WHAT
ARE THE CLOUDS?
By C. H. Spurgeon, August 19, 1855,
at New Park Street Chapel, #36
"That clouds are the dust of his feet." Nahum 1:3
It is possible for a man to read too
many books. We will not despise learning, we will not undervalue
scholarship—such acquisitions are very desirable; and, when his talents are
sanctified to God, the man of learning frequently becomes in the hands of
the Spirit, far more useful than the ignorant and the unlearned. But at the
same time, if a man acquire his knowledge entirely from books, he will not
find himself to be a very wise man. There is such a thing as heaping so many
books on your brains that they cannot work—pouring such piles of type, and
letters, and manuscripts, and papers, and prints, and pamphlets, and
volumes, and tomes, and folios—upon your weary head, that your brains are
absolutely buried and cannot move at all.
I believe that many of us, while we
have sought to learn by books, have neglected those great volumes which God
has given us—we have neglected to study this great book, the Bible!
Moreover, perhaps, we have not been careful enough students of the great
volume of nature. And we have forgotten that other great book—the
human heart. For my own part, I desire to be somewhat a student of
the heart; and I think I have learned far more from conversation with my
fellow-men than I ever did from reading; and the examination of my own
experience, and the workings of my own heart, have taught me far more of
humanity than all the academic books I have ever perused. I like to read the
book of my fellow creatures; nothing delights me so much as when I see a
multitude of them gathered together, or when I have the opportunity of
having their hearts poured into mine, and mine into theirs. He will not be a
wise man who does not study the human heart, and does not seek to know
something of his fellows and of himself.
But if there be one book I love to
read above all others, next to the book of God, it is the volume of
NATURE. I care not what letters they are that I read—whether they are
the golden spellings of the name of God up yonder in the stars, or whether I
read, in rougher lines, his name printed on the rolling floods, or see it
hieroglyphed in the huge mountain, the dashing cataract, or the waving
forest. Wherever I look abroad in nature I love to discern my Father’s name
spelled out in living characters. I would do as Isaac did, go into the
fields at eventide and muse and meditate upon the God of nature.
I thought in the cool of last
evening—I would muse with my God, by his Holy Spirit, and see what message
he would give me. There I sat and watched the clouds, and learned a lesson
in the great hall of Nature’s college. The first thought that struck me was
this—as I saw the white clouds rolling in the sky—soon shall I see my Savior
mounted on a great white throne, riding on the clouds of heaven, to call men
to judgment! My imagination could easily picture the scene, when the living
and the dead would stand before his great white throne, and should hear his
voice pronounce their changeless destiny!
I remembered, moreover, that text in
the Proverbs, "He who observes the wind shall not sow, and he who regards
the clouds shall not reap." I thought how many a time myself and my brother
ministers have regarded the clouds. We have listened to the voice of
prudence and of caution we have regarded the clouds. We have stopped when we
ought to have been sowing, because we were afraid of the multitude, or we
refused to reap and take in the people into our churches, because some good
brother thought we were too hasty about the matter. I rose up and thought to
myself—I will regard neither the clouds nor the winds, but when the wind
blows a hurricane I will throw the seed with my hands, if perhaps the
tempest may waft it further still; and when the clouds are thick, still I
will reap, and rest assured that God will preserve his own wheat, whether I
gather it under clouds or in the sunshine. And then, when I sat there musing
upon God, thoughts struck me as the clouds swayed along the skies, thoughts
which I must give to you this morning. I trust they were somewhat for my own
instruction, and possibly they may be for yours. "The clouds are the dust of
his feet!"
I.
Well, the first remark I make upon this shall be—THE
WAY OF GOD IS GENERALLY A HIDDEN ONE. This we gather from the
text, by regarding the connection, "the Lord has his way in the whirlwind
and in the storm—and the clouds are the dust of his feet." When God works
his wonders, he always conceals himself. Even the motion of his feet causes
clouds to arise; and if these clouds are but the dust of his feet—how deep
must be that dense darkness which veils the brow of the Eternal. If the
small dust which he causes is of equal magnitude with our clouds—if we can
find no other figure to image "the dust of his feet" than the clouds of
heaven, then, how obscure must be the motions of the Eternal one—how hidden
and how shrouded in darkness! This great truth suggested by the text, is
well borne out by facts. The ways of God are hidden ones. Cowper did not say
amiss when he sang,
"He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm."
