Which Is Right?

Francis Bourdillon, 1873

When a careless or worldly person becomes religious, his friends are not always pleased with the change. Often there are some among them who, being still careless or worldly themselves, think it a pity (or say they do) that he has become different. Why was he not content to go on as he did? Why take up these new notions? However sober and scriptural he may be in his principles and conduct—they speak of him very much as if he had gone mad. According to their opinion, he is quite ruined.

But is this a right view? Let us turn to the Bible for an answer. The apostle Paul writes thus to the Christian converts at Philippi: "Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ" (Philippians 1:6). Now, this "good work" was that very change which the world often calls a change for the worse. A man becomes a serious Christian, and the world says "What a pity!" These Philippians had become so, and the apostle calls it "a good work." Which is right?

But it may be said that the cases are not alike. The Philippians had been heathen, and now they were Christians; everyone allows that change to be good. This other person, on the contrary, was always a Christian.

Stop a moment. "Always a Christian," do you say? You ought to say he always called himself a Christian. And if this was all, then the difference was not so great as you think between him and the heathen of Philippi.

See how the case stands. Here are two men.

One has been born in a heathen city and brought up by heathen parents, and has never learned anything better than what they could teach him; he does not know or serve or love God.

The other was born in a Christian land, of parents who professed to be Christians; and there he has lived all his life. But he is a Christian in name only; his heart has never been touched by Divine grace; he does not really know God; he does not love or serve Him.

What great difference is there between the two? Both are far from God; both have unrenewed hearts; both therefore need a change. Well, a change takes place in both.

The gospel comes to the heathen city, and this heathen man hears and believes; his heart is changed; he repents and turns to God in Christ.

The so-called Christian likewise receives grace to believe; he too repents and turns, and now becomes what he always professed to be, a Christian.

Thus the heathen man has become a Christian, and the nominal Christian has become a Christian too. There is the same change in each.

What would the apostle have cared for heathen men beginning to call themselves Christians, without any change of heart? Would he have called this "a good work" begun in them? No. He would have judged that there was no work of God at all begun in them yet; the mere name would have been nothing in his esteem.

Only look at the third chapter of this same epistle to the Philippians, to see what he thought of merely nominal Christians. "For many walk," he writes, "of whom I have told you often, and now tell you even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ, whose end is destruction, whose God is their belly, and whose glory is in their shame—who mind earthly things" (Philippians 3:19). Yet these "enemies of the cross of Christ," whose conduct drew tears from the apostle's eyes, were not heathen, but Christians in name. They had left their idols and professed themselves disciples of Christ.

But they were not real disciples. There was no change of heart in them. They showed no fruits of faith. And therefore the apostle can see no "good work," no happy change, wrought in them. Instead of rejoicing, he weeps over them.

No, there is no vital difference between a nominal Christian, and a heathen man. There is a difference, for a man cannot live in a Christian land without being influenced by what is around him. But they are alike in the main point: both need a change of heart; both need conversion to God. The change, therefore, which the world thinks "a pity" and that which Paul called "a good work," are the same. Which is right—Paul, or the world?

I might answer the question at once by saying, that the apostle must be right, because he wrote by inspiration of God; and this would be enough. But let me try to show you in some other ways that this is "a good work."

First, however, a very few words as to what the work is and whose it is. It is a change of heart—an inward, not an outward work, "a good work in you." Now, the conduct may be changed in many respects—without any change of heart. A drunkard may become sober because drink has done him harm. A thief may leave off stealing, from fear of the prison. A careless man may begin to pay some attention to religion merely to keep conscience quiet. But, for all this, the heart may still be just what it was. Where the heart is changed, the conduct will certainly be changed too—but this does not always hold good the other way.

Suppose you had a wild apple tree growing in your garden merely for show, for the sake of its green leaves and pretty blossoms. If you wished to improve its beauty, you would take your knife at the proper time of year and trim it; a dead branch would be taken off here; a weak shoot would be cut out there, and next year you would have the pleasure of seeing your tree look much better, the shape more handsome, the leaves and blossoms more abundant. But suppose you wished to have good apples from your tree, what would you do then? In that case you would act quite differently. You would go to a tree of some choice sort and take a shoot from it and graft it upon your tree; and then, if all went on well, you would in due time have a crop of beautiful apples from the tree which used to bear nothing but crab apples.

Much like this is that spiritual change which is called by Paul "a good work." It is an inward work, a change of heart, the grafting in of a new disposition. It is a change from darkness to light, from evil to good, from Satan to God. Fruit always accompanies such a change: real fruit, the fruit of holiness; not the leaves and blossoms of an empty profession, not merely a little outward amendment of habits. The man has now new views and new principles. He acts from new motives and is governed by new la,ws. "The law of his God is in his heart" (Psalm 37:31).

This change is God's work—and His alone. "He who has begun a good work in you" is God. This is the special work of the Holy Spirit. Man's words, arguments, persuasions, may now and then, even of themselves, bring about some change in the conduct—but never a change of heart. They are useful as means, but the whole power is of God.

