For Whom Did Christ Die?

A Sermon Delivered on Lord's-day Morning, September 6th, 1874, by Charles Spurgeon, at the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington.

"When we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly." Romans 5:6

In this verse the human race is described as a sick man, whose disease is so far advanced that he is altogether without strength: no power remains in his system to throw off his mortal malady, nor does he desire to do so; he could not save himself from his disease if he would, and would not if he could.

I have no doubt that the apostle had in his eye the description of the helpless infant given by the prophet Ezekiel; it was an infant--an infant newly born--an infant deserted by its mother before the necessary offices of tenderness had been performed; left unwashed, unclothed, unfed--a prey to certain death under the most painful circumstances; forlorn, abandoned, hopeless. Our race is like the nation of Israel, its whole head is sick, and its whole heart faint.

Such, unconverted men, are you! Only there is this darker shade in your picture, that your condition is not only your calamity, but your fault. In other diseases men are grieved at their sickness, but this is the worst feature in your case, that you love the evil which is destroying you. In addition to the pity which your case demands, no little blame must be measured out to you: you are without will for that which is good, your "cannot" means "will not," your inability is not physical but moral, not that of the blind who cannot see for lack of eyes, but of the willingly ignorant who refuse to look.

While man is in this condition Jesus interposes for his salvation. "When we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly;" "while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us," according to "his great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in trespasses and sins."

The pith of my sermon will be an endeavor to declare that the reason of Christ's dying for us did not lie in our excellence; but where sin abounded grace did much more abound, for the people for whom Jesus died were viewed by him as the reverse of good, and he came into the world to save those who are guilty before God, or, in the words of our text, "Christ died for the ungodly."

Now to our business:

we shall dwell first upon the fact, "Christ died for the ungodly;"

then we shall consider the fair inferences therefrom;

thirdly, we shall proceed to think and speak of the proclamation of this simple but wondrous truth.

 

I. First, here is THE FACT, "Christ died for the ungodly." Never did the human ear listen to a more astounding and yet cheering truth. Angels desire to look into it, and if men were wise they would ponder it night and day. Jesus, the Son of God, himself God over all, the infinitely glorious One, Creator of Heaven and earth--out of love to men stooped to become a man and die. Christ, the thrice holy God, the pure-hearted man, in whom there was no sin and could be none--espoused the cause of the wicked. Jesus, whose doctrine makes deadly war on sin, whose Spirit is the destroyer of evil, whose whole self abhors iniquity, whose second advent will prove his indignation against transgression--yet undertook the cause of the impious, and even unto death pursued their salvation. The Lord Jesus, though he had no part or lot in the fall and the sin which has arisen out of it--has died to redeem us from its penalty, and, like the psalmist, he can cry, "Then I restored that which I took not away." Let all holy beings judge whether this is not the miracle of miracles!

Christ, the name given to our Lord, is an expressive word; it means "Anointed One," and indicates that he was sent upon a divine errand, commissioned by supreme authority. The Lord Jehovah said of old, "I have laid help upon one who is mighty, I have exalted one chosen out of the people;" and again, "I have given him as a covenant to the people, a leader and commander to the people."

Jesus was both set apart to this work, and qualified for it by the anointing of the Holy Spirit. He is no unauthorized Savior, no amateur deliverer, but an ambassador clothed with unbounded power from the great King, a Redeemer with full credentials from the Father. It is this ordained and appointed Savior who has "died for the ungodly." Remember this, you ungodly ones! Consider well who it was that came to lay down his life for such as you are.

The text says Christ died. He did a great deal besides dying, but the crowning act of his career of love for the ungodly, and that which rendered all the rest available to them, was his death for them. He actually died, not in fiction, but in fact. He laid down his life for us, breathing out his soul, even as other men do when they expire. That it might be indisputably clear that he was really dead, his heart was pierced with the soldier's spear, and forthwith came out blood and water. The Roman governor would not have allowed the body to be removed from the cross had he not been duly certified that Jesus was indeed dead. His relatives and friends who wrapped him in linen and laid him in Joseph's tomb, were sorrowfully sure that all that lay before them was a corpse. The Christ really died, and in saying that, we mean that he suffered all the pangs incident to death; only he endured much more and worse, for his was a death of peculiar pain and shame, and was not only attended by the forsaking of man, but by the departure of his God. That cry, "My God, my God! why have you forsaken me?" was the innermost blackness of the thick darkness of death.

Our Lord's death was penal, inflicted upon him by divine justice: and rightly so, for on him lay our iniquities, and therefore on him must lay the suffering. "It pleased the Father to bruise him; he has put him to grief." He died under circumstances which made his death most terrible. Condemned to a felon's gibbet, he was crucified amid a mob of jesters, with few sympathizing eyes to gaze upon him; he bore the gaze of malice and the glance of scorn; he was hooted and jeered by a ribald throng, who were cruelly inventive in their taunts and blasphemies. There he hung, bleeding from many wounds, exposed to the sun, burning with fever, and devoured with thirst, under every circumstance of contumely, pain, and utter wretchedness. His death was of all deaths the most deadly death, and emphatically "Christ died."

But the pith of the text comes here, that "Christ died for the ungodly"; not for the righteous, not for the reverent and devout, but for the ungodly. Look at the original word, and you will find that it has the meaning of "impious, irreligious, and wicked." Our translation is by no means too strong, but scarcely expressive enough. To be ungodly, or godless, is to be in a dreadful state, but as use has softened the expression, perhaps you will see the sense more clearly if I read it, "Christ died for the impious," for those who have no reverence for God. Christ died for the godless, who, having cast off God, cast off with him all love for that which is right. I do not know a word that could more fitly describe the most wicked of mankind than the original word in this place, and I believe it is used on purpose by the Spirit of God to convey to us the truth, which we are always slow to receive, that Christ did not die because men were good, or would be good, but died for them as ungodly--or, in other words, "he came to seek and to save those who were lost."

Observe, then, that when the Son of God determined to die for men, he viewed them as ungodly, and far from God by wicked works. In casting his eye over our race he did not say, "Here and there I see some of nobler mold, pure, truthful, truth-seeking, brave, unselfish, and just; and therefore, because of these choice ones, I will die for this fallen race." No! but looking on them all, he whose judgment is infallible returned this verdict, "They are all gone out of the way; they are together become unprofitable; there is none that does good, no, not one!" Putting them down at that estimate, and nothing better, Christ died for them. He did not please himself with some rosy dream of a superior race yet to come, when the age of iron should give place to the age of gold--some halcyon period of human development, in which civilization would banish crime, and wisdom would conduct man back to God. Full well he knew that, left to itself, the world would grow worse and worse, and that by its very wisdom it would darken its own eyes. It was not because a golden age would come by natural progress, but just because such a thing was impossible, unless he died to procure it, that Jesus died for a race which, apart from him, could only develop into deeper damnation.

Jesus viewed us as we really were, not as our pride imagines us to be. He saw us to be without God, enemies to our own Creator, dead in trespasses and sins, corrupt, and set on harm, and even in our occasional cry for good, searching for it with blinded judgment and prejudiced heart--so that we put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter. He saw that in us was no good thing, but every possible evil, so that we were lost--utterly, helplessly, hopelessly lost apart from him. Yet viewing us as in that graceless and Godless plight and condition, he died for us!