His footsteps cannot be seen, for,
planted on the sea, the next wave washes them out; and placed in the storm,
rioting as the air then is, every impression of his chariot wheels is soon
erased. Look at God, and at whatever he has deigned to do, and you will
always see him to have been a hidden God. He has concealed himself, and all
his ways have been veiled in the strictest mystery.
Consider his works of SALVATION.
How did he hide himself when he determined to save mankind? He did not
manifestly reveal himself to our forefathers. He gave them simply one dim
lamp of prophecy which shone in words like these "The seed of the woman
shall bruise the serpent’s head;" and for four thousand years God concealed
his Son in mystery, and no one understood what the Son of God was to be. The
smoking incense beclouded their eyes, and while it showed something of
Jesus, it hid far more. The burning victim sent its smoke up towards the
sky, and it was only through the dim mists of the sacrifice that the pious
Jew could see the Savior. Angels themselves, we are told, desired to look
into the mysteries of redemption, yet though they stood with their eyes
intently fixed upon it. Until the hour when redemption developed itself on
Cavalry, not a single angel could understand it.
The profoundest sage might have
sought to find out how God could be just and yet the justifier of the
ungodly; but he would have failed in his investigations. The most intensely
pious man might meditate, with the help of that portion of God’s Spirit
which was then given to the prophets, on this mighty subject, and he could
not have discovered that the mystery of godliness was—"God manifest in the
flesh." God marched in clouds, "He walked in the whirlwinds;" he did not
condescend to tell the world what he was about to do; for it is his plan to
gird himself in darkness, and "the clouds are the dust of his feet."
Ah! and so it always has been in
PROVIDENCE as well as grace. God never condescends to make things very
plain to his creatures. He always does rightly; and therefore, he wants his
people always to believe that he does rightly. But if he showed them that he
did so, there would be no room for their faith. Turn your eye along the page
of history, and see how mysterious God’s dealings have been. Who would
conceive that a Joseph sold into Egypt would be the means of redeeming a
whole people from famine? Who would suppose that when an enemy should come
upon the land, it should be after all but the means of bringing glory to
God? Who could imagine that a harlot’s blood should mingle with the
genealogy from which came the great Messiah, the Shiloh of Israel? Who could
have guessed much less could have compassed, the mighty scheme of God?
Providence has always been a hidden thing.
"Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs
And works his sovereign will."
And yet, beloved, you and I are
always wanting to know what God is doing. There is a war in the Crimea. We
have had some great disasters at Sebastopol, and we are turning over the
papers, and saying, "What is God doing here?" What did he do in the last
war? What was the benefit of it? We see that even Napoleon was the means of
doing good, for he broke down the aristocracy and made all monarchs respect
the power and the rights of the people. We see what was the result even of
that dread hurricane, that it swept away a pestilence which would have
devoured full many more. But we ask, "What is God doing with this world?" We
want to know what will be the consequences. Suppose we should humble Russia,
where would it end? Can Turkey be maintained as a separate kingdom? And ten
thousand other questions arise. Beloved, I always think, "let the potsherds
strive with the potsherds of the earth," and, as a good old friend of mine
says—let them crack themselves, too, if they like. We will not interfere. If
the potsherds will go smashing one another, why, then they must. We pray
that old England may come off the safest of them all.