So much for what and whose the work is—it is a change of heart, wrought by the Holy Spirit. Now let me try to show that it is "a good work."

If you were very poor and by some means became rich—would you not call the change a change for the better, "a good work"? Or if you had long been ill and a new medicine were given to you, which reached the seat of your disease and wrought a cure—would you not call this "a good work" in you? Or again, if you were chained hand and foot in a dungeon, and one came and struck off your chains and opened the prison doors and set you free—would not this too be "a good work"?

But all this, and more, takes place when the great change is wrought in the soul.

The man was poor before, "wretched, miserable, and poor, blind, and naked" (Revelation 3:17); but now he gains a share in "the unsearchable riches of Christ" (Ephesians 3:8). 

He was sick, sick unto death, with the leprosy of sin; but now the blood of Jesus Christ, the true balm of Gilead, is applied to his soul, and he is made whole of that plague.

He was in prison, shut up under condemnation, fast bound by sin and Satan; but now he is set free, and brought into "the glorious liberty of the children of God" (Romans 8:21). 

Is not this then "a good work," which makes the poor, rich; and the sick, whole; and sets the prisoner free?

But it does yet more. It gives life to the dead, for every soul is spiritually dead until born again of the Spirit. It finds a man the slave of Satan—it makes him a child of God. And not only a child but an heir; "if children, then heirs—heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him, that we may be also glorified together" (Romans 8:17). Yes! Suffering and glory, both are his inheritance— some suffering that he would have escaped if this change had not been wrought: that which arises from the reproach of Christ and from the struggle with sin. But even suffering such as this, is better than worldly joy—better, happier, and safer. He suffers with Christ; and so different does this make the suffering seem, that he is able to say with the apostle, "I am filled with comfort. I am exceedingly joyful in all our tribulation" (2 Corinthians 7:4). 

His lot is not all suffering—far from it; much comfort and peace are given him, and many happy moments. Above all, this suffering is the path to glory: "If we endure, we shall also reign with Him" (2 Timothy 2:12). His whole lot is now bound up with Christ, for time and eternity. Had he continued as he once was, he must have received the wages of sin—death and eternal damnation. Now eternal life is his, the gift of God through Jesus Christ (Romans 6:23). Oh, happy change! Oh, good work! How true it is that "godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come" (2 Timothy 4:8).

But let us look at an instance or two. Take the case of a man who has lived in sin until late in life. His youth was spent in ungodliness, and his manhood too. He began to go down the hill of life, and sinned still; gray hairs came on him, and still no change. Moved by no persuasion, alarmed by no warning, softened by no mercies—it seemed as if nothing could hinder, but he must die as he had lived. At length it pleased the God of all long-suffering to touch his heart by the Spirit—and the good work was begun in him, grace wrought within; he repented, turned, sought God in Christ, became a new creature, began to live to God, and at length died in the faith of Jesus.

Was not this "a good work?" Can you deny it? Can you doubt it? There was joy for it in the presence of the angels of God; was it not good?

Take another case. See that youth, just growing into a man. He is not like other young men. Though lively and cheerful and ready to join them in many things—he does not join them in all things. He will have nothing to do with what is sinful, idle, or vain. The laugh is often against him, but he keeps firm; and his companions, though they do not say so, think all the better of him for it. He does many things which they neglect. He reads his Bible and is not ashamed of being known to pray. He even tries to do good to others and often drops a kind word of advice here and there, as he finds opportunity, trying to win them to a right course.

But with him it is not words and nothing else. His religion is not mere talk. If you inquire into his conduct, you hear little but good. His father blesses him when he mentions his name; tears of grateful joy fill his mother's eyes as she speaks of him; there is not one in the household who has not a good word for him. His master finds him diligent and attentive; the neighbors wish their sons were like him; the young men of his own age, laugh at him as they may, have not the face to say anything against him. "Oh!" say they, "he's a good sort of fellow enough, only he's a bit of a saint."

I do not mean to say that this young man is perfect—far from it. He has his faults, and no one knows it better than himself. But he has chosen the good part, and given his early youth to God; as young as he is, he loves his Savior. Already he is useful to others. You will find him on the Lord's day in the Sunday school, where, once a scholar perhaps—he is now a teacher; and if you look closely into the matter, you will probably find part of his week-day leisure spent in things of the same kind. Thus he does good already, and he promises to be more useful still as he gets older—one of those who are a blessing to society.

Now, what is it that makes this young man so different to most around him? They have been perhaps to the same school, attended the same church, and had equal advantages at home; yet how different they are! Whence is it? The work of grace has been begun in him; the Holy Spirit has given him a new heart. Is not this "a good work"? Putting aside the future altogether and not now taking into account the question of Heaven or Hell—is not this good? Would you not rather have this young man for your son, than one of the worldly and thoughtless? Is it not better and happier to spend early life so, than as most young men spend it?