I would have you remember that the view under which Jesus beheld us was not only the true one, but, for us, the kindly one; because had it been written that Christ died for the better sort, then each troubled heart would have inferred "he did not die for me." Had his death been merited by our honesty--then where would the dying thief be? Had his death been merited by our purity--then where would the sinful woman be? Had his death been merited by our courageous faithfulness--then how would it have fared with the apostles, for they all forsook him and fled? There are times when the bravest man trembles lest he should be found a coward, the most unselfish frets about the selfishness of his heart, and the most pure is staggered by his own impurity. Where, then, would have been hope for one of us, if the gospel had been only another form of law, and the benefits of the cross had been reserved as the rewards of our virtues? The gospel does not come to us as a reward for virtue, but it presents us with forgiveness for sin. It is not a reward for health, but a medicine for sickness. Therefore, to meet all cases, it comes to us at our worst, and, like the good Samaritan with the wounded traveler, it comes to us where we are.

"Christ died for the ungodly" is a great net which takes in even the leviathan sinner; and of all the innumerable creeping sinners which swarm the sea of sin, there is not one kind which this great net does not encompass.

Let us note well that in this condition, lay the need of our race that Christ should die. I do not see how it could have been written, "Christ died for the good." To what end for the good? Why do they need his death? If men are perfect, does God need to be reconciled to them? Was he ever opposed to holy beings? Impossible!

On the other hand, were the good ever the enemies of God? If such there are--then they are of necessity his friends. If man is by nature just with God, to what end should the Savior die? "The just for the unjust" I can understand; but the "just dying for the just" were a double injustice--an injustice that the just should be punished at all, and another injustice that the just One should be punished for them. Oh no! If Christ died, it must be because there was a penalty to be paid for sin committed, hence he must have died for those who had committed sin. If Christ died, it must have been because "a fountain filled with blood" was necessary for the cleansing away of heinous stains; hence, it must have been for those who are defiled.

Suppose there should be found anywhere in this world an unfallen man--perfectly innocent of all actual sin, and free from any tendency to it, there would be a great cruelty in the crucifixion of the innocent Christ for such an individual. What need has he who Christ should die for him, when he has in his own innocence the right to live? If there is found on earth an individual who, notwithstanding some former slips and flaws, can yet, by future diligence, completely justify himself before God--then it is clear that there is no need for Christ to die for him. I would not insult him by telling him that Christ died for him, for he would reply to me, "Why should he? Cannot I make myself holy without him?" In the very nature of things it must be so, that if Christ Jesus dies--then he must die for the ungodly. Such agonies as his would not have been endured had there not been a cause, and what cause could there have been but sin?

Some have said that Jesus died as our example; but that is not altogether true. Christ's death is not absolutely an example for men, it was a march into a region of which he said, "You cannot follow me now." His life was our example, but not his death in all respects, for we are by no means bound to surrender ourselves voluntarily to our enemies as he did, but when persecuted in one city, we are bidden to flee to another. To be willing to die for the truth is a most Christly thing, and in that Jesus is our example; but into the winepress which he trod it is not ours to enter, the voluntary element which was peculiar to his death renders it inimitable, He said, "I lay down my life of myself; no man takes it from me, but I lay it down of myself." One word of his would have delivered him from his foes; he had but to say "Begone!" and the Roman guards must have fled like chaff before the wind. He died because he willed to do so; of his own accord he yielded up his spirit to the Father.

It must have been as an atonement for the guilty; it could not have been as an example, for no man is bound voluntarily to die. Both the dictates of nature, and the command of the law, require us to preserve our lives. "You shall not kill" means, "You shall not voluntarily give up your own life any more than take the life of another." Jesus stood in a special position, and therefore he died; but his example would have been complete enough without his death, had it not been for the peculiar office which he had undertaken. We may fairly conclude that Christ died for men who needed such a death; and, as the good did not need it for an example--and in fact it is not an example to them--he must have died for the ungodly.

The sum of our text is this--all the benefits resulting from the Redeemer's sin-atoning death, and from all the works that followed upon it, are for those who by nature are ungodly. His gospel is that sinners believing in him are saved. His sacrifice has put away sin from all who trust him, and, therefore, it was offered for those who had sin upon them before.

"He rose again for our justification," but certainly not for the justification of those who can be justified by their own works. He ascended on high, and we are told that he "received gifts for men, yes, for the rebellious also."

He lives to intercede, and Isaiah tells us that "He made intercession for the transgressors." The aim of his death, resurrection, ascension, and eternal life--is towards sinful men.

His death has brought pardon, but it cannot be pardon for those who have no sin--pardon is only for the guilty.

He is exalted on high "to give repentance," but surely not to give repentance to those who have never sinned, and have nothing to repent of. Repentance and forgiveness both imply previous guilt in those who receive them. Unless, then, these gifts of the exalted Savior are mere shams, they must be meant for the really guilty. From his side there flowed out water as well as blood--the water is intended to cleanse polluted nature, then certainly not the nature of the sinless, but the nature of the impure; and so both blood and water flowed for sinners who need the double purification.

The Holy Spirit regenerates men as the result of the Redeemer's death; and who can be regenerated but those who need a new heart and a right spirit? To regenerate the already pure and innocent would be ridiculous; regeneration is a work which:

creates life, where there was formerly death,

gives a heart of flesh, to those whose hearts were originally stone,

and implants the love of holiness, where sin once had sole dominion.

Conversion is also another gift which comes through his death, but does he turn those whose faces are already in the right direction? It cannot be. He converts the sinner from the error of his ways, he turns the disobedient into the right way, he leads back the stray sheep to the fold.

Adoption is another gift which comes to us by the cross. Does the Lord adopt those who are already his sons by nature? If they are God's children already--then what room is there for adoption? The grand act of divine love is that which takes those who are "children of wrath even as others," and by sovereign grace puts them among His children, and makes them "heirs of God, joint heirs with Jesus Christ."

Today I see the Good Shepherd in all the energy of his mighty love, going forth into the dreadful wilderness. For whom is he gone forth? For the ninety-nine who feed at home? No, but into the desert his love sends him, over hill and dale, to seek the one lost sheep which has gone astray.

Behold, I see him arousing his church, like a good housewife, to cleanse her house. With the broom of the law she sweeps, and with the candle of the Word she searches, and what for? For those bright new coined pieces fresh from the mint, which glitter safely in her purse? Assuredly not, but for that lost piece which has rolled away into the dust, and lies hidden in the dark corner.

Behold the grandest of all visions! I see the Eternal Father, himself, in the infinity of his love, going forth in haste to meet a returning child. And whom does he go to meet? The elder brother returning from the field, bringing his sheaves with him? An Esau, who has brought him savory meat such as his soul loves? A Joseph whose godly life has made him lord over all Egypt? Nay, the Father leaves his home to meet a returning prodigal, who has companied with harlots, and grovelled among swine, who comes back to him in disgraceful rags, and disgusting filthiness!

It is on a sinner's neck that the Father weeps.

It is on a guilty cheek that he sets his kisses.

It is for an unworthy one that the fatted calf is killed, and the best robe is worn, and the house is made merry with music and dancing.

Yes, tell it, and let it ring round earth and Heaven: Christ died for the ungodly! Mercy seeks the guilty; grace has to do with the ungodly and the wicked. The physician has not come to heal the healthy, but to heal the sick. The great philanthropist has not come to bless the rich and the great---but the captive and the prisoner. He puts down the mighty from their seats, for he is a stern leveler, but he has come to lift the beggar from the dunghill, and to set him among princes, even the princes of his people.

