A Sermon Delivered By C. H. Spurgeon, At The Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington. 7/18/2011*7/18/2011
Will he always call upon God? (Job 27:10)
1. When Job resumes his address in this chapter, he appeals to God in a very solemn matter concerning the truth of all that he had spoken. No less vehemently does he assert his innocence of any known crime, or his consciousness of any secret guile, which could account for his being visited with extraordinary suffering. I do not know that his language necessarily implies any culpable self-righteousness; it appears to me rather that he had good cause to defend himself against the bitter insinuations of his unfriendly friends. Possibly his tone was rash, but his meaning was correct. He might well feel the justice of vindicating his character before men: but it was a pity if in so doing he seemed to utter a protest of complete purity in the sight of God. You may remember how Paul under equal, if not exactly similar, provocation, tempered his speech and guarded against the danger of being misconstrued. Hence he wrote to the Corinthians: “With me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you, or by man’s judgment: yes, I do not judge myself. For I do not know anything by myself [or about myself, as though he should say, ‘My conscience does not accuse me of wrong’]; yet I am not justified by this.” But the two holy men are very similar in one respect, for just as Paul, in the struggles of the spirit against the flesh, faced the peril and guarded against it, “lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself shall be a castaway”; so Job lays bare before his own eyes, and points to the view of those who heard him, the features of a hypocrite, lest by any means he should turn out to be one. In terrible language he describes and denounces the hypocrite’s flattering hope and withering doom. The suspicion that he himself could harbour a vain pretence in his own heart, or would pretend to be what he was not, was utterly abhorrent to Job’s honest heart. He placed himself at the judgment bar, he laid down the law with rigour, he weighed his case with exactness; and so prevented his adversaries’ verdict, by judging himself so that he might not be judged.
Who, then, is this “wicked man,” portrayed before us? And what are
the first symptoms of his depravity? We do not ask the question idly,
but so that we may take heed against this evil springing up in
Beneath the saintly veil the votary of sin
May lurk unseen; and to that eye alone
Which penetrates the heart, may stand revealed.
The hypocrite is very often an exceedingly convincing imitation of the Christian. To the common observer he is so good a counterfeit that he entirely escapes suspicion. Like base coins which are cunningly made, you can scarcely detect them by their ring; it is only by more searching tests that you are able to discover that they are not pure gold, the current coin of the realm. It would be difficult to say how nearly any man might resemble a Christian, and yet not be “in Christ a new creature”; or how closely he might imitate all the virtues, and yet at the same time possess none of the fruits of the Spirit as before the judgment of a heart searching God. In almost all deceptions there is a weak point somewhere. Never is a lying story told except, if you are keen enough, you may from internal evidence somewhere or other detect the flaw. Though Satan himself has been engaged in the manufacture of imposters for thousands of years, yet whether through the lack of skill on his part, or through the folly of his agents, he always leaves a weak point; his clattering statements are a little too strongly scented and smell of a lie; and his mimic Christians are so overdone in one place, and slovenly in another, that their falsehood betrays itself. Now, in discriminating between saints and hypocrites, one great testing point is prayer. “Behold, he prays,” was to the somewhat sceptical mind of Ananias demonstration enough that Paul was really converted. If he prays, it may be safely inferred that the breath of prayer arises from the life of faith. The process of spiritual quickening has at least begun. Hence the hypocrite pretends to possess that vital action. If the Christian prays, he will do the same: if the Christian calls upon God the deceiver takes care that he will likewise make mention of the name of the Lord. And yet, between the prayer of the truly converted man and the prayer of the hypocrite there is a difference as radical as between life and death, although it is not apparent to everyone. No one, it may be, at first can be aware of it except the man himself, and sometimes even he scarcely perceives it. Many are deceived by the fine expressions, by the apparent warmth, and by the excellent natural disposition of the hypocrite, and they think when they hear him call upon God that his supplications are sufficient evidence that he is truly a quickened child of God. Prayer is always the tell-tale sign of spiritual life. If there is no genuine prayer, then there is no grace within. When prayer slackens, then grace decreases. When prayer is strong, then the whole man becomes stronger. Prayer is as good a test of spiritual life and health as the pulse is of the condition of the human body. Hence I say the hypocrite imitates the action of prayer while he does not really possess the spirit of prayer.
