A Warning Against Hardness of Heart 2
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He drinks, but no one calls him drunkard, because it is done at home. He commits lust, but no one charges him with it, because he carefully conceals his tracks, and indulges himself only when he is out of sight of his fellows. He robs in business, but no one can detect it; perhaps even the ledger does not show it — there is a particular way of making ends meet in dishonesty, by which a tradesman may be a gross thief, and continue to be so, and yet by putting a gloss on matters, can maintain his reputation, and be considered honest. Into such a state of heart I fear that even some of God's children may for a time be allowed to fall, but the far greater probability is that those who descend so low are hypocrites, and know not the grace of God in truth. I pray God we may never prove by experience how nearly an heir of heaven may become like a child of wrath.
After this there is still a greater hardening of heart — the man comes to dislike rebukes. He has sinned so long, and yet he has been held in such respect in the Christian Church, that if you give half a hint about his sin, he looks at you with a sharp look as if you were insulting him; he is not to be talked to or spoken with — he has been taken for a flaming professor so many years that he is not to be suspected now. You may rebuke the sins of the congregation and he will be gratified if you do not make too particular an application. You may declaim against his sin in public, but woe unto the friend who shall be daring enough to give a private admonition. The more a man loves his sin and needs rebuke, the more heartily will he hate the person who, with the best of motives, lays it at his door. Mark this word, if this hardening work goes on, the day at last comes to such a man that the Word of God loses all effect upon him, whether he reads it or hears it, it ceases to be an accusing voice any longer. Rather he finds a song of lullaby in it, and rocked in the cradle of his sin, he sleeps on to his own eternal ruin.
You say, "Can a child of God come as far as this?" I believe not, my brethren, but I am speaking now of professors at large; professors may.Professors have at last learned to sleep over the mouth of hell, and dream of heaven while damnation is denounced upon them. I fear that some here are as easy under the thunders of God's law as the blacksmith's dog under the sound of his master's hammer with the sparks flying about him. Some of you have heard the gospel so long and have made a profession of being saved so long, that being still unconverted, there is now little hope of you. The gospel has no power over you, you know it so well and love it so little. If your character could be photographed, you would not acknowledge it. If we preach against hypocrisy, hypocrites say, "Admirable! admirable!" If we deal out threatenings against secret sin, secret sinners feel a little twinge, but forget it all and say, "An excellent discourse." They have hardened their neck against God's Word, have made their brows like flints, and their hearts adamant stones, and now they might just as well stay away from the house of God as not, for there is but little hope that the Word will ever be blest to them, their soul has become hardened through the deceitfulness of sin. And yet would I have them keep from the means of grace? No, for with God nothing is impossible; the sovereign grace of God may yet step in, and he who has power to heal may yet in the mighty majesty of his love, speak to the heart of stone, and make it gush forth with rivers of repentance like the rock in the wilderness of old.
II. We come, in the second place, to notice THE PECULIAR POWER WHICH LIES IN SIN TO HARDEN THE HEART. It is the deceitfulness of sin. The heart is deceitful, and sin is deceitful; and when these two deceitful ones lay their heads together to make up a case, there is no wonder if man, like a silly dove, is taken in their net. One of the first ways in which sin deceives the professor is by saving, "You see no hurt has come of it. The thing is hid: nobody has mentioned it to the Church-officers; it is not, known among the members, in fact, nobody has heard it — you may as well enjoy yourself as not. You are not doing any mischief — if there is anything wrong it is confined to yourself. Really," says sin, "I cannot see that you are any the worse. You preached quite as well last Sunday; you prayed quite as well at the prayer meeting and as far as the family altar is concerned, there was not much difference there — evidently sin has not hurt you: do it again; do it again." Forgetting that the immediate results of sin are not always apparent in this world, and that if hardness of heart is not apparent it is all the more real; for if a man could perceive the hardness or his own heart, it would be pretty good evidence that it was somewhat softened.