Sing then, with the holy Virgin, and let your song be loud and sweet, "He has filled the hungry with good things, but the rich he has sent away empty." "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptance, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners." "He is able to save to the uttermost, all who come unto God by him, seeing he ever lives to make intercession for them." O you guilty ones, believe in him and live.

 

II. Let us now consider THE PLAIN INFERENCES FROM THIS FACT. Let me have your hearts as well as your ears, especially those of you who are not yet saved, for I desire you to be blessed by the truths uttered; and oh, may the Spirit of God cause it to be so. It is clear that those of you who are ungodly--and if you are unconverted you are that--are in great danger. Jesus would not interpose his life and bear the bloody sweat and crown of thorns, and nails, and spear, and unmitigated scorn, and death itself, if there were not solemn need and imminent peril. There is danger, solemn danger, for you. You are under the wrath of God already, and you will soon die, and then, as surely as you live--you will be lost, and lost forever. As certain as the righteous will enter into everlasting life--you will be driven into everlasting punishment. The cross is the danger signal to you, it warns you that if God spared not his only Son, he will not spare you. It is the lighthouse set on the rocks of sin, to warn you that swift and sure destruction awaits you if you continue to rebel against the Lord. Hell is an awful place--or Jesus would not have needed to suffer such infinite agonies to save us from it.

It is also fairly to be inferred that out of this danger--only Christ can deliver the ungodly, and he can only deliver them through his death. If a less price than that of the life of the Son of God could have redeemed men, he would have been spared.

When a country is at war, and you see a mother give up her only boy to fight her country's battles--her only well-beloved, blameless son--you know that the battle must be raging very fiercely, and that the country is in stern danger. For, if she could find a substitute for him, though she gave all her wealth, she would lavish it freely to spare her darling. If she were certain that a bullet would find its target in his heart, she must have strong love for her country, and her country must be in dire necessity before she would bid him go.

In the same way, "God spared not his Son, but freely delivered him up for us all," there must have been a dreadful necessity for it. It must have stood thus: Jesus must die, or the sinner must, or justice must; and since justice could not, and the Father desired that the sinner should not--then Jesus must die; and so he did.

Oh, miracle of love! I tell you, sinners--you cannot help yourselves, nor can all the priests of Rome help you, let them perform their religious rituals as they may; Jesus alone can save, and that only by his sin-atoning death. There on the bloody tree hangs all man's hope; if you enter Heaven it must be by force of the incarnate God's bleeding out his life for you. You are in such peril that only the pierced hand can lift you out of it. Look to him, at once, I implore you, before the waters of death overflow your soul.

Then let it be noticed--and this is the point I want constantly to keep before your view--that Jesus died out of pure pity. He must have died out of the most gratuitous benevolence to the undeserving, because the ungodly character of those for whom he died could not have attracted him, but must have been repulsive to his holy soul. The impious, the godless--can Christ love these for their character? No, he loved them notwithstanding their sinfulness, loved them as creatures fallen and miserable, loved them according to the multitude of his lovingkindnesses and tender mercies--he loved them from pity, and not from admiration. Viewing them as ungodly--yet he loved them. This is extraordinary love!

I do not wonder that some people are loved by others, for they wear a potent charm in their countenances, their ways are winsome, and their characters charm you into affection; "but God commends his love towards us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." He looked at us, and there was not a solitary beauty spot upon us! We were covered with "wounds, and bruises, and putrefying sores," distortions, defilements, and pollutions; and yet, for all that, Jesus loved us. He loved us because he would love us; because his heart was full of pity, and he could not let us perish. Pity moved him to seek the most needy objects, that his love might display its utmost ability in lifting men from the lowest degradation, and putting them in the highest position of holiness and honor.

Observe another inference. If Christ died for the ungodly, this fact leaves the ungodly no excuse if they do not come to him, and believe in him unto salvation. Had it been otherwise they might have pleaded, "We are not fit to come." But you are ungodly, and since Christ died for the ungodly--then why not for you?

I hear the reply, "But I have been so very vile." Yes, you have been, but your sin is not worse than this word ungodly will compass. Christ died for those who were wicked, thoroughly wicked. The Greek word is so expressive that it must include your case, however wrongly you have acted.

"But I cannot believe that Christ died for such an ungodly one as I am," says one. Then, sir, I hold you to your words, and charge you with contradicting the Eternal God to his teeth, and making him a liar. Your statement calls God a liar. The Lord declares that "Christ died for the ungodly," and you say he did not, what is that but to call God a liar? How can you expect mercy, if you persist in such proud unbelief? Believe the divine revelation. Close in at once with the gospel. Forsake your sins and believe in the Lord Jesus, and you shall surely live.

The fact that Christ died for the ungodly, renders self-righteousness a folly. Why need a man pretend that he is good, if "Christ died for the ungodly"? We have an orphanage, and the qualification for our orphanage is that the child for whom admission is sought, shall be utterly destitute. I will suppose a widow trying to show to me and my fellow trustees that her boy is a fitting object for the charity; will she tell us that her child has a rich uncle? Will she enlarge upon her own capacities for earning a living? Why, this would be to argue against herself, and she is much too wise for that, I warrant you, for she knows that any such statements would damage, rather than serve her cause.

In the same way, sinner, do not pretend to be righteous, do not dream that you are better than others, for that is to argue against yourself. Prove that you are not by nature ungodly, and you prove yourself to be one for whom Jesus did not die. Jesus comes to make the ungodly godly, and the sinful holy--but the raw material upon which he works is described in the text not by its goodness but by its badness; it is for the ungodly that Jesus died.

"Oh, but if I felt!" Felt what? Felt something which would make you seem better? Then you would not so clearly come under the description here given. If you are destitute of good feelings, and thoughts, and hopes, and emotions, you are ungodly, and "Christ died for the ungodly." Believe in him and you shall be saved from that ungodliness.

"Well," cries out some Pharisaic moralist, "this is dangerous doctrine." How so? Would it be dangerous doctrine to say that physicians exercise their skill to cure sick people, and not healthy ones? Would that encourage sickness? Would that discourage health? You know better; you know that to inform the sick of a physician who can heal them is one of the best means for promoting their cure. If ungodly and impious men would take heart and run to the Savior, and by him become cured of impiety and ungodliness--then would not that be a good thing? Jesus has come to make the ungodly godly, the impious pious, the wicked obedient, and the dishonest upright. He has not come to save them in their sins, but from their sins; and this is the best of news for those who are diseased with sin. Self-righteousness is a folly, and despair is a crime--since Christ died for the ungodly. None are excluded hence but those who exclude themselves; this great gate is set so wide open that the very worst of men may enter, and you, dear hearer, may enter now.

I think it is also very evident from our text that when they are saved, the converted find no ground of boasting; for when their hearts are renewed and made to love God they cannot say, "See how good I am," because they were not so by nature; they were ungodly, and, as such, Christ died for them. Whatever goodness there may be in them after conversion, they ascribe it to the grace of God, since by nature they were alienated from God, and far removed from righteousness. If the truth of natural depravity is but known and felt, free grace must be believed in, and then all glorying is at an end.

This will also keep the saved ones from thinking lightly of sin. If God had forgiven sinners without an atonement--then they might have thought little of transgression, but now that pardon comes to them through the bitter griefs of their Redeemer they cannot but see it to be an exceeding great evil. When we look to Jesus dying on the cross we end our dalliance with sin, and utterly abhor the cause of such great suffering to so dear a Savior. Every wound of Jesus is an argument against sin. We never know the full evil of our iniquities--until we see what it cost the Redeemer to put them away.