But we are not much concerned to
know the result. We believe that this war, as well as everything else, will
have a beneficial tendency. We cannot see in history that this world ever
went a step backwards. God is ever moving it in its orbit; and it has always
progressed even when it seemed retrograding. Or, perhaps, you are not
agitated about Providence in a nation, you believe that there God hides
himself; but then there are matters concerning yourself, which you long to
see explained. When I was in Glasgow. I went over an immense foundry, one of
the largest in Scotland, and there I saw a very powerful steam engine which
worked all the machinery in the entire building. I saw in that foundry such
numberless wheels running round, some one way and some another, I could not
make out what on earth they were all about. But, I daresay, if my head had
been a little wiser, and I had been taught a little more of mechanics, I
might have understood what every wheel was doing, though really they seemed
only a mass of wheels very busy running round and doing nothing. They were
all, however, working at something; and if I had stopped and asked "What is
that wheel doing?" A mechanic may have said, "It turns another wheel."
"Well, and what is that wheel doing?" "There is another wheel dependent upon
that, and that again is dependent on another." Then, at last, he would have
taken me and said, "This is what the whole machinery is doing." Some
ponderous bar of iron, perhaps, being grooved and cut, shaped and
polished—"this is what all the wheels are effecting: but I cannot tell
separately what each wheel is doing." All things are working together for
good; but what the things separately are doing, it would be impossible to
explain.
Yet, you child of Adam, with your
finite intellect, are continually stopping to ask, "Why is this?" The child
lies dead in the cradle. Therefore, was infancy snatched away? Oh, ruthless
death, could you not reap ripe corn; why snatch the rosebud? Would not a
chaplet of withered leaves suit you better than these tender blossoms? Or,
you are demanding of Providence, why have you taken away my property? Was I
not left, by my parents, a wonderful inheritance—and now it has all been
swept away! It is all gone! Why this, O God? Why not punish the unjust? Why
should the innocent be allowed thus to suffer? Why am I to be bereft of my
all? Says another, "I launched into a business that was fair and honorable;
I intended, if God had prospered me, to devote my wealth to him. I am poor,
my business never prospers. Lord, why is this?" And another says, "Here I am
toiling from morning until night; and no matter how hard I try, I cannot
extricate myself from my business, which takes away so much of my time from
religion. I would happily live on less if I had more time to serve my God."
Ah! finite one! do you ask God to
explain these things to you? I tell you, God will not do it, and God cannot
do it—for this reason: you are not capable of understanding it. Should the
ant ask the eagle why it soars aloft in the skies? Shall leviathan be
questioned by a minnow? These creatures might explain their motions to
creatures; but the Omnipotent Creator, the uncreated Eternal, cannot well
explain himself to mortals whom he has created. We cannot understand him. It
is enough for us to know that his way always must be in darkness, and that
we must never expect to see much in this world.
II.
This second thought is—GREAT
THINGS WITH US, ARE LITTLE THINGS WITH GOD. What great things
clouds are to us! There we see them sweeping along the skies! Then they
rapidly increase until the whole sky gathers blackness and a dark shadow is
cast upon the world; we foresee the coming storm, and we tremble at the
mountains of cloud, for they are great. Great things are they? No! they are
only the dust of God’s feet! The greatest cloud that ever swept the face of
the sky, was but one single particle of dust, stirred up by the feet of the
Almighty Jehovah. When clouds roll over clouds and the storm is very
dreadful—it is but the chariot of God, as it speeds along the heavens,
raising a little dust around him! "The clouds are the dust of his feet." Oh!
could you grasp this idea my friends, or had I words in which to put it into
your souls, I am sure you would sit down in solemn awe of that great God who
is our Father, or who will be our Judge!
Consider, that the greatest things
with man, are little things with God. We call the mountains great, but what
are they? They are but "the small dust of the balance." We call the nations
great, and we speak of mighty empires, but the nations before him are but as
"a drop in the bucket." We call the islands great and talk of England
boastingly—yet God’s Word declares that "He weighs the islands as though
they were fine dust." We speak of great men and of mighty—yet "the
inhabitants of the earth in his sight are but as grasshoppers." We talk of
ponderous orbs moving millions of miles from us—yet in God’s sight they are
but little atoms dancing up and down in the sunbeam of existence!
