The Watchman!

Edward Griffin (1770—1837)
 

Ezekiel 33:7, 8
"Son of man, I have made you a watchman for the house of Israel; so hear the word I speak and give them warning from me. When I say to the wicked, 'O wicked man, you will surely die,' and you do not speak out to dissuade him from his ways, that wicked man will die for his sin, and I will hold you accountable for his blood!"

Then the office of a watchman is responsible and solemn indeed, and they who sustain it must carry to the ears of sinners those denunciations of death which the word of God contains. The text imports that they will be tempted to keep back the evil tidings, for fear of distressing and offending those they love. And such temptations are often felt. It is no pleasure to a tender watchman to excite pain and complaint. It was no comfort to the prophet that he was forced to be a man of strife; and sometimes he was pressed so hard by frowns and rebuffs, that he sank under them and said, he would no more speak in the name of the Lord.

It is impossible for a minister to deliver the whole message of God without giving offence to some. And the reason is, that the character and destiny of sinners are such as they cannot bear to hear described. The truth is, that Heaven and earth are at variance. The world is not as it was made, nor as it ought to be. It has revolted from God; and God esteems the character of unregenerate men as bad, and is as angry with them, as any watchman ever represented.

Else why is every page of his word filled with solemn accusations and complaints, which call forth resentments against this book more than against any other book on earth?

Why is it that every eye, as soon as it is opened, sees this controversy to be as real as the existence of God?

Why was this beautiful paradise changed to a valley of tears, to be chastened with griefs and shaken with tempests?

Why did a view of divine wrath against sin, press out the bloody sweat of Gethsemane? Did not the agonies of Calvary show that God was angry with men?

If all these proofs fail to strike, one is at hand which, one would think, could not be resisted. Why is it that when sinners die, God puts them into an eternal Hell? Does this evince no anger, or anger less dreadful than the watchmen represent? It evinces anger greater than human tongue ever described or human heart conceived. Settle it then, that Heaven and earth are at variance, and that God has a controversy with men.

Under these circumstances he sends forth his ambassadors, (whom by another figure he calls watchmen,) to assert his claims, to justify his ways to men, to convince them that he is right and they are wrong, at the same time to make overtures for reconciliation and to press the invitations of heavenly mercy. Now some sinners seem to expect that these ambassadors, instead of maintaining the honor of their king, will take the part of a revolted world against him, will sigh and condole with them as with poor injured beings, and will soften his charges and relax his requirements as being too severe. But how could they expect this? Would not any ambassador from an earthly court, who should thus betray the honor of his king, be despised by a universal world? And why should you require the ambassadors of the heavenly king to be the basest of mankind? Some who live in open sin, and others who cannot be prevailed upon to lift one cry for mercy during the week, but spend their breath in profaning the divine names and reproaching religion; when they come to the house of God, cannot bear to hear anything but the soothing tones of mercy and peace. But what have they to do with peace?

The natural heart wishes to be left in the undisturbed possession of its own pleasures, and to be solaced with self-esteem and with the hopes of future bliss. And because God spoils this self-esteem by his reproaches, and disturbs these pleasures by his commands, and crushes these hopes by his threatenings, therefore "the carnal mind is enmity against God." And in proportion as the watchmen disturb its pride, its pleasures, and its hopes—the carnal mind is enmity against them.

It would be well pleased to pursue its own pleasures unaccused of sin, and soothed with the hope of future blessedness. But to be charged with rebellion, to be urged to relinquish its dearest idols, to have its peace assailed by the prophecy of evils to come, this it cannot bear!

My unhappy friends, as one of the watchmen I declare to you that it is not my pleasure to give you pain. Could you point out any way in which I could disquiet you less, which would comport with the duty I owe to God and with tenderness to your immortal interests, and for which you yourselves would not reproach me another day, I would gladly spare you. I have not desired the woeful day, O Lord, you know! But you see from our text that the responsibility of a watchman is great, trembling with presentiment of a judgment to come; that a serious account is to be taken of him, and a strict search made upon him for the blood of souls.