Then sin will whisper next, "This would be sin in other people, but it is not in you. You see you were placed in a peculiar position; there is indulgence for you which could not be accorded to other men- you are young," says sin, "nobody could accuse you if you did go a little rashly to work — if you were all older professor it would be very wrong." Then if it is an old man who is to be deceived, sin will cry, "You must take care of yourself; you need more indulgence than others."
If a man be in private life, sin will then suggest, "It does not matter in you; it would be wrong in a deacon, or any other Church officer, but nobody knows it in your case." If it is some person in high repute, then sin whispers, "Your character is so well established, it will bear it." There is a way in which you can look at things and see them as they are not- sin knows how to use the distorting glass so that a man will turn round on this side and condemn his fellow for a sin, and call him some black name, and then he will turn to the other side and commit the same sin himself, and, like the adulterous woman in the Proverbs, he will wipe his mouth and say "I have done no wickedness." Sin, if it cannot deceive in this way, will beguile its victim by insinuating, "Now this is a dangerous thing for others to do, but in your case, you have so much prudence, and have acquired so much experience, that you can stop when you reach a certain point. I know," says sin, "young So-and-so was ruined by frequenting such and such places, but you may go in and out of the same doors, because you have so much discretion. It would be dangerous to expose your son to such a temptation, and of course you would not like the Church should know that you go there, but still, really you are a person so well established, and you know the world so thoroughly, that you may do without the slightest hurt what others may not even dream of."
It is a great and grievous lie as we ought to know, that sin can ever be touched without injury, but yet this suffices for many — "I will go to theverge of the precipice, I will look down, I will get the delicious feeling of the sublimity of danger, and then will turn back. I will mix up with bad company sufficiently to know its evils- I would not go over the line for all the world, I shall be sure to stop just on this side of it." Such boasters remind one of that simple story of the lady who needed a coachman. When three applied, she had them in one by one. "Well," said she to the first, "How near can you drive to danger?" "Madam," said he, "I believe I could drive within a foot without fear." "You will not do for me" said she. To the second she said, "How near could you drive to danger?" "Within a hair's breadth, Madam," said he, "and yet, you would be perfectly safe." "You will not suit me," said she. The third came in, and when asked the same question "How near could you drive to danger?" He said, "Please Ma'am, I never tried, I always drive as far off as ever I can." The Christian should always act in such a way.
Some, through the deceitfulness of sin, are always trying how near they can go to the edge, so as not to fall over; how near they can sail to the rock, and not dash upon it — how much sin they can indulge in, and yet remain respected Church members. Shame on us, that any of us should be guilty of such tampering with that accursed thing which slew the Lord of glory.
Again, sin will sometimes have the impudence to say, "It is very easy to repent of it. If you have once plunged into the mire, you can at any time see the evil of it, and you have only to repent, and straightway there is forgiveness." This vile traitor is even dastardly enough to take the doctrines of grace, and turn them into a reason for sin. The old serpent hisses out, as none but the devil dare do, "God will not cast you off; he never casts away his people. He can soon visit you in mercy, and lift you up to the highest state of spirituality; though you may have fallen into the lowest condition of degradation. You run no risks as others would; for the eternal purpose of God is engaged to keep you from final perdition, and therefore you may drink the deadly thing, and it shall not hurt you; and tread upon serpents, and they shall not bite you." "Their damnation is just," says the apostle, of those who use the doctrines of grace its an argument for a license to sin.
The child of God scorns the thought of making the love of God
a reason for sin. When a little boy was tempted to steal from an orchard, the others said to him, "You my safely do it; your father is so fond of you, that he will not beat you." "No, no," said the little fellow, "that is the very reason why I would not go a thieving, for I should grieve my father, who is so kind and so good to me." Yet the deceitfulness of sin is such that it will turn the strongest motive for holiness into an argument for rebellion against God. My dear friends, I feel the weight of this subject pressing down my own heart; and for that very reason I cannot bring out these truths as I would desire, so as to make them flash into your faces. But I do feel that it must be true of some of you who make a profession of religion, that sin, through its deceitfulness, is tampering with your spirits, trying to make you traitors to God, seeking, if it possibly can, to pervert your mind from hatred of sin, and from true love to Jesus Christ.