Compared with God, there is nothing
great. True, there are some things which are little with man, which are
great with God. Such are our sins which we call little, but which are great
with him; and his mercies, which we sometimes think are little, he knows are
very great mercies towards such great sinners as we are. Things which we
reckon great, are very little with God. If you knew what God thought of our
talk sometimes, you would be surprised at yourselves. We have some great
trouble—we go burdened with it, saying, "O Lord God! what a great trouble I
am burdened with!" Why, methinks, God might smile at us, as we do sometimes
at a little child who takes up a load too heavy for it (but which you could
hold between your fingers), and staggers, and says, "Father, what a weight I
am carrying." So there are people who stagger under the great trouble which
they think they are bearing. Great, beloved! There are no great
troubles at all—"the clouds are the dust of his feet." If you would but so
consider them, the greatest things with you are but little things with God.
Suppose, now, that you had all the
troubles of all the people in the world, that they all came pouring on your
devoted head—what are torrents of trouble to God? "Drops in the bucket!"
What are whole mountains of grief to him? Why, "he takes up the mountains as
the dust of the balance." And he can easily remove your trials. So, in your
weariness, don’t sit down and say, "My troubles are too great." Hear the
voice of mercy—"Cast your burden on the Lord and he will sustain you, he
will never allow the righteous to be moved."
You often will hear two Christians
talk. One of them will say, "O my troubles, and trials, and sorrows—they are
so great I can hardly sustain them! I do not know how to bear my afflictions
from day to day." The other says, "Ah! my troubles and trials are not less
severe, but, nevertheless, they have been less than nothing. I could laugh
at impossibilities, and say they shall be done." What is the reason of the
difference between these men? The secret is, that one of them carried his
troubles, and the other did not. It does not matter to a porter how heavy a
load may be, if he can find another to carry it all for him. But if he is to
carry it all himself, of course he does not like a heavy load. So one man
bears his troubles himself and gets his back nearly broken; but the other
cast his troubles on the Lord.
Ah! it does not matter how heavy
troubles are—if you can cast them on the Lord. The heavier they are so much
the better, for the more you have got rid of, and the more there is laid
upon the Rock. Never be afraid of troubles. However heavy they are, God’s
eternal shoulders can bear them. He, whose omnipotence is verified by
upholding revolving planets, and systems of enormous worlds—can well sustain
you! Is his arm shortened, that he cannot save? Or is he weary, that he
cannot uphold you? Your troubles are nothing to God, for the very "clouds
are the dust of his feet." And this cheers me, I assure you, in the work of
the ministry; for any man who has his eyes open to the world at large, will
acknowledge that there are many clouds brooding over England, and over the
world.
I received lately a letter from a
gentleman at Hull, in which he tells me that he sympathizes with my views
concerning the condition of the CHURCH at large. I do not know
whether Christendom was ever worse off than it is now. At any rate, I pray
God it never may be. Read the account of the condition of the Suffolk
churches where the gospel is somewhat flourishing, and you will be surprised
to find that they have had scarcely any increase at all in the year. So you
may go from church to church, and find scarcely any that are growing. Here
and there a chapel is filled with people; here and there you find an earnest
minister; here and there an increasing church; here and there a good
prayer-meeting; but these are only like green spots. Wherever I have gone
through England, I have been always grieved to see how the glory of Zion is
under a cloud; how the precious saints of Zion, comparable to fine gold have
become like earthen pitchers—the work of the hands of the potter.
It is not for me to set myself up as
universal censor of the church, but I must be honest and say, that spiritual
life, and fire, and zeal, and piety, seemed to be absent in ten thousand
instances. We have abundance of agencies, we have good mechanisms—but the
church, now-a-days is very much like a large steam engine, without any fire,
without any hot water in the boiler, without any steam. There is everything
but steam, everything but life. England is veiled in clouds. Not clouds of
infidelity. I care not one fig for all the infidels in England. Nor am I
afraid of popery for old England. I do not think she will go back to that—I
am sure she never will. But, I am afraid of this deadness, this
sloth, this indifference, that has come over our churches! The church needs
shaking, like the man on the mountain-top does when the cold benumbs him
into a deadly slumber. The churches are gone to sleep for lack of zeal, for
lack of fire. Even those who hold sound doctrine are beginning to slumber.
