorizing him to arrest any whom
he might find "of the way, whether they were men or women, and to
bring them bound unto Jerusalem." (Acts ix., 2.) In the year 58,
twenty-two years later, the same Saul, now an apostle of Christ,
made a defense from the steps of the Castle of Antonia, in which he
said, "I persecuted this way unto the death, binding and delivering
into prison both men and women" (Acts xxii., 4).
The name thus given to the followers of Christ is significant for
many reasons. The question has been raised in some quarters as to
whether religion is dogma or life. In fact, our religion in the last
reduction is neither dogma nor life; it is a way from sin into the
Kingdom of God. Its bed-rock is truth, its pavement is character,
its destination is eternal life.
It is a plain way; as indicated in the prophecy, "A highway shall
be there and a way, and it shall be called the way of holiness; the
wayfaring man tho a fool shall not err therein." Nevertheless, to
the unsaved no question is more bewildering than this: "What shall I
do that I may inherit eternal life?" In the Pocono Mountains, last
summer, I found it very difficult to keep in the old Indian trail;
tho it was easy enough for my comrade, who had been born and bred in
the vicinity. A letter lies before me, written by a man of affairs,
in which he says, "All my life I have been an attendant at church;
I would like to be a Christian, but I confess that I have never yet
learned how to set about it."
It is my present purpose to make this matter as clear as I can. Let
it be said at the outset that one thing only is needful in order
to become a follower of Christ--to wit, that one shall believe in
Him, but, before we come to that, we must touch upon a matter of
preliminary importance.
A man must repent before he believes in Christ (Mark i., 15). Now
repentance is not a saving grace, having value only as it leads to
something further on. The pain of a physical malady has no curative
virtue; but it is this pain that inclines the patient to ring the
doctor's bell. So John the Baptist goes before Christ with his cry,
"Repent ye!" Since without repentance there is no adequate sense of
need, nor disposition to accept Christ.
Let us get a clear understanding of repentance. It suggests at the
outset, an apprehension of sin as a fact; not a figment of the
imagination, not "a belief of mortal mind"; not an infection due to
environment, and therefore involving no personal accountability; but
a distinct, flagrant violation of holy law, by which the sinner is
brought into rebellion against God.
And sin must be apprehended, furthermore, as a calamitous fact, that
is, involving an adequate penalty: "The soul that sinneth, it shall
die." A true penitent recognizes the justice of the punishment which
is imposed upon him; as did the repentant thief, when he said to his
comrade, "We indeed are condemned justly." One who spends his time
in trying to explain away hell and "the unquenchable fire" and "the
worm that dieth not," is not a penitent man.
And sin must be furthermore recognized as a concrete or personal
fact. It is not enough to acknowledge the incontrovertible presence
of sin in the world around us. The important thing is, that this
sin inheres in me. So David prayed, "Have mercy upon me, O God,
according unto thy loving kindness; for I have sinned and done this
evil in thy sight." He had always known, in general terms, that
adultery was a fearful thing; but when it pointed its gaunt finger
at him in the watches of the night and hissed, "Bathsheba!" it
brought him to his knees.
And this conviction of sin must be followed by a resolution to
forsake it. The true penitent fears his sin, hates it, loathes it,
abhors it, and determines to quit it.
But observe, all this is merely preliminary to the one thing
needful. There is no virtue in repentance _per se_. The penitent is
not saved; he has only discovered his need of salvation. He knows
his malady; now how shall he be cured of it? To pause here is death.
One in a sinking boat must not be satisfied with stopping the leak;
the boat must be baled out. A man head over ears in debt can not
recover his credit by resolving to pay cash in the future; he must
somehow cancel his past obligations. If a penitent were never to
commit another sin, the "handwriting of ordinances" would still be
against him. The record of the past remains; and it will confront
him in the judgment unless it be disposed of. The past. The mislived
past! What shall be done about it?
This brings us to the matter in hand: What shall I do to be saved?
or How shall I become a Christian?
Our Lord at the beginning of His ministry said to Nicodemus, "God so
loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever
believeth on him, should not perish, but have everlasting life."
And to make the matter perfectly clear to this learned rabbi, He
resorted to the kindergarten method, using an object-lesson: "As
Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son
of man be lifted up (that is, crucified), that whosoever believeth
in him should not perish, but have eternal life." So the one thing
needful is to believe in Christ.
The same truth was repeated over and over in the teachings of Jesus
and of His disciples as well. To the jailer of Philippi who, in
sudden conviction, was moved to cry, "What shall I do?" the answer
of Paul was, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be
saved."
But what is it to "believe in Christ?" It is easy to say, "Come to
Christ" and "Accept Christ" and "Believe in Him"; but just here
occurs the bewilderment. These are oftentimes mere shop-worn phrases
to the unsaved, however simple they may appear to those who have
entered on the Christian life.
To believe in Christ is, first, to credit the historic record of His
life. Once on a time He lived among men, preached, wrought miracles,
suffered and died on the accurst tree. So far all will agree; but
there is clearly no saving virtue in an intellectual acceptance of
an undisputed fact.
It means, second, to believe that Jesus was what He claimed to be.
And His claim is perfectly clear. To the woman of Samaria who sighed
for the coming of Messiah He said, "I that speak unto thee am he."
No reader of the Scripture could misunderstand His meaning, since
the prophecy of the Messiah runs like a golden thread through all
its pages from the protevangel, "The seed of the woman shall bruise
the serpent's head," to the prediction of Malachi, "The Sun of
righteousness shall arise with healing in his beams."
But, more than this, Jesus claimed that as Messiah He was the only
begotten and co-equal Son of God. He came forth from God and,
after finishing His work, was to return to God and reassume "the
glory which he had with the Father before the world was." It was
this oft repeated assertion which so mortally offended the Jews as
to occasion His arrest on the charge of blasphemy. He persisted
in His claim, and was put to death for "making himself equal to
God." It must be seen, therefore, that no man can be said to
believe in Christ who is not prepared to affirm, without demur or
qualification, that He was what He claimed to be.
It means, third, to believe that Jesus did what He said He came
into the world to do. And here again there can be no doubt or
peradventure. He said, "The Son of man came not to be ministered
unto, but to minister and to give his life a ransom for many." His
death was to be the purchase price of redemption. In the wilderness
He was tempted to turn aside from His great purpose. The adversary
led Him to a high place, and with a wave of his hand, directed His
thought to the kingdoms of this world, saying, "All these are mine.
I know thy purpose: thou art come to win this world by dying for it.
Why pay so great a price? I know thy fear and trembling--for thou
art flesh--in view of the nails, the fever, and dreadful exposure,
the long agony. Why pay so great a price? I am the prince of this
world. One act of homage, and I will abdicate. Fall down and worship
me!" Never before or since has there been such a temptation, so
specious, so alluring. But Jesus had covenanted to die for sinners.
He knew there was no other way of accomplishing salvation for them.
He could not be turned aside from the work which He had volunteered
to do. Therefore He put away the suggestion with the words, "Get
thee behind me, Satan! I can not be moved! I know the necessity that
is laid upon me. I know that my way to the kingdom is only by the
cross. I am therefore resolved to suffer and die for the deliverance
of men."