NOWADAYS it is a very fashionable thing to doubt the Word of God. To admit it in many instances means the stern rebuking of sins, which is certainly unpleasant to the human heart. Therefore it is best to deny what is so unpalatable and unpleasant. Such is the lax philosophy of thousands, who, freed from all moral restraints, do pretty much what they like. They remind us of Passion, in the inimitable picture of Patience and Passion which Bunyan has so skillfully drawn.
Unwilling to wait, foolishly prodigal as to the present, criminally careless as to the future, she gratifies her every whim and desire and lust. And it is this desire, which often makes Passion infidel in creed.
Ah! sir, poor cold infidelity may deny punishment to come, but it cannot explain the presence of death in this world. It is dumb even upon the very threshold of inquiry. Denying revelation, it perplexes its blind infatuated followers with more distracting problems than ever.
But even the Bible―which they profess to have exploded, which is out-of-date, “a mere pack of lies”―makes statements which are undeniably true. For instance, it tells us (and who can deny it?) “Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.”
The besotted drunkard finds out bitterly and sadly the truth of this on a premature death-bed. The libertine and debauchee at length learns that the poison of fleshly lusts, though it may work more slowly than a dose of arsenic or opium, does not work the less surely.
Oh! sir, bitter and sad are the death-beds of the wicked. Many a conscience, seared by shame and lust, has spoken at the last in tones of thunderous remorse, never to be silenced for eternity―the message losing nothing of its first startling power and vehemence, as the monotonous ages of a lost eternity pass on in dreary sequence. Written upon many awakened consciences by a pen of living fire stand the imperishable words of Scripture―terrible in their awful, retributive truth― “Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.”
Yes, we know that sin is insidious and fascinating, but the punishment is sure and terrible. It is something like the snare of opium. The Chinaman takes at first the poison willingly. A small quantity produces pleasure; a little more, death. But whether in larger or smaller quantity, its essence―poison―is the same. Little by little the fatal habit gains insensibly in power upon the victim, till at length, a moral and physical wreck, the inebriate drops into a wretched grave and a hopeless eternity.
So with sin. The same poisonous essence, which finds its extreme outcome in murder, is found in the hatred of a rival, or even the envy with which one may look at another’s possession.
“Can this be possible?” you exclaim. I wish I could show you sin as God sees it. It has wrecked His fair creation. It has filled the gaols, the lunatic asylums, the infirmaries, the cemeteries of this world. It has slain its millions. It has dotted the maps with battle-fields. It has made every street of our cities boast of a doctor’s brass-plate or two. It is responsible for the necessity of the legal, the military, the naval professions. Look where you will, it has worked sad havoc.
More than this. You may live a strictly moral, outwardly blameless life; yet you know that death at any rate lies before you, that you cannot evade it. Why is this the case?
Let your conscience answer. Is it not that you are a sinner? Sin has done all, and more than I have described. But to be personal, it has a finger upon you. It is drawing the furrows upon your brow. It is whitening your locks. It is bending your back. And some day the end will come. And you are not so easy about it after all, are you? Come, face the fact.
My heart ached for a young infidel I met the other day. At an open-air Gospel meeting he turned up, asking the usual stale stock questions. I told him plainly―as he loudly declared the Bible was exploded, and Christianity was exposed and proved to be a sham, descended merely from heathen superstitions― that his infidelity had neither kept him sober, nor clean-mouthed, nor would it keep him from the grave. He was tipsy, and every other word was an oath. “Well,” said he, “when I’ve had about seventy years of it in this world, I shall be quite resigned to die.”
“Yes,” I replied, “resigned, because you can’t help it.”
I certainly did feel the hollowness and sinfulness of infidelity. He would do as he liked, was the young man’s boast. Not when death comes, nor when the last trump sounds, nor when the great white throne is set up, nor when the great gulf is fixed, thought I.