Salvation by the death of Christ is the strongest conceivable promoter of all the things which are pure, honest, lovely, and holy. It makes sin so loathsome that the saved one cannot take up even its name without dread, "I will take away the name of Baal out of your mouth." The true Christian looks upon sin, as we would regard a knife rusted with gore, with which some villain had killed our mother, our wife, or our child. Could we play with it? Could we wear it as a jewel hung around our necks--or endure it in our sight?

No! Accursed thing--stained with the heart's blood of my beloved, I would gladly fling you into the bottomless abyss! Sin is that dagger which stabbed the Savior's heart, and henceforth it must be the abomination of every man who has been redeemed by his sin-atoning sacrifice.

To close this point. Christ's death for the ungodly is the grandest argument to make the ungodly love him when they are saved. To love Christ is the mainspring of obedience in men--how shall men be led to love him? If you would grow love, you must sow love. Go, then; and let men know the love of Christ to sinners, and they will, by grace, be moved to love him in return. No doubt all of us require to know the threatenings of the wrath of God; but that which soonest touches my heart is Christ's free love to an unworthy one like myself. When my sins seem blackest to me, and yet I know that through Christ's death I am forgiven, this blessed assurance melts me down,

"A bleeding Savior I have viewed,

And now I hate my sin!"

I have heard of a soldier who had been put in prison for drunkenness and insubordination several times, and he had been also flogged, but nothing improved him. At last he committed another offence, and brought before the commanding officer, who said to him, "My man, I have tried everything in the martial code with you, except shooting you; you have been imprisoned and whipped, but nothing has changed you. I am determined to try something else with you. You have caused us a great deal of trouble and anxiety, and you seem resolved to do so still; I shall, therefore, change my plans with you, and I shall neither fine you, flog you, nor imprison you. I will see what kindness will do, and therefore I fully and freely forgive you." The man burst into tears, for he reckoned on a number of lashes, and had steeled himself to bear them, but when he found he was to be forgiven, and set free, he said, "Sir, you shall not have to find fault with me again." Mercy won his heart.

Now, sinner, in that fashion God is dealing with you. Great sinners! Ungodly sinners! God says, "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are my ways your ways. I have threatened you, and you hardened your hearts against me. Therefore, come now, and let us reason together: though your sins are as scarlet, they shall are as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool."

"Well," says one, "I am afraid if you talk to sinners so they will go and sin more and more."

Yes, there are brutes everywhere, who can be so unnatural as to sin because grace abounds, but I bless God there is such a thing as the influence of love, and I am rejoiced that many feel the force of it, and yield to the conquering arms of amazing grace. The Spirit of God wins the day by such arguments as these. Love is the great battering-ram which opens gates of brass. When the Lord says, "I have blotted out your transgressions like a cloud, and like a thick cloud your iniquities," then the man is moved to repentance.

I can tell you hundreds and thousands of cases in which this infinite love has done all the good that morality itself could ask to have done; it has changed the heart and turned the entire current of the man's nature from sin to righteousness. The sinner has believed, repented, turned from his evil ways, and become zealous for holiness! Looking to Jesus he has felt his sin forgiven, and he has started up as a new man, to lead a new life. May God grant it may be so this morning, and he shall have all the glory of it.

 

III. So now we must close--and this is the last point, THE PROCLAMATION OF THIS FACT, that "Christ died for the ungodly." I would not mind if I were condemned to live fifty years more, and never to be allowed to speak but these five words, if I might be allowed to utter them in the ear of every man, and woman, and child who lives.

"CHRIST DIED FOR THE UNGODLY!" is the best message that even angels could bring to men. In the proclamation of this the whole church ought to take its share. Those of us who can address thousands, should be diligent to cry aloud, "Christ died for the ungodly!" But those of you who can only speak to one, or write a letter to one, must keep on at this, "Christ died for the ungodly." Shout it out, or whisper it out; print it in capitals, or write it in a lady's hand, "Christ died for the ungodly!" Speak it solemnly, it is not a thing for jest. Speak it joyfully; it is not a theme for sorrow, but for joy. Speak it firmly; it is an indisputable fact. Facts of science, as they call them, are always questioned--but this is unquestionable. Speak it earnestly; for if there be any truth which ought to arouse all a man's soul it is this: "Christ died for the ungodly!" Speak it where the ungodly live, and that is at your own house. Speak it also down in the dark corners of the city, in the haunts of debauchery, in the home of the thief, in the den of the depraved. Tell it in the jail; and sit down at the dying bed and read in a tender whisper, "Christ died for the ungodly!"

When you pass the harlot in the street, do not give a toss with that proud head of yours, but remember that "Christ died for the ungodly!"

When you recollect those who injured you, say no bitter word, but hold your tongue, and remember "Christ died for the ungodly!" Make this henceforth the message of your life, "Christ died for the ungodly!"

And, oh, dear friends, you that are not saved, take care that you receive this message. Believe it. Go to God with this on your tongue, "Lord save me, for Christ died for the ungodly, and I am of them!" Fling yourself right on to this as a man commits himself to his life-belt amid the surging billows.

"But I do not feel," says one. Trust not your feelings if you do; but with no feelings and no hopes of your own--cling desperately to this, "Christ died for the ungodly!" The transforming, elevating, spiritualising, moralizing, sanctifying power of this great fact you shall soon know, and be no more ungodly; but first, as ungodly, rest on this, "Christ died for the ungodly."

Accept this truth, my dear hearer, and you are saved. I do not mean merely that you will be pardoned, I do not mean that you will enter Heaven--I mean much more; I mean that you will have a new heart; you will be saved from the love of sin, saved from drunkenness, saved from impurity, saved from blasphemy, saved from dishonesty. "Christ died for the ungodly"--if that is really known and trusted in, it will open in your soul new springs of living water which will cleanse the corrupt and filthy stable of your nature--and make a temple of God of that which was before a den of thieves. Trust in the mercy of God, through the death of Jesus Christ, and a new era in your life's history will at once commence.

Having put this as plainly as I know how, and having guarded my speech to prevent there being anything like a flowery sentence in it, having tried to put this as clearly as daylight itself--that "Christ died for the ungodly"--if your ears refuse the precious blessings that come through the dying Christ, your blood is on your own heads, for there is no other way of salvation for any one among you. Whether you reject or accept this, I am clear. But oh! do not reject it, for it is your life. If the Son of God dies for sinners, and sinners reject his sin-atoning blood, they have committed the most heinous offence possible! I will not venture to affirm, but I do suggest that the devils in Hell are not capable of so great a stretch of criminality as is involved in the rejection of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. Here lies the highest love. The incarnate God bleeds to death to save men, and men hate God so much that they will not even have him as he dies to save them. They will not be reconciled to their Creator, though he stoops from his loftiness to the depths of woe, in the person of his Son on their behalf. This is depravity indeed, and desperateness of rebellion.

May God grant that you may not be guilty of it. There can be no fiercer flame of wrath than that which will break forth from love that has been trampled upon, when men have put from them eternal life, and done despite to the Lamb of God.

"Oh," says one, "would God I could believe!"

"Sir, what difficulty is there in it? Is it hard to believe the truth? Dare you steele your heart to such desperateness, that you will call your God a liar?"

"No, I believe Christ died for the ungodly," says one, "but I want to know how to get the merit of that death applied to my own soul."

You may, then, for here it is, "He who believes in him," that is, he who trusts in him, "is not condemned." Here is the gospel and the whole of it, "He who believes and is baptized shall be saved: he who believes not, shall be damned."