I therefore dare not amuse you with softer tones, and neglect to warn you of the sins of your heart and the retributions of eternity!

True, God is merciful, but he is also holy and just.

True, a Savior's invitations, as they proceed from the throne of love, melt on every angel's ear; and all the enchanting sounds of grace and tenderness ought to be proclaimed on earth. But other sounds have proceeded from the lips of God.

True, religion is sweet; but a poor condemned sinner has something more to do than to keep holidays and sing along the road to Heaven. He has first to settle a heavy account with his offended Judge. And this will cost him many a heartache and many a bitter tear. Though religion is pleasant, the entrance into it is gloomy, and gloomy things must come to his ears and to his heart. A hardened sinner does not need so much to be built up, as to be pulled down; not so much to believe that he may be pardoned, as that he needs pardon; not so much that there is a physician, as that he is sick.

You may hold up the remedy and descant on divine mercy, and until men feel that they are undone, they will vacantly gaze at the pretty display, smile in your face, and think no more of it.

You may tell them of the joys of religion, and they will answer, If this is all you have to say, our own tastes assure us that we can be happier in other things.

Or if the mind is convinced, a conviction of the joys of religion, without a sense of guilt and ruin, will never make the sinner die, as Paul did "when the commandment came." It may exhilarate, it may draw tears, it may produce carnal religion and make him live the stronger. It may enlist his selfishness on the side of religion, may prevent him from openly opposing it, may induce him to put on a profession and form of a thing deemed profitable; but it will never bring him to the foot of the cross, to lift the cries of a dying sinner for mercy. Christ is the only door by which men enter into eternal life; and none will enter by this way, but those who feel their guilt and ruin. Without these apprehensions one may have a blind, selfish religion; but a full exhibition of these truths is necessary:
to prevent a thousand deceptions,
to make judicious Christians,
to point to the very spot to which the remedy is to be applied,
and to state the precise good for which application to Christ is to be made.

Had not the terrors of the law been needful, they would not have been displayed on every page of the Bible, nor would the apostles have used this motive to persuade men.

In the process of bringing sinners to Christ, the several successive operations of instruction, awakening, conviction, and conversion are produced by the instrumentality of solemn, soul-humbling, as well as comforting truths.

For instruction there must be a display of every part of God's character, not the least essential of which is his displeasure against sin.

For awakening the terrors of the law are manifestly necessary. We may fondly hope to see careless sinners overcome by the mercies of God, but experience proves that they are not so ingenuous—that they are made of sterner stuff. They are under the dominion of selfishness, and you must ordinarily touch their dearest sins to move them.

We must display the terrors of the law to produce conviction also—to impress sinners with a view of God's character and their own—to show them the dreadful nature of sin, the extent of their guilt and ruin, and their perishing need of a Savior. In the law they read both their character and doom. And when the watchmen describe these in the most terrifying and humbling terms, they are only the organs by which God utters his law. A mere exhibition of mercy is not sufficient for conviction. How many sinners will sit and weep at a description of Christ's sufferings and the mercies of God, and by these mercies and tears encourage themselves to live without God in the world, and never think of crying, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" And do not these persons need to know something of a condemning law? True, holy love is too unselfish to be excited by fear; but it is not love that is first to be produced. The mind must be awakened and convicted of its sin, before it will love as redeemed sinners do.

Now what means can have a greater tendency to convict a sinner of his guilt, ruin, and helplessness, than plainly to describe to him his guilt, ruin, and helplessness, drawing proofs"
from the whole character of God,
from the holiness and extent of his law,
from the many obligations which sinners have violated,
and from the unutterable punishment which they deserve?

A deep sense of these solemn truths is the very conviction desired; and one would think that a clear statement of the truths themselves would be the readiest way to make them felt. True, the mere statement will not convict, nor will the statement of any other truth convict, without the action of the Spirit. But what part does the Spirit take in this matter? He prepares the heart to be affected with the truths of God, and thus enables them to take hold of the mind and become motives to it. He never dissolves the connection between action and motives.

Those truths then which are best adapted to move the mind as it is moved under conviction, are the means by which conviction is to be produced. And what truths can these be, but those whose impression is the very conviction desired?