3. Our text goes deeper than the surface, and enquires into vital matters. Prayer is a test, but here is a test for the test — a trial even for prayer itself. “Will he always call upon God?” There is the point. He does call upon God now, and he appears to be intensely devout; he says he was converted in the recent revival; he is very passionate in expression, and very zealous in manner at present. But will it wear? Will it wear? Will it last? His prayerfulness has sprung up like Jonah’s gourd in a night. Will it perish in a night? It is beautiful to look upon, like the early dew that glistens in the sunlight as though the morning had sown the earth with oriental pearl; will it pass away like that dew? or will it always remain? “Will he always call upon God?” There is the rub. Oh that each one of us now may search ourselves, and see whether we have those attributes connected with our prayer which will prove us not to be hypocrites, or whether, on the contrary, we have those sad signs of base deception and reckless falsehood which will before long reveal us to be dupes of Satan, and impostors before heaven.
4. I. “Will he always call upon God?” This question, simple as it is, I think involves several pertinent enquiries. The first point which it raises is that of CONSISTENCY.
5. Is the prayer occasional, or is it constant? Is the exercise of devotion permanent and regular, or is it spasmodic and inconsistent? Will this man call upon God in all times for prayer? There are certain times when it is most fitting to pray, and a genuine Christian will and must pray at such times. Will this hypocrite pray at all such times, or will he only select some of the times for prayer? Will he only be found praying at certain times and in selected places? Will he always, in all proper times, be found drawing near to God? For example, he prayed standing at the corners of the streets where he was seen by men: he prayed in the synagogue, where everyone could notice his fluency and his fervour, but will he pray at home? Will he enter into his prayer closet and shut the door? Will he speak to the Father there who hears in secret? Will he pour out petitions there as the natural outflow of his soul? Will he walk the field in the evening, in lonely meditation, like Isaac, and pray there? Will he go to the housetop with Peter, and pray there? Will he seek his room as Daniel did, or the solitude of the garden as our Lord did? Or is he one who only prays in public, who has the gift of prayer rather than the spirit of prayer, who is fluent in utterance rather than fervent in feeling? Oh, but this, this is one of the surest of tests, by which we may discern between the precious and the vile. Public prayer is no evidence of piety: it is practised by an abundance of hypocrites; but private prayer is a thing for which the hypocrite has no heart — and if he gives himself to it for a little while he soon finds it too hot and heavy a business for his soulless soul to persevere in, and he lets it drop. He will sooner perish than continue in private prayer. Oh for heart searchings about this! Do I draw near to God alone? Do I pray when no eye sees, when no ear hears? Do I make a conscious effort to pray privately? Is it a delight to pray? For I may gather that if I never enjoy private prayer I am one of those hypocrites who will not always call upon God.
6. The true Christian will pray in business; he will pray in labour; he will pray in his ordinary calling: like sparks from an anvil short prayers fly up all day long from truly devout souls. It is not so with the mere pretender. The hypocrite prays at prayer meetings, and his voice is heard in the assembly, sometimes at tedious length; but will he pray spontaneously? Will he speak with God at the counter? Will he draw near to God in the field? Will he plead with his Lord in the busy street with noiseless pleadings? When he finds that a difficultly has occurred in his daily life, will he without saying a word breathe his heart into the ear of God? Ah, no! hypocrites know nothing of what it is to be always praying, to continue in the spirit of prayer. This is a choice part of Christian experience with which they do not meddle. But be sure of this — where there is genuine religion within, it will be more or less habitual for the soul to pray. Some of us can say that to be asking blessings from God in brief, wordless prayers, comes as natural to us as to eat and drink, and breathe. We never encounter a difficulty now without resolving it by appealing to the wisdom of God — never meet any opposition without overcoming it by leaning upon the power of God. To wait upon the Lord and speak with him has become a habit with us — not because it is a duty — we have left legal bondage far behind — but because we cannot help it, our soul is inwardly constrained to it. The nature within as naturally cries to God as a child cries after his mother. The hypocrite prays in his fashion because it is a task allotted to him: the Christian because it is a part of his very life. Herein is an everlasting sign of distinction by which a man may judge himself. If your prayer is only for certain hours, and certain places, and certain times, beware lest it turns out to be an abomination before the Lord. The fungus forced by artificial heat is a far different thing from the rosy fruit of a healthy tree, and the unreal devotions of the unspiritual differ widely from the deep inward groanings of renewed hearts. If you pray by the almanac, observing days and weeks, you may well fear that your religion never came from the great Father of Lights, with whom are no changing moons. If you can pray by the clock, your religion is more mechanical than vital. The Christian does not fast because it is Lent; if his Lord reveals his face he cannot fast merely because a church commands him. Neither can he therefore feast because it happens to be a festival on the calendar. The Spirit of God might make his soul to be feasting on Ash Wednesday, or his soul might be humbled within him at Easter; he cannot be regulated by the Dominical Letter, (a) and the new moons and days of the month. He is a spiritual character, and he leaves those who have no spiritual life to yield a specious conformity to such ecclesiastical regulations, his newborn nature spurns such childish bonds. The living soul always prays with groanings that cannot be uttered, and always believingly rejoices with joy unspeakable and full of glory.