III. I pass on, however, to hint at THE REMEDY WHICH IS PROVIDED IN THE TEXT FOR US TO USE WITH OTHERS. "Exhort one another," and we are told when to do it — "daily," and when to begin to do it — "while it is called today." Doubtless many professors would be saved from gross sins if mutual exhortation were more commonly practiced in the churches of God in the power of the Holy Spirit. This duty belongs primarily to thepastor and to Church officers. We are set in the church to see after the good of the people, and it is our business both in public and in private, as far as we have opportunity, to exhort daily; and especially where we see any coldness creeping over men, where there begins to be a decline in the ways of God, it is our duty to be most earnest in exhortation.
The duty also belongs to you all, "Exhort one another daily." Parents should be careful concerning their children in this matter. You act not the part of a true father unless you see that your son upon the slightest inconsistency he receives a gentle word of rebuke from you. You matrons in Israel, you are not true mothers of the Church unless you look after the young sisters to keep them out of sin. Sunday-school teachers, this is peculiarly your work with reward to your own classes. In this Church, so many have been brought out of the school into the Church, that I may insist the more earnestly upon this duty. Watch over your children, not only that they may be converted, but that after being converted they may be as watered gardens, not withering plants, but all the graces of the Spirit coming to perfection through your care. Here is work for the elders among us. You whose grey heads betoken years of experience, and whose years of experience ought to have given you wisdom and knowledge- you may use the superiority which age affords you to offer a word of exhortation, lovingly and tenderly to the young. You can speak as those of us who are younger cannot speak, for you can tell what you have tasted and have handled; perhaps you can even tell where you have ached by reason of your own faults and follies. All of you without exception, whether you be rich or poor, see to each others' souls! Do not say, "Am I my brother's keeper?" but seek you your brother's good for edification.
I do hope there will be a larger degree of sociality among the members of this Church than ever, although hitherto I have had no cause of complaint. Some Churches never can practice mutual exhortation because the members do not know each other- the members are lumps of ice floating about, huge ice-blocks without connection with one another- it ought not to be so. The very fact of Church membership, drinking of the same cup, eating of the same bread, it seems to me, entitles every man to admonish, and to be admonished, nay, makes it the imperative duty of every such person to see that he cares for the soul of his fellow. I would not abolish social distinctions, God forbid! they ever must exist, I believe, at least until the Lord comes; but in the Church of God, membership and brotherhood should, at least when you come together here, override all social distinctions.
And as in Cromwell's army, the private might often be heard around the camp fire talking to the major, and the subordinate taking it upon him to rebuke the colonel, so should it be among us- we should feel that we are one in Christ Jesus, that while we regard distinctions among men in civillife, yet in spiritual things we so care for each other's good, and so desire the edification of the entire body of Christ, that we watch over one another carefully and prayerfully, and exhort one another daily. In such a Church as this there is peculiar need of it. What can we, a handful of Church officers, do among three thousand of you. If you do not exercise oversight over one another, what can be done? I thank God the duty is not altogether neglected, but I would stimulate you to a greater diligence in the exercise of it.
You know of someone perhaps, who is backsliding- do not tell anybody else, go privately yourself to him. You know of a sister whose spiritual life is in a decline- do not talk to your neighbors, or even at first communicate with us about it, but labor to get your own heart right, and then seek to restore such an one in the spirit of meekness, remembering, yourself lest you also be tempted. If we do not do this, we shall as a Church suffer great dishonor. It is unavoidable in so many but that we should be troubled with some hypocrites. How can our Church be kept right, instrumentally, except by much watchfulness? We do not wish to be dishonored, we do not desire by great falls to grieve the name of Christ; then let us watch over one another. It is so pleasant and so blessed to restore a brother from the error or his ways, that I can offer you no greater reward than these two — to screen the name of Christ from shame, and to have the pleasure of saving a soul from death and covering a multitude of sins.