God may make use of any truth or any event to awaken the mind. Sometimes a rash word has been used to impress him who uttered it, or him who heard it; and sometimes a sinner has been roused to a view of his misery by observing the comforts of Christians. But whatever truth or circumstance may be employed to awaken the mind, conviction of these soul-humbling truths must follow, or the impression comes to nothing. And what way is so ready to produce the conviction as to urge the truths themselves? Why take a more circuitous route and not come right to the heart? This direct course, you say, will give offence. But to whom? To none but those on whom milder themes have been tried in vain. Good men will not be displeased. Those only will, who have resisted all gentler motives and need some severer remedy in the last resort.

And are their complaints reasonable and to be heeded? They are not reasonable. They will not yield to milder arguments, and yet they refuse to hear arguments of a graver cast. They pretend that by soothing accents they might be more affected, and yet by soothing accents they refuse to be won. Whether Sinai thunders, or Calvary weeps—it is all the same to them. They have chosen their own way and are determined not to be disturbed in the way they have chosen. But would it be kind to them, would it be faithful to God, to gratify this fatal wish?

Nor is it unreasonably degrading to sinners to hear their character and fate described. If they will degrade themselves by sin, the eternal God has a right to accuse and threaten; and they may know that he will not be scrupulous to execute, the pride of sinners notwithstanding. And the same God has a right to command his ministers to denounce his wrath. And when they obey, and tremblingly lay their hands on the bolts of his thunder, they do no more than he commands them.

When they solemnly declare that men are sinners, and that impenitent sinners will be consigned to eternal fire, they say no more than the truth which God has seen fit to reveal, not to torment before the time, but in tender love to men; which he has strictly commanded his ministers to proclaim, and which he has promised to bless. They say no more than the prophets, than Christ and his apostles said. These heavenly messengers took no circuitous route to come at the point, but with the simplicity and decision, they declared the controversy which God had with men, and from lips warm with prayer poured forth vehement curses against the wicked. Yes, the same lips on which the strains of immortal love delighted to play—which when opening on the theme of redeeming grace, breathed the fragrance of a thousand isles—when they came to direct their breath against sin, would make an eruption which threatened to bury nations under the burning lava. They did not always dress their God in terrors; they clothed him also in the softer robes of mercy. All the attributes of God should be displayed, because all are useful for the conviction of men.

The last step in the process of bringing sinners to Christ is conversion; and for this the same truths are needful. True, fear will not produce holy love, nor will the hope of finding religion happier than sin, produce it. Nor will addresses to any of the passions, nor will any form of moral persuasion produce it. Did not men need a radical change of heart—did their opposition to God arise from mere misconception of his character, then a representation of his mercy might remove prejudice and the work would be done. But no, they have no relish for his character after every explanation; and therefore not moral persuasion, and nothing but the Spirit working a thorough change in their temper, can produce love.

How then does the Spirit produce it? Not by convincing the sinner that he might make a profitable bargain by exchanging the pleasures of sin for those of religion, but by bringing a condemned rebel to submit and to fall in love with the glories of a holy and redeeming God. This is done by acting in his proper office. And what is his proper office? Hear and remember. "When he is come, the Spirit will reprove the world of sin and of righteousness and of judgment." And how did Paul arrive at love? "When the commandment came sin revived and I died." The truth is, love is to be considered not merely in its own simple form, but as the basis of repentance and faith.

By what motives does the Spirit lead the mind to repentance and faith? Repentance is exercised in view of all the glories of God's character, particularly his holiness, justice, and displeasure against sin; in view of the purity and justice of his law, the exceeding sinfulness of sin, and its desert of eternal punishment. These then are the motives by which the Spirit excites repentance, and therefore these solemn and pride debasing truths are the best adapted means which men can use to excite repentance.

And what are the motives by which the Spirit awakens faith? This grace is exercised in view of the holiness of God and of his law, the evil of sin, the ruined and helpless state of the sinner, and his need of a Savior: in view also of the mercy and truth of God and the fullness and glories of the Redeemer. These then are the motives by which the Spirit excites faith. These soul-humbling and God-exalting truths of course are the best adapted means which ministers can use for this end. And does not a view of the demerits of sin have some influence to excite love also in its own proper form? Yes, even love.