7. II. A second point in debate is that of CONTINUANCE. “Will he always call upon God?”
8. There are trying periods and sifting seasons; those who hold on through these are the true, but those who suspend prayer at these test intervals are the false. Now times of joy and sorrow are equally critical seasons. Let us look at them in turn. Will the hypocrite call upon God in times of pleasure? No; if he indulges himself in what he calls pleasure, he does not dare pray at night when he comes home. He goes to places where he would think it demeaning to the act of prayer to think of praying. The genuine Christian always prays, because if there is any place where he does not dare to pray, then he does not dare to be found there; or if there is any engagement about which he could not pray, it is an engagement that shall never ensnare him. Someone once proposed to write a collect (b) to be said by a pious young lady when attending a theatre, and another to be repeated by a Christian gentleman when shuffling a deck of cards. There might he another form of prayer to be offered by a pious burglar when he is breaking open a door, or by a religious assassin when he is about to commit murder. There are things about which you cannot pray: they have nothing to do with prayer. Many tolerated amusements lead to outrages upon the morals of earth, and are an insult to the holiness of heaven. Who could think of praying about them? Herein is the hypocrite exposed; he does what he could not ask a blessing for. Poor as is the conscience he owns, he knows it is ridiculous to offer prayer concerning certain actions which, notwithstanding, he has the hardihood to perform. The Christian avoids things which he could not pray about; and so he feels it to be a pleasure to pray always.
9. Equally trying is the opposite condition of depression and sorrow. There, too, we ask the question, “Will he always call upon God?” No; the hypocrite will not pray when in a desponding state. He breathed the atmosphere of enthusiasm for awhile. His passions were stirred by the preacher, and fermented by the contagious zeal of the solemn assembly. But now a damp cold mist obscures his view, chills his feelings, and settles in his heart. Others are growing cold, and he is among the first to freeze. He is downhearted and discouraged. Immediately, like King Saul, he succumbs to the evil spirit. If he were indeed a Christian, he would follow in the wake of David, and say: “Why are you cast down, oh my soul? and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God: for I shall still praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God”; but he has no heart to hope on in bad weather. He built up his hopes tastefully, and he admired the structure which was of his own creation, but the rain descended, the floods came, and the winds blew, and down it all went; and therefore, being a hypocrite, he said within himself: “Now I have no enjoyment in religion: it has lost its novelty; I have worn out its delights; I now have no comfort from it; I will give it all up.” So in the trying hour the deceiver is laid bare. Look at the real Christian when a storm bursts over him which shakes his confidence and spoils his joy: what does he do? He prays more than he ever did. When his mountain stood firm, and he said, “I shall not be moved,” he perhaps grew too slack in prayer; but now, when all God’s waves and billows are going over him, and he hardly knows whether he is a child of God or not, and questions whether he has any part or lot in the matter, he proves that all is right within, by crying to God in the bitterness of his soul, “Oh God, have mercy upon me, and deliver me from going down into the pit.” A Christian’s despair makes him pray; it is a despair of self. A worldling’s despair makes him rave against God, and give up on prayer. Notice then, how in the opposite seasons of joy and sorrow prayer is put into the crucible and tested. All our times of pleasure ought to be times of prayer; Job accounted his family festivities opportune for calling his children together for special devotion. No less should our periods of despondency become incentives to prayer; every death knell should ring us to our knees. The hypocrite cannot keep the statutes and ordinances, but the true Christian follows them; for he is equally at home in seeking the Lord, calling upon his name, and asking counsel and guidance at his mercy seat, in any variety of experience, and every diversity of circumstance.
