“I DO all the good I can, and can’t do more,” said an old road-mender to whom the writer had spoken in the interests of his soul.
“But what of the bad you have done?”
“Bad? What bad have I done?” was his ready response, forgetting that the volunteered statement about “all the good I can” had strongly suggested that it had not all been up to the mark, even according to his own code of good and evil.
“Now think for a moment, and let us look at one thing at a time. Can you say before God that you have never either told a lie or acted one?”
“Well, no, I can’t say that. I have told many a ‘crammer’ in joke, I confess.”
“Then God’s answer to that is this, ‘For every idle word that men shall speak they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.’”
But once more, trying to evade the edge of the truth, he said, “My way is, ‘To do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God.’”
“That would be all very well if you had always done it, but you have not.”
“Oh, well, we must just do all the good we can and leave it.”
That man had no room in his heart for “the gospel of Christ.” He could neither look on with peace to the day of judgment, nor back to his own short history with comfort. The true believer can do both.
The gospel declares that God has done justly, and perfectly expressed His love of mercy too. Justice―absolute justice―has been done as to sin and its deserts, in the holy Person of the divine Sinbearer on the cross; while His delight in mercy was displayed at the selfsame spot in taking a repentant, self-condemned, dying robber to paradise. “Mercy and truth are met tether; righteousness and peace have kissed each other” (Ps. 85:10).
“Upon the cross this record’s graved―
Let sin be judged, the sinner saved.”
Oh, think of the folly of a sinner refusing God’s provision in Christ, and, instead of taking refuge in what He has done, lightly saying, “We must do all the good we can and leave it.” If men would only face the real truth about themselves, as left to stand on their own merits before God, they could not, they dare not leave it thus.
Has my reader ever faced that matter? Bear with a plain question or two.
1. Has the past been what God would have it? Nay, has it been what your own conscience would have it?
2. Do you find all right within? Is there no corruption there, no evil lusts, no deceit, no pride, no bad feeling against anyone? Is it all as God would have it?
3. Did you ever try to lead a holy, blameless life? Did you succeed, even to your own satisfaction, to say nothing of God’s?
If you are honest, you will give a bold, unhesitating negative to all three questions.
Your life has not been spotless. Your heart is not sinless. Your best efforts to put matters right are utterly useless. You know this is the plain truth of the matter. You cannot live your life over again, and if you could it would not help matters. You would only repeat the evil of the past. If the snail that crawls across your window-pane could start afresh, and exactly crawl over the same course a second time, he could only leave a deeper trail of slime behind him, simply because he is a snail. And so with you, because you are a sinner.
But there is just another impossibility to face. You cannot change either God’s holy nature or His righteous character. Yet, before you can be saved without Christ, this you must do. You must accomplish such change that He, to whom sin is now so hateful, shall, at your wish, begin to tolerate evil, wink at sin, and, indeed, so accommodate Himself to all the vile corruption within you as to say to sinners. There need be no change in you at all; I will be just whatever you would like Me to be!
Then, as sure as God is God, and sin is sin, something must be done! Something must be done, but Christ has done it. This is the news that brings joy and peace in believing.
May it early be yours. GEO. C.