Behold the pardoned sinner washing her Savior's feet with her tears, and hear him say that to whom much is forgiven, the same loves much. A view of the evil of sin will forever heighten the love of the redeemed. Therefore a judicious exhibition of this truth will serve to promote love on earth.

For these several reasons I dare not suppress or soften those sublime and terrible truths which the divine law pronounces, lest my God should take me away; and with my present convictions I never shall—unless indeed upon one condition—and on this I will make the agreement with you. If you will all, my dear hearers, become the friends of God, I will sound his threatenings against you no more. I wish it were thus. I confess I am weary of this gloomy part of my duty. I would much rather, from the fountain of the promises, pour into your yielding hearts the consolations of the gospel. Come be the friends of God, and I will give you pain no more. But while many of you delay, neither tenderness to you nor the dread responsibility of a watchman, will allow me to suppress these solemn truths.

Do any yet plead that they might be more influenced by tender topics? Prove it then by being influenced by them. By the tenderest accents of mercy you have been often addressed. Arguments have been brought, as was fit, from the yearnings of immortal love and from the bloody dust of Calvary. Every wound of a dying Christ has pleaded with you, and a thousand melting invitations warm from Heaven have mingled their sounds about your ears. Prove then your doctrine true, by turning to God. Mercy has exhausted her words upon you, and if she would continue to plead, she must repeat the same words again. If then such words can move you, why, my beloved friends, do you not come? What obstruction is there in the way? O come. Else, and if you still complain that harsher means are used, what a strange appearance will you make in the eyes of Heaven! Refusing to be melted by the voice of mercy, yet unwilling to hear the voice of justice! A king finds some of his subjects in unreasonable rebellion and condemns them to the rack, but in mercy sends his servants with offers of pardon upon condition that they lay down their arms. They reject the offer, and then complain that accusations and threatenings are added. "Let the king," they say, change his words, or let his servants change them. Perhaps we might consent if softer terms were used." Presumptuous men! And did you think to confer a favor on the king by accepting pardon? Know that he has no need of you, and it was in mere pity that he made the offer. And since you will not accept of mercy, then receive your sentence: You shall surely die!

Now then, my friends, my reasons are all before you, and I hope to be justified by your conscience while I proceed to execute the commission given me in the text. God has said to the wicked, "O wicked man, you shall surely die!" and the watchmen are commanded upon their peril to sound the alarm. I therefore solemnly declare in the name of God, that there is a dreadful war waged by all the divine perfections against sin—that all the power which supports the rights of Heaven has taken the field—that every glory of the Godhead points a livid lightning at your bosom—that the inviolable honor of Heaven's King is enlisted, and he is coming down to crush a rebellious world.

In equally solemn tones I declare, as my office bids me, and call every angel to witness, that in this war God is right and the world is wrong. This great truth, while I live I will declare, and hope to pronounce it with my dying breath. God is right and the world is wrong. I wish it were set forth in broad letters upon every forehead, and with a pen dipped in Heaven were written upon every heart. I wish it were posted in sunbeams at the corner of every street, and were graven with the point of a diamond on the rock forever. God is right and the world is wrong. Let this great truth pass from land to land to prostrate nations of unknown tongues, and rolling through every climate, bring an humbled world to their Redeemer's feet!

Standing on my watch tower, I am commanded, if I see anything of evil coming, to give warning. I again solemnly declare that I do see evil approaching. I see a storm collecting in the heavens; I discover the commotion of the troubled elements; I hear the roar of distant winds. Heaven and earth seem mingled in conflict; and I cry to those for whom I watch: A storm! a storm! get into the ark, or you are swept away!

Ah what is it I see? I see a world convulsed and falling to ruins; the sea burning like oil; nations rising from under ground; the sun falling; the damned in chains before the bar, and some of my poor hearers with them. I see them cast from the battlement of the judgment seat. Oh my God, the eternal pit has closed upon them forever!