I am but a poor weak man like yourselves, but my gospel is not weak; and it would be no stronger if one of "the armored cherubim, or sworded seraphim" could take the platform and stand here instead of me. He could tell to you no better news.

God, in condescension to your weakness, has chosen one of your fellow mortals to bear to you this message of infinite affection. Do not reject it! By your souls' value, by their immortality, by the hope of Heaven and by the dread of Hell--lay hold upon eternal life; and by the fear that this may be your last day on earth, yes, and this evening your last hour--I beseech you now, "flee to Jesus!" There is life in a look at the crucified one; there is life at this moment for you. Look to him now and live. Amen.

Portions of Scripture Read Before Sermon--Ezekiel 16:1–14; Romans 5:1–11.

 

 

March 23, 2025. Good. Post on website.

Hindrances to Prayer

A Sermon Delivered on Lord's-day Morning, September 13th, 1874, by Charles Spurgeon, At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington.

"That your prayers be not hindered." 1 Peter 3:7

To many people this discourse will have but little reference, because they do not pray. I fear, also, there are some others whose prayers are so worthless that if they were hindered it would be of no very material consequence; it is even possible that their being forced to omit them might arouse them out of a self-righteous lethargy. Merely to bow the knee in formality, to go through a form of devotion in a careless or half-hearted manner, is rather to mock God than to worship him. It would be a terrible theme for contemplation to consider how much of vain repetition and heartless prayer-saying the Lord is wearied with from day to day.

I would, however, most solemnly remind those who do not truly pray that the wrath of God abides on them. He who never seeks for mercy, has certainly never found it. Conscience acknowledges it to be a righteous thing with God that he should not give to those who will not ask. It is the smallest thing that can be expected of us, that we should humbly ask for the favors we need; and if we refuse to do so, it is but right that the door of grace should be closed so long as men refuse to knock. Prayer is no hard requirement, it is the natural duty of a creature to its creator, the simplest homage which human need can pay to divine liberality, and those who refuse to render it may well expect that one of these days when in dire extremity they begin to bemoan their folly, they will hear a voice from their insulted God, saying, "I called, and you refused; I stretched out my hands, and no man regarded; therefore I also will laugh at your calamity, I will mock when your fear comes."

The old story tells of a monarch who gave to a favorite courtier a ring which he might send to her in case he should be under her displeasure, promising that at the sight thereof he should be restored to favor. That ring was never shown, though long waited for, and it was little wonder that, concluding the offender to be stubbornly rebellious, the sentence of execution was carried out.

In the same way, if a sinner will not plead the name of Jesus to which the promise of forgiveness is appended, if he will not bend his knee in penitential prayer, and ask for pardon at the hand of God--then none will wonder that he perishes for his folly. None will be able to accuse the Lord of too great severity when he casts away for ever all prayerless souls. O you who never pray, I tremble for you! Would to God you would tremble for yourselves, for there is cause enough for it.

To those who do pray, prayer is a most precious thing, for it is the channel by which priceless blessings come to them, the window through which their needs are supplied by a gracious God. To believers, prayer is the great means of soul enrichment--it is the vessel which trades with Heaven, and comes home from the celestial country laden with treasures of far greater worth than ever Spanish galleon brought from the land of gold. Indeed, to true believers, prayer is so invaluable that the danger of hindering it is used by Peter as a motive why, in their marriage relationships, and household concerns, they should behave themselves with great wisdom. He bids the husband to "dwell" with his wife "according to knowledge," and render loving honor to her, lest their united prayers should be hindered.

Anything which hinders prayer must be wrong. If any management of the family, or lack of management, is injuring our power in prayer, there is an urgent demand for an alteration. Husband and wife should pray together, as jointly heirs of grace, and any temper or habit which hinders this is evil.

The text would be most appropriately used to stimulate Christians to diligence in family prayer, and though I shall not so use it on this occasion, it is not because I undervalue the institution, for I esteem it so highly that no language of mine can adequately express my sense of its value. The house in which there is no family altar, can scarcely expect the divine blessing. If the Lord does not cover our habitation with his wings, our family is like a house without a roof; if we do not seek the Lord's guidance, our household is a ship without a pilot; and unless guarded by devotion, our family will be a field without a hedge. The mournful behavior of many of the children of professing parents is mainly due to the neglect or the coldness of family worship; and many a judgment has, I doubt not, fallen upon households because the Lord is not duly honored therein. Eli's sin, still brings with it the visitations of a jealous God. That word of Jeremiah bears hard upon prayerless families, "Pour out your fury upon the households that do not call upon your name." His mercy visits every house where night and morning vows are paid, but where these are neglected, sin is incurred. In the good old Puritan times it was said, that if you had walked down Cheapside you would have heard in every house the voice of a psalm at a certain hour of the morning and evening, for there was no house then of professed Christians without family prayer.

I believe that the bulwark of Protestantism against Popery is family worship. Take that away, and give over the instruction of children in the fear of God, and you lay this country open again to the theory that prayer is most acceptable in the parish church, and so you get into the sacredness of places. Then taking away the priesthood from the father of the family, who ought to be the priest in his own house, you make a vacancy for a superstitious priesthood, and, leaving the teaching with these pretenders, innumerable harms are introduced.

If neglect of family prayer should become general throughout our churches it will be a dark day for England. Children who observe that their parents are practically prayerless in the household, will grow up indifferent to religion, and in many cases will be utter worldlings, if not altogether atheists. This is a matter about which the church cannot make any inquisitorial inquiry; it must be left to the good sense and the Christian spirit of the heads of households, and I therefore speak all the more strongly, and ask you so to order things at home that family prayer be not hindered. At this time, however, I shall use the text for another purpose, and apply it to the hindrances which beset private prayer.

Our prayers may be hindered thus:

first, we may be hindered from prayer;

secondly, we may be hindered in prayer;

thirdly, we may be hindered from our prayers speeding with God.

I. First, there is such a thing as being HINDERED FROM PRAYER: and that may be done by falling into a generally lax, lukewarm condition in reference to the things of God.

When a man becomes cold, indifferent, and careless--then one of the first things that will suffer will be his secret devotions. When a sick man is in a decline his lungs and his voice suffer. In the same way, when a Christian is in a spiritual decline, the breath of prayer is affected, and the cry of supplication becomes weak.

Prayer is the true gauge of spiritual power. To restrain prayer is dangerous, and of deadly tendency. You may depend upon it, that what you are upon your knees--that you are really before your God. What the Pharisee and the Publican were in prayer, was the true criterion of their spiritual state. You may maintain a decent reputation among men, but it is a small matter to be judged by man's judgment, for men see only the surface, while the Lord's eyes pry into the recesses of the soul. If he sees that you are prayerless, he makes small account of your attendance at religious meetings, or your loud professions. If you are a man of earnest prayer, and especially if the spirit of prayer is in you, so that in addition to certain seasons of supplication your heart habitually talks with God, things are right with you; but if this is not the case, and your prayers be "hindered," there is something in your spiritual system which needs to be rejected, or somewhat lacking which ought at once to be supplied. "Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life;" and living prayers are among those issues.

Prayers may be hindered, next, by having too much to do. In this age this is a very common occurrence. We may have too much business for ourselves. The quiet days of our contented forefathers are gone, and men allot to themselves an increasing drudgery; not content to earn as much as is necessary for themselves and families, they must have much more than they can possibly enjoy for themselves, or profitably use for others. Wisdom seems to say that one staff is enough for a man to walk with, but ambition cannot be contented unless it carries a load of staves upon its back. "Enough is as good as a feast," said the old proverb, but now-a-days neither enough nor a feast will satisfy men; they must needs accumulate more than would feast thousands of families before they can be content--yes, they are not content even then.