10. III. “Will he always call upon God?” Here is the question of CONSTANCY. Will he pray constantly?
11. It seems for most men a very difficult thing to be always praying, to continue in prayer, to pray without ceasing. Yes; and herein again there is a great distinction between the living child of God and the mere pretender. The living child of God soon finds that it is not so much his duty to pray, as his privilege, his joy, a necessity of his being. What moment is there when a Christian is safe without prayer? Where is there a place where he would find himself secure if he ceased to pray? Just think of it. Every moment of my life I am dependent upon the will of God concerning whether I shall draw another breath or not. Nothing stands between me and death except the will of God. An angel’s arm could not save me from the grave, if now the Lord willed me to depart. Solemn, then, is the Christian’s position: always standing by an open tomb. Should not dying men pray? We are always dying. Since life is only a long dying, should it not also be a long praying? Should we not be incessantly acknowledging to God in prayer and praise the continuance of our being, which is due to his grace? Brethren, every moment that we live we are receiving favours and benefits from God. There is never a minute in which we are not recipients of his bounty. We are accustomed to thank God for his mercies as if we thought they came at certain set times; so in truth they do: they are new every morning; great is his faithfulness; and they soothe us night after night, for his compassion does not fail, but there are mercies streaming on in one incessant flow. We never cease to need; he never ceases to supply. We need constant protection, and he who keeps Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps. Lest anyone harm us, he keeps us night and day. The river of God rolls on with undiminished volume and unimpeded velocity. How greatly does he enrich us by it! Should we not be always careful to secure his gifts, to reap the harvest he provides, and as his people to take these good things from his gracious hands? But, oh! let us take heed to add prayer into all our thanksgiving, lest he should curse the blessing over which we have asked no blessing; blight the crops, of which we have dedicated to him no firstfruits; or strike us with the rod of his anger, while the food is still in our mouth. Our cravings know no abatement, our dependence on God knows no limit; therefore our prayers should know no intermission. Speak of beggars, we are always beggars. Is it not better for us, then, to be regular pensioners than mere casuals? Whatever God has given us we are still as needy; we are always, if considered apart from him, naked, and poor, and miserable, altogether dependent upon him, as well for the soul as for the body; for good thoughts, for spiritual aspirations, for holy graces, indeed, and for the breath of our nostrils and the food of our mouths; always needing temporals, always needing spirituals. If we are always needing, we should be always pleading.
12. Besides that, dear friends, we are always in danger; we are in an enemy’s country, behind every bush there is a foe; we cannot consider ourselves to be secure in any place. The world, the flesh, and the devil constantly assail us. Arrows are shot from beneath us, and from around us, while the poison of our own corruption rankles within us. At any moment temptation may get the mastery over us, or we ourselves may go astray and be our own tempters. Storms may drive us, whirlpools suck us down, quicksands engulf us, and if none of these accomplish our shipwreck we may founder by ourselves, or perish by spiritual dryrot. We need, then, each hour to watch, and each individual moment to pray, “Hold me up, and I shall be safe.” Are you wealthy? Pray God that your silver and your gold bring no spiritual plague with them! Do not let your money stick to your hand or your heart, for in proportion as it glues itself to you it poisons you. Pray God to sanctify your abundance, so that you may know how to abound; a difficult piece of knowledge to attain. Are you poor? Then ask to be kept from envy, from discontent, and all the evils that haunt the narrow lanes of poverty. Pray that since you are each in danger one way or another, you may all be kept hour by hour by the constant grace of God. If we knew what poor, weak, helpless creatures we are, we should not need to be told always to pray; we should wonder how we could think of living without prayer. How can I, whose legs are so feeble, try to walk without leaning on my Father’s hand? How can I, who am so sickly, wish to be a day without the Good Physician’s care? The hypocrite does not see this; he does not recognise these perpetual needs and perpetual gifts, these perpetual dangers and perpetual preservations — not he. He thinks he has prayed enough when he has had his few minutes in the morning and his few minutes at night. He trots through his form of morning devotion just as he takes his morning shower, and has he not settled the business for the day? If at evening he says his prayers with the same regularity with which he puts on his slippers, is it not all he needs? He almost thinks that little time at his devotions to be a weariness. Concerning his heart going up in prayer to God, he does not understand it; if he is spoken to concerning it, it sounds like an idle tale, or a mere cliche.