And the Bible, the exploded book, is the only one that discloses to man what lies behind the curtain of time. To refuse the light of revelation, is to walk then in utter darkness.
We have spoken of the presence of sin in this world. It is undeniable. Of the presence of death. That, also, is undeniable. But, to the poor infidel, they are sad facts that cannot possibly be explained by his theories. And in view of them both, his creed cannot comfort him, or stifle his conscience. His conscience! How did he get it? That also to him is but lamely explained by education and environment.
And sin and death, as patent in this world, carry him to the end of life’s little journey, and the future is shrouded in a worse than Egyptian darkness, and his creed and inner consciousness maintain a sphinx-like silence. Most unsatisfactory! Profoundly perplexing!
Well, after all, the words of THE BOOK are marvelously true: “For after that in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe.” It asks also, “Where is the wise? where is the scribe? where is the disputer of this world?”
Yes, “the preaching of the cross” is foolishness to you. Why, that is what the Bible says! Again it hits you off.
Well, friend, THAT WORD has opened my eyes; has given me to know the thrice-holy God to be a pardoning Saviour-God. In the light of Scripture every difficulty has vanished; my future is bright, my present is happy.
Let me tell you briefly how this can be.
Sin certainly abounds in this world; yet we read, “Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound.”
God Himself has taken in hand the sin-question. Not only has sin filled the gaols, the lunatic asylums, &c., but it has emptied heaven of Jesus, the Son of God. It nailed Him to that accursed tree. It filled the tomb “wherein never man before was laid.”
He did no sin (1 Peter 2:22), He knew no sin (2 Cor. 5:21), in Him was no sin (1 John 4:5) ―is the threefold testimony of Scripture; yet, in boundless, infinite love, He took the sinner’s place, He glorified God, He made atonement for sin! And now God can “be just, and the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus” (Rom. 3:26).
Ah! if we want to see sin in all its blackness and heinousness, we must not look at the police records, or in the slums of our great cities, but at the cross of Calvary.
Scoffingly an infidel said, “If you Christians had not the cross, you would have very little to speak about.” To that we could add our hearty, Yes. Sin must be an awful thing, if, before God could forgive the sinner, the Son of God must not only leave heaven’s glory, but die a malefactor’s death on the cross.
Nay, more than that, God Himself has to forsake Jesus in the hour of His bitterest need, and add infinitely to His suffering, by pouring upon His holy head the cup of His wrath and judgment against sin.
Oh! sir, in imagination, stand and view the crucifixion. Hear the jeering, scoffing crowds, as they revile the Saviour of sinners. Marvel at His God-like patience, as He sweetly prays, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”
Nay more, stand till the darkness thickens round that cross, and, whilst the superstitious crowds grope their way home, remain and wonder. At length you hear bursting from His heart and lips, that awful cry, “My God! my God! why hast thou forsaken me?”
Listen till you hear the three thrilling words, “IT IS FINISHED!” ―till He bows His head in death, slain in His victory, ―till in wonder you see the veil of the temple rent by a mysterious hand from the top to the bottom. It is the hand of God Himself!
And NOW Jesus is on the throne. He is in brightest glory, “crowned with glory and honor.” Every knee must bow to Him, and every tongue confess His name. Such is the Father’s righteous and just decree.
And now, God invites the vilest sinner to trust in Jesus, and learn in trusting Him that He was their Substitute at Calvary’s cross,―that He bore their sins in His own body on the tree,―that, as the prophet Isaiah writes, “he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes WE ARE HEALED” (Isa. 53:5).
Oh! trust that blessed, risen, glorious Saviour, and know that He reveals the heart of God to the sinner; and learn how the question of sin has been righteously settled, how God can maintain His holiness, and yet reveal His love, and bless poor sinners, and make them “meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light.”
“Rest, my soul, the work is done,
Done by God’s Almighty Son;
This to faith is now so clear,
There’s no place for torturing fear.”
A. J. P.