Oh may God stir the church up! One great black cloud, only broken here and
there by a few rays of sunlight, seems to be hanging over the entire of this
our happy island.
But, beloved, there is comfort, "for
the clouds are the dust of his feet." He can scatter them in a moment. He
can raise up his chosen servants, who have only to put their mouth to the
trumpet, and one blast shall awaken the sleeping sentinels, and startle the
sleeping camp. God has only to send out again some evangelist, some flying
angel, and the churches shall wake up once more, and she who has been
clothed in sackcloth, shall doff her garments of mourning and put on a
garment of praise, instead of the spirit of heaviness. The day is coming, I
hope, when Zion shall sit, not without her diadem, crownless; but with her
crown on her head, she shall grasp her banner, take her shield, and, like
that heroic maiden of old who roused a whole nation, shall go forth
conquering and to conquer. We hope thus much, because "the clouds are the
dust of his feet."
Yes, and what clouds rest on the
WORLD at large! What black clouds of Catholic superstition,
Mohammedanism, and idolatry. But what are all these things? We do not care
about them at all, brethren. Some say that I am getting very enthusiastic
about the latter-day glory, and the coming of our Savior Jesus Christ. Well,
I don’t know. I get all the happier the more enthusiastic I am, so I hope I
shall keep on at it, for I believe there is nothing so comforts a servant of
God as to believe that his Master is coming. I hope to see him. I should not
be surprised to see Jesus Christ tomorrow morning. He may come then.
"In such an hour as you think not, the Son of Man comes." He who learns to
watch for Christ, will never be surprised when he comes. Blessed shall that
servant be, whom, when his Lord comes, he shall find busy about his duty.
But some say he cannot come yet; there are so many clouds, and so much
darkness in the sky, it cannot be expected that the sun will rise yet. Is
that a fair reason? Do the clouds ever impede the sun? The sun moves on
despite all the mists; and Jesus Christ can come—clouds or no clouds. We do
not need light before he appears; he will come and give us light,
afterwards, scattering the darkness with the glory of his own eyes.
But you say, "How are these
idolatrous systems to be cast down?" God could do it in an hour if he
pleased. Religion never moves by years and weeks. Even false religions grow
like mushrooms; much more true ones. False religions attained colossal
proportion in a very few years. Take the case of Mohammedanism—the new-born
faith of Islam became the religion of millions in an increditable short
period; and if a false religion could spread so quickly, shall not a true
one run along like fire amidst the stubble, when God shall speak the word?
Clouds are but "dust of his feet."
A little while ago some of us were
fretting about this Mormonism, and we said, "It will never be broken up."
Some stupid fellows in America began to kill the poor Mormonites. Christians
trembled, and said, "What can this be? We shall have Sodom over again." But
did you read the Times newspaper of Thursday last? You will there see
a wonderful instance of how God can scatter the clouds and make them dust of
his feet. He has caused to come out of the ground, near Salt Lake, at Utah,
thousands of crickets, and all kinds of noxious insects, that devour the
crops; creatures that have not been seen in Utah before, with swarms of
locusts, have made their appearance; and the people, being so far from
civilized nations, cannot of course carry much corn across the desert, so
that they will be condemned to starve or else separate and break up. It
seems to all appearance that the whole settlement of the Mormonites must
entirely be broken up, and that by an army of caterpillars, crickets,
and locusts!
III.
Now, one more remark. "The clouds are the dust of his
feet." Then we learn from that, that THE MOST
TERRIBLE THINGS IN NATURE HAVE NO TERROR TO A CHILD OF GOD.