13. Dear brethren, “we ought always to pray, and not to faint,” because we are always sinning. If I were not always sinning, if I could pause in that constant aberration of mind from the pure, the unselfish, the holy, perhaps I might suspend confession, and relax supplication for awhile; but if unholiness stains even my holy things — if in my best endeavours there is something of error, something of sin — ought I not to be continually crying to God for pardon, and invoking his grace? And are we not constantly liable to new temptations? May we not fall into grosser sins than we have committed so far, unless we are preserved by a power beyond our own? Oh pray perpetually, for you do not know what temptations may assail you. Pray that you do not enter into temptation. If perhaps in some favoured moment we could imagine ourselves to have exhausted all the list of our needs, if we were enjoying complete pardon and full assurance, if we stood upon the mountain’s brow, bathing our foreheads in the sunlight of God’s favour, if we had no fear, no care, no trouble of our own to harass us, still then we might not cease to pray. The interests of others, our relatives, our neighbours, our fellow creatures might — ah! must — then spring up before us, and claim that we should bear upon our hearts their supplication. Think of the sinners around you hardening in transgression, some of them dying, seared with guilt or frenzied with despair. Oh brethren, how could you cease to intercede for others, if it were possible, which it is not, that you should have no further need to pray for yourselves? The grand old cause which we have espoused, and the Christ who has espoused our cause — both these demand our prayers. By the truth whose banner waves above us, by the King who has ennobled us, love for whose person fires us today with ardour for his cross, and zeal for his gospel, we are constrained to unwavering devotion. So spoke the gospel of old, and so does the Spirit of God prompt us now. “Prayer also shall be made for him continually; and he shall be praised daily.” Oh that in our case the prediction might be verified, the promise fulfilled! Not so the hypocrite: he will not have it like this. It is enough for him to have prayers on the Sunday; enough to get through family prayers at any rate, and if that does not please you, the morning prayer and the evening prayer shall be said by rote at the bedside; will not these suffice? Praying all day long, why he considers that it would be almost as bad as heaven, where they are singing without ceasing. So he turns on his heel, and says he will have none of it. Nor shall he; for where God is he shall not come, but the Lord will tell him, “I never knew you: depart from me, you worker of iniquity.”
14. IV. “Will he always call upon God?” The question may be an enquiry concerning IMPORTUNITY. Will the hypocrite pray importunately?