Take one more case, a solemn one. Come with me into that still room—tread softly, for it is the chamber of death. Let us join the sad group that stands round the bed. Who lies there? Ah, it is a pleasant sight, though sad. There is no sadness in the sick man's face, but peace, sweet peace, "the peace of God which surpasses all understanding." Traces there are of suffering; the frame is wasted; the face is pale and worn; the features are sharp—but there is a look you cannot mistake: that man has peace within. Hark! He speaks—very low, for his voice is feeble, and his cough frequent. Every ear is bent to catch what he says. What is it? "I know that my Redeemer lives." "I know in whom I have believed." "To depart and to be with Christ is far better." "Even so, come, Lord Jesus!" And look—nay, we cannot see, but faith can almost realize the sight—Heaven is opened to receive him, and angels are waiting around his bed to carry his ransomed spirit to the presence of God!

He would not have died thus—had no change of heart taken place in him. It was the good work wrought within by the Holy Spirit that brought him to this—the good work begun, continued, and completed in his soul. Oh, who can doubt, when it comes to this, that it is "a good work" indeed?

Ask any in whom this change has taken place, whether it is not "a good work." They must know more of it than anyone else. Go to any serious Christian you know—a person not of words, but of deeds—one who, though he makes no secret of his religion—yet is not a mere professor, his whole life showing him to be in earnest; ask him whether this is not "a good work." I can almost guess what he will say. "A good work? Yes, the best of works! I bless God it was ever wrought in me, for it was His doing alone. I was never happy until then; I could not be, for I did not know God. I am indeed a poor sinful creature still (I did not know that, until God taught me), but now I can look to Jesus as my Savior; now I can come to God as my Father, and I believe that by His grace I have laid hold on Him who is mighty to save, and that He will never fail me. A good work? The best wish I can have for you is that you may know it to be good in your own heart."

He might not say exactly this, but I think he would say something like it; and, whatever he might say, you could almost see by his look what he thought; his glistening eye and earnest face and look of grateful emotion would say clearly, "It is a good work!"

And it may be that he would give you another proof. Perhaps he would not let you go without saying something to you about yourself. Now what would this show? Surely it would be a further proof that he thought the work a good one; for if not good, why would he wish it to take place in you? Nay, it would show more; it would itself be a proof that the work is good. For we seldom care much about others, and never at all about their souls—until the work of grace is begun in us. And must not that work be good which makes us unselfish and leads us to seek the good of others?

Reader, I refer you to all in whom the work of grace has been begun, to bear witness whether it be not good. They must be able to judge, for they can probably remember the time when the work was not begun in themselves, and therefore they know both states, the old and the new. Ask any of them, even the most tried and afflicted Christian you can find. I am content to leave the answer to him.

I have yet one more witness to bring forward to prove my point—yourself. I will suppose you to be one in whom the great change has not at present taken place—yet I call upon you to say whether it be not a good work. You cannot indeed speak from experience, but you can at least state your opinion. Now what do you honestly think? Is this a good work—or a bad one? Is it a pity when a person becomes religious—or is it a happy thing? You may yourself have spoken of it in such a way as I mentioned at first, but perhaps that is not your real opinion after all.

Look a little deeper into the matter. Think of life and death and time and eternity; think of sin, judgment, God, Heaven, Hell; consider whether you yourself are really happy, or ever have been. Consider whether there has not always been something lacking, a worm in the bud; look forward to what is to come. Give some serious thought to things of this kind and then say whether that change by which the heart is turned to God, is a good work or not. In your secret thoughts, you know it is. You have no doubt at all about it. You may talk and laugh and jest and argue on the other side—but what does conscience say? You know all the while on which side the truth lies.

Now if so, then why do you not seek that this good work may be done in you? Though God alone can do it, you may seek it; and He has expressly told you to do so and told you with a promise: "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives; and he who seeks, finds; and to him who knocks, it will be opened" (Matthew 7:7-8). 

Do not imagine that no work, no change, is needed—or that you can be religious and happy and saved without one. This cannot be. You, like all the rest of men, were born with a heart set against God, and a new heart you must have: "You must be born again" (John 3:7). The case stands thus. Here is a work that must take place in you, if you would be saved; it is a good work; a thousand proofs show it to be so, and not one can be brought forward to prove it bad. It is good for time—and good for eternity; it makes people happy here—and happy forever hereafter.

This work God the Holy Spirit alone can do. But the Holy Spirit is promised to all who ask, and you are not only invited but commanded to apply. So the case stands. Will you not ask? Will you lose all, for lack of seeking? Will you choose rather to go on as you are?

Alas! That will be but for a little while. A change must come. Death will bring a change, if grace does not. Oh, what a change for those in whom no work of grace has ever been done! Dear reader, think better of it. Repent truly of your sins; seek the blood of Jesus to make you clean; pray for the Holy Spirit to begin "a good work" in your soul; pray like one who wants what he asks for; pray in the all-prevailing name of Jesus; and pray in faith, believing His own gracious word, that God will give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him (Luke 11:13).