Sometimes clouds are very fearful things to mariners; they expect a storm
when they see the clouds and darkness gathering. A cloud to many of us, when
it forebodes a tempest is a very unpleasant thing. But let me read my text,
and you will see what I mean by my remark that the most terrible things in
nature are not terrible to the saints. The clouds are the dust of HIS
feet"—of God’s feet. Do you not see what I mean? There is nothing terrible
now, because it is only the dust of my Father’s feet! Did you ever
know a child who was afraid of the dust of his father’s feet? No! If the
child sees the dust of his father’s feet in the distance, what does he do?
He rejoices because it is his father, and runs to meet him. So the most
awful things in nature, even the clouds, have lost all their terror to a
child of God, because he knows they are but the dust of his Father’s feet.
If we stand in the midst of the lightning storm, a flash shatters yon cedar,
or splits the oak of the forest; another flash comes, and then another,
until the whole sky becomes a sea of flame. We fear not, for they are only
the flashes of our Father’s sword as he waves it in the sky. Listen to the
thunder as it shakes the earth and exposes the forests; we don’t shake at
the sound.
"The God who rules on high,
And thunders when he please,
Who rides upon the stormy sky,
And manages the seas.
This awesome God is ours,
Our Father and our love!"
We are not afraid, for we hear our
Father’s voice. And what favored child ever quaked at his Father’s speech.
We love to hear that voice; although it is deep, bass, sonorous—yet we love
its matchless melody, for it issues from the depths of affection. Put me to
sea, and let the ship be driven along—that wind is my Father’s breath! Let
the clouds gather—they are the dust of my Father’s feet! Let the waterspout
appear from heaven—it is my Father dipping his hand in the laver of his
earthly temple. The child of God fears nothing. All things are his Father’s!
And divested now of everything that is terrible, he can look upon them with
delight, for he says, "The clouds are the dust of his feet."
"He drives his chariot through the
sky,
Beneath his feet his thunders roar;
He shakes the earth, he veils the sky,
My soul, my soul, this God adore—
He is your Father, and your love."
Fall down before his feet and
worship him, for he has loved you by his grace. You know there are many
fearful events which may befall us; but we are never afraid of them, if we
are believers, because they are the dust of his feet! Pestilence may
ravage this fair city once again; the thousands may fall, and the funeral
march be constantly seen in our streets. Do we fear it? No! The pestilence
is but one of our Father’s servants, and we are not afraid of it, although
it walks in darkness. There may be no wheat, the flocks may be cut off from
the herd and the stall; nevertheless, famine and distress are our Father’s
doings—and what our Father does we will not view with alarm. There is a man
there with a sword in his hand—he is an enemy, and I fear him! But my father
has a sword, and I fear him not; I rather love to see him have a sword,
because I know he will only use it for my protection.
But there is to come a sight more
grand, more terrific, more sublime, and more disastrous than anything earth
has yet witnessed; there is to come a fire, before which Sodom’s fire shall
pale to nothingness; and the conflagration of continents shall sink into
less than nothing and vanity. In a few more years, my friends, Scripture
assures us, this earth and all that is therein, is to be burned up! That
deep molten mass which now lies in the bosom of our mother earth is to burst
up—the solid matter is be melted down into one vast globe of fire; the
wicked—shrieking, wailing, and cursing, shall become a prey to these flames
that shall blaze upward from the bosom of earth! Comets shall shoot their
fires from heaven; all the lightnings shall launch their bolts upon this
poor earth, and it shall become a mass of fire. But does the Christian fear
it? No! Scripture tell us we shall be caught up together with the Lord in
the air, and shall be forever with the Lord.
IV.
To conclude. The fourth observation is,
ALL THINGS IN NATURE ARE CALCULATED TO TERRIFY THE
UNGODLY MAN. Ungodly men and women now present in this place of
worship—it is a very solemn fact that you are at enmity with God; that
having sinned against God, God is angry with you—not angry with you today,
but angry with you every day, angry with you every hour and every moment. It
is, moreover, a most sad and solemn fact that there is a day coming, when
this anger of God will burst out, and when God will utterly destroy and
devour you! Now listen to me for a moment, while I try to make all nature
preach to you a solemn warning, and the wide world itself a great high
priest, holding up its finger and calling you to flee for mercy to Jesus
Christ, the King of kings.