He will do no such thing. I have heard farmers talk about the way to
know a good horse. It will serve me to illustrate the way to tell a
good Christian. Some horses when they get into the harness pull, and
when they feel the load move they work with all their might, but if
they tug and the load does not stir, they are not for drawing any
longer. There is a breed of really good horses in Suffolk which will
tug at a dead weight, and if they were harnessed to a post, they
would pull until they dropped though nothing moved. It is so with a
lively Christian. If he is seeking a great favour from God, he prays,
whether he gets it or not, right on: he cannot take a denial; if he
knows his petition to be according to God’s will and promise, he
pleads the blood of Jesus about it; and if he does not get an answer
at once, he says, “My soul, wait” — wait! a grand word — “wait only
upon God; for my expectation is from him.” As for the hypocrite, if
he gets into a church and there is a prayer meeting and he feels,
“Well, there is a fire kindling and an excitement getting up” — ah! how
that man can pray, the wagon is moving behind him, and he is very
willing to pull. But the sincere believer says, “I do not perceive
any revival yet. I do not hear of many conversions. Never mind, we
have prayed that God will glorify his dear Son: we will keep on
praying. If the blessing does not come in one week, we will try
three; if it does not come in three weeks, we will try three months;
if it does not come in three months, we shall still keep on for three
years; and if it does not come in three years, we will plead on for
thirty years: and if it does not come then, we will say, ‘Let your
work appear to your servants, and your glory to their
children.’ We will plead on until we die, and join with those who saw
the promise afar off, were persuaded about it, prayed for it, and
died believing it would be fulfilled.” Such prayer would not be
wasted breath. It is treasure lent out at interest; seed sown for a
future harvest; rather it is the aspiration of saints kindled by the
inspiration of God. The genuine believer knows how to tug. Jacob,
when he came to Jabbok, found that the angel was not easily to be
conquered. He laid hold of him, but the angel did not yield the
blessing; something more must be done. Had Jacob been a hypocrite he
would have let the angel go at once, but being one of the Lord’s own,
he said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” When the angel
touched him in the hollow of his thigh and made the sinew shrink, had
he been a hypocrite he would have thought, “I have had enough of this
already; I may be made to shrink all over; I cannot tell what may
happen next. I will have no more of this midnight encounter with an
unknown visitor. I will go back to my tent.” But no; he meant to
prevail, and though he felt the pain, still he said —
With thee all night I mean to stay,
And wrestle till the break of day.
He did so, and became a prince from that night on. Will you take a denial from God, you shall have it; but if you will not be denied, neither shall you. Oh importunate Christian, you are he whom God loves! Alas for those who only give, as it were, runaway knocks at the door of heaven, like boys in the street who knock and run away — they shall never find the blessing. Oh, to continue in prayer! it is the very test of sincerity. Hence of the hypocrite it is said, “Will he always call upon God?” A hypocrite stops praying in either case; he stops if he does not get what he asks for, as I have shown you; and he stops if he does get what he asks for. Has he asked to be recovered from sickness when ill? If he gets well, what does he care for praying again? Did he pray that he might not die? Oh, what a long face he drew, and what drawling professions of repentance he groaned out! But when his health is regained, and his nerves braced, his spirits are cheered, and his manly vigour has come back to him, then where are his prayers? Where are the vows his soul in anguish made? He has forgotten them all. That he is a hypocrite is palpable, for he stops praying if he does not get heard, and if he does. There is no keeping this man up to God’s statute or his own promise; he does not have the heart for true devotion, and soon fails in the attempt to exercise it.
16. V. “Will he always call upon God?” Here is the trial of PERSEVERANCE. Will he always continue to pray in the future? Will he pray, in years to come, as he now professes to do?
17. I call to see him, and he is very sick; the doctor gives a very poor account of him; his wife is weeping; all over the house there is great anxiety. I sit down by his bedside; I talk to him, and he says, “Oh, yes, yes, yes”; he agrees with all I say, and he tells me he believes in Jesus. And when he can sit up, he cries, “God be merciful to me.” His dear friends are godly people; they feel so pleased; they look forward to his recovery, and hope to see him become a new creature, a disciple of Christ. Besides, he has told them, when he gets up, how earnest he will be in a life of faith and obedience to the Lord. He will not be a mere professor, he means to throw his whole soul into the Master’s service. Now watch him. He recovers; and when he comes out from that sickroom, and can dispense with the ministry of those gentle patient women who nursed him and prayed for him, what does the hypocrite do? Oh, he says he was a fool to think and speak as he did. He admits he was frightened, but he attributes every pious expression as an infirmity of his distracted brain, the delirium of his malady, not the utterance of his reason; and he recants all his confessions like the atheist in Addison’s “Spectator.” Addison tells us that certain sailors heard