Many a man who might have been of great service to the church of God becomes useless because he must branch out in some new direction in business, which takes up all his spare time. Instead of feeling that his first care should be, "How can I best glorify God?"--his all-absorbing object is to "stretch his arms like seas and grasp in all the shore." Thousands, hundreds of thousands, and even millions of pounds cannot silence the greedy horseleech which men have swallowed, which continually cries, "Give, give!" Many add house to house, and field to field, as though they meant to be left alone in the land; alas, that Christians should be infected with the same fever.

The rich man in the parable had no time for prayer, for he was busy in planning new barns wherein to bestow his goods, but he had to find time for dying when the Lord said, "This night shall your soul be required of you!" Beware, I implore you, of "the desire of other things," the canker of riches, the insatiable greed which drives men into the snare of the devil; for if it works you no other ill, it will do you harm enough if thereby your prayers are hindered.

We may even have too much to do in God's house, and so hinder our prayers, by being like Martha, cumbered with much serving. I never heard of anyone who was cumbered with much praying. The more we do the more we should pray, and prayer should balance our service, or rather, it should be the life-blood of every action, and saturate our entire life, as the dew of Heaven filled Gideon's fleece.

We cannot labor too much, if prayer is proportionate, but I fear that some of us would do far more if we attempted less and prayed more about it. I even fear that some allow public religious engagements to override private communion with God: they attend too many sermons, too many conferences, too many Bible readings, too many committees, yes, and too many prayer-meetings--all good in their way, but all acting injuriously when they cramp our secret prayer.

Mrs. Row said that if the apostles were preaching at her time for private communion with God, she would not forsake her prayer-closet to go and hear them. It must be better to be with God than with Peter or Paul. Praying is the end of preaching, and woe to the man who, prizing the means more than the end, allows any other form of service to push his prayers into a corner.

There can be no doubt, also, that prayer is hindered by having too little to do. If you want a thing well done, you must go to the man who has a great deal to do, for he is the man to do it for you. People who have nothing to do generally do it with a great deal of fuss. From morning to night they waste other people's time--they are the callers, the interviewers, the people who write catching paragraphs about public men, very frequently invented in their own silly heads. These are the propagators of slander, who in very wantonness spit upon godly men's characters. Having nothing to do they are hired by Satan to hinder and injure others. If such people ever do pray, I am sure their indolence must hinder them much.

The man who has to teach in the ragged school finds he must cry for help to master those wild young natures. The young lady who has around her a dozen girls whom she longs to bring to the Savior feels it imperative upon her to pray for Jane and Ellen, that they may be converted to God. The minister, whose hands are full of holy toil and whose eyes fail with sacred watching, finds he cannot do without drawing near unto his God. If these servants of Jesus had less to do, they would pray less, but holy industry is the nurse of devotion.

I said we might do too much, and I could not balance that truth unless I added that a very large proportion of Christians do too little. God has given them enough wealth to be able to retire from business; they have time upon their hands, and they even have to invent ways of spending that time; and yet the ignorant require instructing, the sick need visiting, the poor need helping; should they not lay out their abundant leisure in the service of God? Would they not then be quickened in prayer? I wish that all could say with one of the Lord's saints, "Prayer is my business and praise is my pleasure!" But I am sure they never will until the zeal of the Lord's house shall more fully consume them.

Some people hinder their prayers, again, by a lack of order. They get up a little too late, and they have to chase their work all the day and never overtake it, but are always in a flurry, one duty tripping up the heels of another. They have no appointed time for retirement, no little space hedged about for communion with God; and, consequently, something or other happens, and prayer is forgotten--nay, I hope not quite forgotten, but it is so slurred and hurried over that it amounts to little and brings them no blessing. I wish you would each keep a diary of how you pray next week, and see how much, or rather how little time you spend with God out of the twenty-four hours.

Much time is spent at the table--but how much at the mercy-seat? Many hours are spent with men--but how many with your Maker? You spend time with your friends on earth--but how many minutes are you with your Friend in Heaven? You allow yourself space for recreation--but what do you set apart for those exercises which in very truth re-create the soul?

"A place for everything, and everything in its place," is a good rule for schools and houses of business, and it will be equally useful in spiritual matters; other duties should be done, but prayer must not be left undone, it must have its own place and sufficient of it. Care must be taken that our "prayers be not hindered," so that we omit or abridge them. But time compels me to leave this wide subject and proceed.

 

II. Secondly, we must watch that we be not HINDERED IN PRAYER, when we are really engaged in that holy work. Here I might go over the same ground as before, and remark that some are hindered while in their prayers, by being lax and lukewarm--a great hindrance; others by having too much or too little to do, and another class by being in that flurried condition of heart, which results from a lack of order; but I need not repeat myself when you are so eagerly drinking in my words.

Let us note that some are hindered in prayer by selecting an unfit time and place. There are times when you may expect a knock at your own door, do not just then knock at God's door. There are hours when your letters arrive, when customers call in, when tradespeople need attention, when workmen need orders--and it would be foolish to be going into your closet just then. If you are employed by others--then you must not present to God those hours which belong to your master; you will be honoring the Lord better by diligence in your work.

There are times that are demanded of you by the necessities of the household and your lawful calling; these are already the Lord's in another way, let them be used for their own purpose. Never defile one duty, with the blood of another. Give to God and prayer, those suitable times in which you can reasonably expect to be alone. Of course you can pray at your work in silent groanings, and you ought to be in the spirit of supplication all the day long. But I am alluding now to times specially devoted to supplication, and I say choose a season and a place where you can be free from interruption. A pious lad who had no place at home to pray in, went to the stable and climbed up into the hay-loft; but very soon someone came up the ladder and interrupted him. The next time he took care to pull the ladder up after him, a very useful hint for us. It would be well indeed if we could so completely pull the ladder up that neither the devil nor the world could invade our sacred privacy! "You, when you pray, enter into your closet, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret shall reward you openly." Select, then, the fittest time and place, that your prayers be not hindered.

Worldly cares are frequent and most mischievous hindrances to prayer. A Christian man should be the most careful man in the world, and yet without anxiety. Do you understand that paradox? He should be careful not to sin, but as for other matters, he should cast his care on "him who cares for him." To take everything from God's hands, and to trust everything in God's hands, is a happy way of living, and very helpful to prayer. Has not your Master told you of the ravens and the lilies? Your heavenly Father feeds and clothes them, and will he not clothe you? "Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness." Faith gives peace, and peace leaves the soul clear for prayer; but when care comes in, it confuses the mind, and draws the heart away from pleading. A heart clogged with care, is like a man trying to swim with heavy clothes upon him--he must get them off if he hopes to swim to shore. Many a sailor has cut his clothes to pieces, because he felt he would sink if he did not get clear of them. I could wish that many Christians would tear themselves away from their excessive worldly engagements, for they have such a mass of care upon them, that they scarcely keep their heads above water.

Oh, for more grace and less worry!

More praying and less hoarding!

More intercession and less speculating!

As it is, prayers are sadly hindered.