IV. Lastly, SUPPOSE THIS TO BE THE CASE WITH ANY ONE OF US, WHAT THEN? We cannot very well, as a rule, ask a brother to exhort us when we feel conscious of insensibility, although it were well if some dear friend could be trusted to give us every now and then a solemn admonition. Some of us are in such a position that we are not very likely to be exhorted, we are keepers of the vineyard, and have none who would take upon themselves to admonish us. Our enemies, however, very ably supply the lack, for they often tell us very profitable, but very unpleasant truths, which do us a deal of good, and they are never restrained by any fear of hurting our feelings. We have great reason to thank God for some men's enmity, it was the only way in which they could serve us. Failing this- and private Christians miss this bitter medicine — what is to be done? Suppose we have begun to flag? what is to be done? Shall I say "Suppose?" come, pass the question round, dear friends. Is it not true with too many of us, that we are growing careless and insensible! Do I not hear some honest hearts cry, "There is no supposition in the case, we have already gone back." Public services to some of you have grown dull, compared with what they used to be, and yet the preacher is the same! Prayer meetings you scarce attend, or if you are there, your hearts are not on fire with vehement longings after your God.
Private prayer drags heavily. Bible reading is almost given up. Communion with Christ is becoming a thing of the past. Holy joys and divine ecstasies, are things which you have read of and heard about, but do not enjoy yourselves! May it not be so with you! I feel sometimes as if I could be cut in my heart with a sword, I would bless the sword, so long as I could but ache and bleed under it. Oh, it is a horrible thing, an accursed thing, to abide in a state of spiritual insensibility! Oh, for heartbreaking! To have a heart broken thoroughly would be a blessing- yes, to be driven to despair might be an enviable thing, rather than not to feel at all. I will not, therefore, say "Suppose," but I will say it is so with a great many. Then what had we better do?
My brethren, let us labor to feel what an evil thing this is- little love to our own dying Savior, little joy in our precious Jesus, little fellowship with our spiritual and well beloved husband, our Lord, our covenant Head. Be ashamed and be confounded for your own ways, O house of Israel. Cover your faces, men and brethren, and let boasting be put away. Put on sackcloth! Heap ashes on your heads! Hold a true Lent in your souls, while you sorrow over your hardness of heart. Do not stop at sorrow! Remember where you first received salvation. Go at once to the cross. There, and there only, can you got your spirit quickened. There hangs the Savior! There was life in him ten years, twenty years ago, when you first looked. There is life in him still. If your experience should seem to you to have been a delusion, and your faith to have been presumption, Christ is a Savior still. He came into the world to save sinners, and if you are not a saint, you are a sinner; go to him as such. Let us, my brethren, begin again. Let us go to the starting point. Let us lay again the fundamentals. Let us sing —
"Just as I am, without one plea,
But that your blood was shed for me,
And that you bid me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come!"
No matter how hard, how insensible, how dead we may have become, let us go again in all the rags, and poverty, and defilement of our natural condition, and throw ourselves flat on our faces before his mighty cross! "With all my sin, and all my hardness of heart," let the believer say, "I do believe that Jesus died for me." Let him clasp that cross, let him look into those languid eyes, let him bathe in that fountain filled with blood. This alone will bring back to him his first love; this will restore the ancient holiness of his faith, and the former tenderness of his soul!
To you who think that you never were converted and probably never were, who have grown very hard, who fear you never could by any possibility melt in repentance, I give this exhortation, O may the Holy Spirit enable you to obey it. Come to Jesus you vilest of men! Laboring ones, heavy laden ones, come to Jesus! Black, foul, filthy, hard-hearted ones, come to Jesus! He is able to save unto the uttermost them that come unto God by him. We are not in hell yet, the iron door has not grated on its hinges, the dread bolt has not yet slid into its socket. There is hope for there is life, there is hope for there is a promise, there is hope for there hangs the Savior — there is hope for me, for you, for both of us, if we go humbly to the mercy seat, and take Christ to be our all in all. God help us to do it for Jesus' name's sake. Amen.
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