that an atheist was on board their vessel: they did not know what an atheist was, but they thought it must be some odd fish; and when told it was a man who did not believe in God, they said, “Captain, it would be an uncommonly good thing to pitch him overboard.” Presently a storm comes on, and the atheist is dreadfully sick and very fearful; there, on the deck, he is seen crying to God for mercy, and whining like a child that he is afraid he will be lost and sink to hell. This is the usual courage of atheism! But when the coward reached the shore, he asked the gentlemen who heard him pray to think nothing of it, for indeed he did not know what he was saying, he had no doubt uttered a great deal of nonsense. There are plenty of that kind — who pray in danger, but brag when they get clear of the tempest. By this the hypocrite is exposed. Once take away from him the trouble and you do away with the motive for which he put on the cloak of religion. He is like a boy’s top, which will spin as long as you twirl it. The man will pray while he smarts, but not one whit longer. The hypocrite will pray today in society congenial for prayer, but he will discard prayer tomorrow when he gets laughed at for it in his business. Some old friend of his drops in, who has heard that he has been converted, and he begins to ridicule him. He asks him whether he has really turned into a Methodist? The next thing he expects to hear is, that he is dipped. He makes some coarse remarks rather to the chagrin of our courageous friend, until he, who set out so boldly to heaven with his prayers, feels quite small in the presence of the sceptic. If he were right in heart, he would not only have a proper answer to give to the mocker, but in all probability he would carry the war into the enemy’s country, and make his antagonist feel the folly of his sins and the insanity of his conduct in living without a God and without a Saviour. The proper object of ridicule and contempt is the godless, the Christless man. The Christian need never be ashamed or lower his colours. The hypocrite may well blush and hide his head, for if there is any creature that is contemptible, it is a man who does not have his heart where he professes it to be.
18. Neither will such a one always call upon God if he is in company where he is much flattered; he feels then that he has degraded himself somewhat by associating with such low, poor people as those who make up the church of God. And if he prospers in business, then he considers that the people he once worshipped with are rather inferior to himself: he must go to the world’s church: he must find a fashionable place where he can hear a gospel that is not for the poor and needy, but for those who have the key of aristocratic drawing rooms and the select assemblies. His principles — well, he is not very particular — he swallows them; probably his nonconformity was a mistake. The truths which his ancestors suffered martyrdom to defend, for which they were deprived of their possessions, driven as exiles from their country, or cast into prison, he flings away as though they were of no value whatever. Many have fallen from us through the temptations of prosperity who stood firmly enough under persecution and adversity. It is another form of the same test, “Will he always call upon God?”
19. Besides, if none of these things should occur the man who is not savingly converted and a genuine Christian, generally gives up his religion after a time because the novelty of it wears off. He is like the stony ground that received the seed, and because there was no depth of earth the sun could play upon it with great force, and up it sprang in great haste, but because there was no depth of earth, therefore it was soon scorched. So this man is easily impressed, feels quickly, and acts promptly under the influence of a highly emotional nature. He says, “Yes, I will go to heaven,” as he inwardly responds to the appeal of some earnest minister. He thinks he is converted, but we had better not be quite so sure as he is. “Wait a bit, wait a bit.” He cools as fast as he was heated. Like thorns under a pot that crackle and blaze and die out, leaving only a handful of ashes, so it is with all his godliness. Before long he gets tired of religion, he cannot — away with it — what a weariness it is. If he perseveres for awhile, it is no more pleasure for him than a pack is to a pack horse. He keeps on as a matter of formality: he has got into it and he does not see how to break away, but he likes it no better than an owl loves daylight. He holds on to his forms of prayer with no heart for prayer — and what a wretched thing that is! I have known people who felt bound to keep up their respectability when they had little or no income. Their debts were always increasing, their respectability was always tottering, and the strain upon their dignity was exhausting their utmost resources. I have considered such people to be the poorest of the poor. They lead an unhappy life and never feel at ease. But what an awful thing it is to have to keep up a spiritual respectability with no spiritual income; to overflow with gracious talk when there is no well of living water springing up within the soul; to be under the obligation to pay homage to the sanctuary while the heart is wandering on the mountain; to be bound to speak gracious words and yet possess no gracious thoughts to prompt their utterance. Oh man, you are one of the devil’s double martyrs, because you have to suffer for him here in the distaste and nausea of your hypocritical profession, and then you will be made to suffer hereafter also for having dared to insult God, and ruin your soul by being insincere in your profession of faith in Jesus Christ!