Earthly pleasures, especially of a dubious kind, are the worst of hindrances. Some professors indulge in amusements which I am sure are not consistent with prayer. They resemble flies which plunge into the honey, until the sweet sticks to their wings and legs, and they cannot fly. I once remember reading "A prayer to be said by a Christian man after coming home from a theater," "A prayer for a saint on returning from the races," and "A prayer for a Christian lady on returning from a ball." Of course they were written sarcastically, and were indeed a broad farce.

How can you come home from frivolity and sin, and then look into the face of Jesus?

How can the fashions of the world be followed, and communion with God be maintained?

You cannot roll in the mire, and then approach the mercy-seat with clean garments.

How can you come before the throne of God with petitions, when you have just been dishonoring the name of the Most High? O Christians! Keep yourselves from everything about which you have any doubt as to its rightness or even its expediency, for whatever is not of faith is sin, and will hinder your prayers.

Further, prayers may be hindered equally much by worldly sorrow. Some give way to sorrow so extremely that they cannot even pray. The tears of rebellious repining, damp the gun-powder of prayer, so that a Christian man cannot send his desires heavenward as he should. The sorrow which prevents a man's praying, is flat rebellion against the will of God. Our Lord was "exceeding sorrowful, even unto death," but then he prayed; nay, "therefore he prayed." It is right to be sorrowful, for God intends that affliction should be grievous, and not joyous; but when sorrow is right, it will drive us to prayer, and not drive us from it; and when we find our grief at the loss of some dear child, or at the decay of our property, hinders our prayers--I think we should say to ourselves, "Now I must pray; for it must be wrong for me to be so rebellious against my Father as to refuse to ask anything at his hands."

You would think your child in a very sullen temper if, because he could not have his own way, he would refuse to ask anything of you whatever, and went about the house pouting at you; yet many mourners act in this fashion. We would deeply sympathize with their sorrow, but we may not excuse their repining; for the "sorrow of the world works death," and is unfitting in a child of God. With all your grief, bowed into the very dust by affliction, still like your Lord and Master, cry, "Nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will," and then your prayers will be helped, and not hindered.

There are cases in which prayer is very greatly hindered by bad temper. I do not know where this may apply, but, wherever it does, I trust that it will go home. You cannot speak sharp habitually to servants and children, you cannot put yourself into self-pity, you cannot join in small squabbles, and then go and pray with power. I cannot speed in prayer if I feel anger in my heart, and I do not believe that you can. Get up and go and settle the matter, before you try to talk with God, for the prayer of angry men makes God angry. You cannot wrestle with the angel, while you are under the power of the devil. I appeal to your own consciences--you yourselves shall be judges--is it not so? That was good advice on our Lord's part: "Leave your gift before the altar, and first go and be reconciled to your brother." If that is not done, the sacrifice cannot be accepted, nor do I see how you can dare to offer it.

I have heard of two godly men who had a sharp difference with each other in business. I do not know which was to blame--perhaps neither of them; they might have misunderstood each other; and one of them as he walked home, very much ruffled, saw the sun going down, and the passage occurred to him, "Let not the sun go down upon your anger." He thought, "I will go back and offer an apology, for I believe I have spoken much too strongly." He went back towards his friend's office, and half way he met the other coming to him on the same errand. Happy Christians to be both so mindful of the Holy Spirit's teaching, and so like the Lord Jesus! It must needs be that offences come, but blessed are those who are foremost in removing them.

Alas, men of a certain mold cannot do this, but will keep a grudge until it rots, and fills their whole nature with its vile odors; surely they cannot expect to be heard in prayer, while their unburied enmities pollute their souls.

Do endeavor, dear Christian friends, as much as you can, whenever you are angry, not to sin. It is possible, for it is written, "Be angry, and sin not." A man who has no anger in him is scarcely a man, and certainly not a good man, for he who is not angry at sin, is not in love with virtue. They say of some that they are as easy as an old shoe, and they are generally worth no more than that article. Anger against injustice is right--but that anger against the person which degenerates into wishing him hurt, is sinful, and effectually blows out the fires of prayer. We cannot pray for forgiveness, unless we forgive the trespasses of others against us.

Prayer can be hindered--very terribly hindered--in three ways: if we dishonor the Father to whom we pray, or the Son through whom we pray, or the Holy Spirit by whom we pray.

We can dishonor the Father. This can be done by inconsistency of life: if children of God are not obedient to the Father's will they must not wonder if they find it hard to pray. Something will rise in the throat that will choke their pleading. You cannot pour out your heart acceptably, unless you believe in your heavenly Father. If you have hard thoughts of God; if you have a cold heart towards him, and a lack of reverence for his name; if you do not believe in that great willing heart which is waiting to bless you, your lack of love, faith, and reverence will strangle your prayers. Oh! when a man is fully at one with the great Father; when "Abba, Father!" is the very spirit of his soul; when he speaks to God as one in whom he places implicit trust and to whose will he yields himself up perfectly, and whose glory is his soul's delight--then is he on a vantage ground in prayer, he will win what he wills from God. If he be not so with God--then his prayers will limp most painfully.

So, brethren, if we be wrong with Jesus through whom we pray, if we are in any measure self-righteous, if we delight in self and forget our Beloved, if we imagine that we can do without the Savior, if, therefore, we pray like complacent Pharisees--then our prayers will be hindered. If we are not like the Savior; if we do not make him our example; if we have none of his loving spirit; above all, if we crucify him afresh and put him to an open shame, and if we are ungrateful for the blessings we have already received--then our prayers will be hindered. You cannot plead in the court, if you have quarreled with your Advocate. If your prayer is not taken in hand by the great Intercessor, and offered by him on your behalf--then you will have no heart for the sacred exercise.

So, again, with the Holy Spirit. There is never a prayer that God accepts, but the Spirit first writes it in our hearts. True prayer is not so much our intercession, as the Spirit of God making intercession in us.

Now, if we grieve the Spirit, he will not help us to pray; and if we attempt to pray for something that is contrary to the Spirit's holy, gracious, loving nature--we cannot expect him to enable us to pray in contradiction to the mind of God. Take care that you vex not the Spirit of God in any way, especially by shutting your ears to his gentle warnings, his loving calls, his earnest entreaties, his tender monitions; for if you be deaf to the divine Comforter--then he will be speechless to you. He will not help you to pray, if you will not yield to him in other matters.

So then, dear friends, I have stated to you in a hurried manner some of the ways in which prayer may be hindered. May God grant that none of us may be overcome by them, but may we be delivered from everything which could mar our petitions!

 

III. I shall now want your earnest attention to the most important part of all, upon which I shall endeavor to be brief. We may be HINDERED IN THE SPEEDING OF OUR PRAYERS. We may pray, but yet the prayer may not be heard. And here let me interpose a remark. The Lord will hear any man's prayer, who asks for mercy through the mediation of the Lord Jesus. He never despises the cry of the contrite, he is a God ready to hear all those who seek reconciliation; but concerning other matters it is true that God does not hear the prayers of lost sinners--that is, while they remain sinners, he will not grant them their wishes--indeed, to do so would encourage them in their sins.

If they will repent and cry for mercy through Jesus Christ--then he will hear their cry, and will save them; but if they are not first reconciled to him--then their prayers are empty wind. A man will grant his child's request, but he does not listen to strangers; he will listen to his friends, but not to enemies. It is not fit that the golden key which opens the caskets of Heaven, should be hung oon a rebel's belt.