Sinner, have you ever seen the
clouds as they roll along the sky? Those clouds are the dust of the feet of
Jehovah. If these clouds are but the dust—what is he himself! And then, I
ask you, O man, are you not foolish in the extreme to be at war with such a
God as this? If the clouds are the dust of his feet—how foolish are you to
be his enemy. Do you think to stand before his majesty? I tell you, he will
snap your spear as if it were but a straw! Will you hide yourself in the
mountains? They shall be melted at his presence; and though you cry to the
rocks to hide you, they would fail to give you anything of concealment
before his burning eyes! O do but consider, my dear fellow creatures, you
who are at enmity with God—would it not be folly if you were to oppose
yourself to a mighty angel? Would it not be the utmost stupidity if you were
to commence a war even with her majesty the Queen? I know it would, because
you have no power to stand against them; but consider how much more mighty
is the Eternal God. Why, man, he could put his finger upon you at this
moment and crush you as I could an insect! Yet this God is your enemy! You
are hating him, you are at war with him!
Consider, moreover, O man, that you
have grievously rebelled against him; that you have incensed his soul, and
he is angry, and jealous, and furious against every sinner. Consider what
you will do in that great day, when God shall fall upon you. Some of you
believe in a God who has no anger, and no hatred towards the wicked. Such a
God is not the God of Scripture? He is a God who punishes the ungodly. Let
me ask the question of Scripture: Can you stand before his indignation? Can
you abide the fierceness of his anger? When his fury is poured out like
fire, and the rocks are thrown down by him—do you think you, sinner—it will
be a good thing to be in the hands of the Almighty, who will rend you in
sunder? Will you think it easy to lie down in hell with the breath of the
Eternal fanning the flames? Will you delight yourself to think that God will
invent torments for you, sinner, to make your doom most cursed, if you do
not repent and turn to him? What, man! are the terrors of Jehovah nothing to
you? Do you not tremble and shake before the fierceness of his fury?
Ah! you may laugh now—you may go
away, my hearer, and smile at what I have said; but the day shall declare
it. The hour is coming—and it may be soon—when the iron hand of the Almighty
shall be upon you; when all your senses shall be the gates of misery, your
body the house of lamentation, and your soul the epitome of woe! Then you
will not laugh and despise him!
But now to finish up, let me just
give you one word more; for, beloved, why do we use these threats? Why do we
speak of them? It is but the word of the angel, who, pressing Lot upon the
shoulder, said, "Look not behind you! Do not stay in the plain!" and then
pointing to the fire behind, said, "On! on! lest the fiery sleet overtake
you, and the hail of the Eternal shall overwhelm you!" We only mentioned
that fire behind, that the Spirit might make you flee to the mountain, lest
you should be consumed. Do you ask where that mountain is? We tell you there
is a cleft in the Rock of Ages where the chief of sinners may yet hide
himself—Jesus Christ came down from heaven for our salvation! And whoever
here this morning is a sinner, we now invite to come to Christ. You
Pharisees who do not own the title, I preach no gospel to you; you
self-righteous, self-sufficient ones, I have nothing whatever to say to you,
except what I have said—the voice of threatening.
But, whoever will confess himself a
sinner, has the warrant this morning to come to Jesus Christ. Sinnership is
the only title to salvation. If you acknowledge yourselves to be sinners,
Christ died for you. And if you put your trust in him, and believed that he
died for you, you may rely upon him, and say, "Lord, I will be saved by your
grace." Your merits are good for nothing; you can get no benefit by them.
Your own good works are useless; you err like the man in the prison working
the treadmill—you never get any benefit to yourself. Come to Jesus Christ.
Believe in him; and after you have believed in him, he will set you
working—working a new work. He will give you works, if you will have but
faith—even faith is his gift. O may he give it to you now, my hearers, for;
he gives liberally and upbraids not." "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and
be baptized, and you shall be saved!"