I may be coming very close to home to some people before me: I am
certainly pressing my own conscience very severely. I suppose there
is no one among us who does not feel that this is a very searching
matter. Well, dear friends, if our hearts do not condemn us, then
we have peace towards God; but if our hearts condemn us, God is
greater than our hearts and knows all things. Let us confess to him
all past failures, and although we may not be conscious of hypocrisy
(and I trust we are not so), yet, let us say, “Lord, search and try
me, and know my ways; see if there is any wicked way in me, and lead
me in the way everlasting.” I was speaking with a gentleman last
night, and I said to him, “You are a director of such a Life
Insurance Company, are you not?” “Yes,” he said. “Well,” I said,
“yours is a poor business, is it not?” “It is a very good one,” he
replied; “a very good one.” “But it is very low down in the list.”
“What list is that?” “Why, the list that has been sent around by
certain people to let the public see the condition of the life
insurance companies.” “Well,” he said, “where is it to be seen?” “Oh,
never mind where it is to be seen: is it true?” “No, it is not true;
our business prospers — admirably well.” “How so?” “Well, you know such
a man, he is an excellent actuary and a man of honour.” “Yes.” “Well,
when we employed him to go over our accounts, we said just this to
him: ‘Take the figures, examine them thoroughly, sift our accounts,
and tell us where the figures take you; tell us just that, neither
less nor more, do not shirk the truth in the slightest degree. If we
are in a bankrupt state, tell us; if we are prospering, tell us so.’ ”
My friend has convinced me that his company is not what I feared it
was. I have much confidence in any man’s business when he wishes to
know and to publish the unvarnished truth. I have great confidence in
the sincerity of any Christian man who says habitually and
truthfully, “Lord, let me know the very worst of my case, whatever it
is. Even if all my fair prospects and bright ideals should be only
dreams — the fabric of a vision; if that prospect before me of green
fields and flowing hills should be only an awful mirage, and should
change tomorrow into the hot burning desert of an awful reality; so
be it, only let me know the truth; lead me in a plain path; let me be
sincere before you, oh you heart-searching, soul-trying God!” Let us,
with such frank candour, such sincere simplicity, come before the
Lord. Let as many of us as fear the Lord and distrust ourselves, take
refuge in his omniscience against the jealousies and suspicions which
haunt our own hearts. And let us do better still, let us hurry anew
to the cross of Jesus, and so end our difficulties by accepting
afresh the sinners’ Saviour. When I have a knot to untie concerning
my evidence of being a child of God, and I cannot untie it, I usually
follow Alexander’s example with the Gordian knot, and cut it. How do
I cut it? Why, in this way. You say, oh conscience, this is wrong,
and that is wrong. You say, oh Satan, your faith is a delusion, your
experience a fiction, your profession a lie. So be it then, I will
not dispute it, I end that matter; if I am no saint, I am a sinner;
there can be no doubt about that! I defy the devil himself to
question that. Then it is written that “Jesus Christ came into the
world to save sinners,” and the gospel is preached to sinners, “He
who believes on him is not condemned.” I do believe on him; if I
never did before I will now, and therefore all my transgressions are
blotted out. And now, Lord, grant me grace to begin again, and from
this time forward let me live the life of faith, the life of prayer;
let me be one of those who will pray always, let me be one of those
who will pray when they are dying, having prayed all their lives.
Prayer is our very life: ceasing prayer we cease to live. As long as
we are here preserved in spiritual life we must pray. May the Lord,
grant it may be so with each one here present, through the power of
your Spirit, and the merit of Jesus’ blood. Amen, and Amen.
[Portion of Scripture Read Before Sermon — Job 27]
(a) Dominical Letter: the letter used to denote the Sundays in a particular year. The seven letters A, B, C, D, E, F, G are used in succession to denote the first seven days of the year (Jan. 17), and then in rotation the next seven days, and so on, so that, e.g., if the third January is a Sunday, the dominical letter for the year is C. Leap Year has two Dominical letters, one for the days preceding Feb. 29 (or according to some, Feb. 24; cf. bissextile), the other for the rest of the year. OED.
(b) Collect: Liturgical. A name given to “a comparatively short prayer, more or less condensed in form, and aiming at a single point, or at two points closely connected with each other,” one or more of which, according to the occasion and season, have been used in the public worship of the Western Church from an early date. OED.