Yet more, God does not hear all his children alike, or alike at all times. It is not every believer who is mighty in prayer. Read the Ninety-ninth Psalm, and, if I remember rightly, you will find words like these: "Moses and Aaron among his priests, and Samuel among those who call upon his name; they called upon the Lord and he answered them. They kept his testimonies, and the ordinances that he gave them." Yes, he answered them--Moses, Aaron, Samuel--he answered them, for they kept his testimonies. When children of God find that their prayers do not succeed they should search, and they would soon discover a reason why their prayers are hindered.

First, there must be holy living in a believer if his prayers are greatly to succeed with God. "The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much." Note that point--of a righteous man. Listen to our Savior (John 15:7): "If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, you shall ask what you will, and it shall be done unto you." There is an IF there. If you do not do Christ's will he will not do your will. This is not legal, it has nothing to do with the law, but it is the gospel rule of Christ's house that obedience should have for its reward power in prayer.

Just as you do with your children; you have a discipline over them; you do not turn them out of doors or give them over to the policeman because they do amiss, but you have ways of chastening the rebellious child, and rewarding the obedient child. You are in no hurry to grant the requests of yonder fractious boy, in fact you deny him his request; but that other dear, gentle, loving child has only to ask and have. This is correct discipline, and such as God exercises among us.

He does not cast off his children for sin, and utterly disown them, but he chastens them in love, and one of his chastenings lies in shutting out their prayers. If we compare prayer to shooting with a bow, you must have clean hands or you cannot shoot, for this bow refuses to bend to hands polluted with unrepented sin. If a sinner prays for mercy for Jesus' sake, he shall be heard, but for general blessings it is written, "The desire of the righteous shall be granted," but not the desire of the wicked. First wash in the fountain of sin-atoning grace, and have your heart cleansed by the Holy Spirit, for else you cannot succeed in prayer.

If any one should tell me of a man whom God greatly answered in prayer, and then inform me that he lived in gross sin, I would not believe it. It is impossible for God to patronize a guilty professor of religion, by giving him success in prayer. The blind man whom Jesus healed most truly said, "If any man does his will, him he hears."

In addition to obedience there must be faith. "He who comes to God must believe that he is, and that he is the rewarder of those who diligently seek him." "Let him ask in faith, nothing wavering, for he who wavers is like a wave of the sea, driven with the wind and tossed: let not that man expect that he shall receive anything of the Lord." Faith obtains promises--unbelief goes empty-handed. The Lord may give a blessing to a doubter, but that is more than the promise, and he has no right to expect it. The prayer which avails most with God is the prayer of one who believes that God will hear him, and who therefore asks with confidence. In a word, faith is the bow of prayer. You must lay hold on the bow, or you cannot shoot; and the stronger that bow, the further you can send the arrow, and the more you can do with it. Without faith it is impossible to please God in prayer or in anything else; faith is the very backbone, sinew, and muscle of intercession.

Thirdly, there must be holy desires, or else prayer will be a failure; and those desires must be founded on a Scriptural promise. If you cannot find that God has promised a certain blessing in his Word--then you have no right to ask for it, and no reason to expect it. There is no use in asking money from a bank without a cheque--and if you present that, you will get the amount, but not else. You must bring God's own promises to the mercy-seat, which is the counter of the divine treasury, and you will obtain what you need, but only in that way.

Observe, then, that faith is the bow, and strong desire fits to the string the arrow which is to be sent upward. No arrow may be shot towards Heaven, but that which came down from Heaven. Christians take their arrows from God's quiver, and when they shoot them they shoot them with this on their lips, "Do as you have said! Remember your Word unto your servant upon which you have caused me to hope." So the successful prayer is the desire of a holy heart, sanctioned by the promise. True prayers are like those carrier pigeons which find their way so well; they cannot fail to go to Heaven, for it is from Heaven that they came; they are only going home.

Furthermore; if prayer is to speed, there must be fervor and importunity. It is written, "The effectual fervent prayer of the righteous man avails much;" not the dead prayer of the mere professor--not the prayer of one who does not care whether he is answered or not. There must be eagerness, intensity, the pouring out of the heart before God. The arrow must be put on the bow string, and the bow must be drawn with all our might. The best bow is of no use until you draw it, and if you draw the bow of faith and shoot at the target up there in Heaven--then you will get what you ask; only you must resolve to have it with this one boundary, "May the will of the Lord be done"--and you will succeed.

There must be, next, a desire for God's glory--for that is the bull's-eye of the target--and if we do not shoot towards that, the arrow will avail nothing. We must earnestly desire what we ask, because we believe it will glorify God to give it to us. If we are wholly living unto God, our prayers will run side by side with his purposes, and none of them will fall to the ground. "Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart."

We must also have holy expectancy, or we shall hinder prayer. The man who shoots, must look to see where his arrow goes. We must direct our prayer unto God, and look up. Eyeing the Lord Jesus in all, we must look to succeed through the merits of the Redeemer. "If we believe that he hears us--we know that we have the petitions that we have asked from him."

Presumption in prayer shoots with the bow of self-confidence, not for God's glory, but for the gratification of itself, and therefore it fails. Some have the idea that, ask what they like of God, they are sure to have it. But I would ask them,

first, "Who are you?"

secondly, "What is it you are going to ask?"

thirdly, "What right have you to expect it?"

These inquiries must be clearly answered, otherwise prayer may be an insult to God. I wish some Christians who pray about temporals would be a little careful as to how they act. When they get into scrapes and messes by extravagance--do they expect God to get them out? I remember hearing of a remark of good Mr. Muller, of Bristol. At a prayer meeting he read a letter from a brother who thanked him for a gift of some twenty pounds, which had arrived very providentially, for he owed half a year's rent. Mr. Muller remarked, "Yes, our brother should be very thankful; but I intend to write to him and tell him he ought not to owe half a year's rent without being prepared to pay; and he is acting unwisely and unjustly by not laying by in store, to meet the claim. When I took a house I said, 'This is another person's house; I am bound to pay his rent,' and therefore week by week as I used the house, I put aside a portion to pay what was due. I did not spend the money and at the end of the quarter expect the heavenly Father to send me more."

This was sound morality and common sense, and I implore you attend to it. Pray by all means, but "owe no man anything." Daily bread is to be prayed for, but speculations which may involve you in ruin, or make your fortune, are not to be mentioned. If you take to gambling--then you may as well give up praying. Straightforward transactions you may pray about, but do not mix up the Lord with your financing.

I am requested to pray for a young man who has lost his job through a defalcation, that he may get another job. But instead of doing so, I suggest that he should himself pray to be made honest.

Another who is deeply in debt wants me to pray that he may obtain help, but I suggest that he should let his creditors have a dividend while there is anything left. I shall not ask of my God, what I would not ask of man. The approach to the mercy-seat is holy ground and not to be trifled with, or made to minister to sin. "You ask and receive not, because you ask amiss, that you may consume it upon your lusts." If we walk contrary to the Lord--then he will walk contrary to us; and I say to every man here who is in trouble and is a Christian, take the straight path out of it, and do the right thing, and if it brings you trouble bear it like a man, and then go to God, and say, "Lord, I have, by your grace, chosen a plain, honest path--now help me;" and he will.

May God grant us grace as Christians to walk with Him in the power of his Spirit, resting alone on Jesus, and may he make each one of us mighty in prayer. A man, whom God has taught to pray mightily, is one with God's mind, and is God's hand moving among men; when he acts, God acts in him. He must, however, be careful and watchful, for the Lord is a jealous God, and most jealous where he loves most. May God grant you, brethren, to walk humbly with him, and to live near to him, "that your prayers be not hindered." Amen.

Portion of scripture read before sermon--Malachi 3.