The Fool—His Character, 2
Back to J. C. Philpot Sermons
2. The next consequence is, that he "draws near unto the gates of death." This seems to be the worst symptom of his malady. There has been a time perhaps when the Lord afflicted him in body, or in circumstances, or in family, and it was borne with resignation and calmness, for the sweet consolations of the Lord comforted his soul and upheld his spirit. But O to be afflicted in various ways, and then not to have the presence of the Lord; not to enjoy the sweet consolations of his Spirit; not to have an appetite for the Word of God; not to feed upon heavenly food; not to drink in the milk of the promises; not to love a throne of grace; and not to feel a sweet union with the people of God—to be afflicted in body, soul, or circumstances, and yet to have the mind still carnal unto death—this it is that most deeply aggravates the affliction.
The affliction in itself is hard to bear; but the denial of the Lord's presence, and a sense of his displeasure, makes it a thousand times worse; and when to all this is added, "All these things have I procured to myself;" this makes the knife cut deep. It is almost as if conscience laid hold of the sword when in the hand of God, and drove it in up to the hilt. 'My worldly-mindedness, my pride, my covetousness, my carnality, my neglect of divine things, my rebelliousness, and recklessness, the snares I entangled myself in, and my various besetting sins'—'O,' says the fool, 'this it is which has provoked the Lord to afflict me so severely; and to make the affliction yet heavier, to withdraw his presence, and leave me, fool that I am, to reap the fruit of my own devises!'
Thus he draws near to the gates of death in his feelings spiritually, and, it may be, from an afflicted body naturally. As death seems to approach, he is almost overwhelmed with gloomy fears, yet knows not how to escape from the burdens and weights which so heavily oppress him.
Here, then, he is, as low as a poor soul can well be—in a pitiable plight, in a very sad and miserable condition. He can now say with Deer, and he never penned a truer verse—
"O what a fool have I been made,
Or rather made myself!
That mariner's mad part I played
Who sees, yet strikes the shelf."
III. The fool, his CRY. Well, is it all over? Is there no hope? Is all remedy gone? Must he sink away into despair and die? Shall Satan, with a yell of triumph, brandish his bleeding sword over the slaughtered victim? He would, he must, if God were not rich in grace, and abundant in mercy and goodness. We therefore find, that the Lord does not leave him in this pitiable case and miserable condition, but raises up and draws forth a cry in his soul. This cry is a blessed evidence of the life of God within, which all his folly could not utterly extinguish, and which all the miserable condition in which he is cannot wholly drown.
"Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble." A cry in the still depths of the soul! The blessed Spirit touches his heart with sacred grief and holy penitence—dissolves the eyes—takes away that hardness of spirit into which his folly had cast him—melts, moves, and stirs up the soul—raises up, and draws forth that cry which enters into the ears of the Lord Almighty!
Some people think that a Christian never can sink so low as not to feel a cry in his soul. I believe he may indeed. But I will appeal to a better authority than mine, which is, Bunyan, in his "Pilgrim's Progress." We find Christian there shut up in the castle of Giant Despair. But it was only after he had been there a certain period that he and his fellow-prisoner began to cry, and sigh, and pray unto the Lord. Despair had stunned the cry in their soul before—it was only about midnight that they began to pray. So when this poor "fool" gets into trouble, such a flood of despairing thoughts rushes into his mind, and he seems so shut up in hardness of soul, that there is little or no cry to God in his heart.
But the Lord does not leave him! There is an attempt at a cry; but still the heart is hard. There is not yet that penitence, that grief, that godly sorrow, that tenderness, that pouring out of the soul—all which is implied in the expression "cry."
But when the Lord touches his heart with his gracious finger, so as to melt him down into real contrition, and sorrow for his folly, then with that spirit of penitence comes the spirit of grace and supplication; and then he cries, and that to a purpose. He cries, because he knows that none but the Lord can do him any good! He does not want man, nor the help of man. He knows that none but God can bless his soul. God must appear—he must help—he must deliver—he must bring him out into the enjoyment of his presence. LikeHezekiah, he turns his face to the wall, away from his courtiers, away from his flatterers, away from his friends, and looks only, wholly, and solely to the Lord. Or as poor Jonah, when he was in the belly of hell, with the weeds wrapped round his head, "Yet," he says, "I will look again toward your holy temple." Jonah did not cry when he was asleep in the bottom of the ship, nor when he was first thrown over-board. The 'weeds'—fit emblem of his filth and folly—were first to be wrapped round his head, and he was to sink into the belly of hell. But when the Lord at last touched his heart with his gracious finger, then came the expiring cry, and the last longing, lingering look—and that cry, and that look came up into the ears and before the eyes of the Lord.
Prayer, true prayer, lies deep in the soul. It is at the bottom of a man's heart—and therefore needs heavy weights and burdens to press out those few drops of real supplication that lie low down in its hidden depths. "Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble."
IV. The fool, his DELIVERANCE. But is this cry heard? Yes! "He sent his word and healed them and delivered them from their destructions." He sent his word—nothing else would do. The poor "fool" might have examined his 'evidences', raked them together, and scraped them up—but O, they are all black and beclouded. Or he may have looked to the dealings of God with his soul in times past—but such a cloud of obscurity rests upon them that he cannot gather anything satisfactory out of them. His religion, and his profession of it, seem at times his greatest condemnation. Then what comfort can he get from it? In this pitiable plight, it is only a 'word from God' that can settle the matter. All that friends may say is of no avail—God must decide the case. And he does decide it in his own time and way by sending his word, applying his truth, bringing home some sweet, and precious promise, and making the word of his grace to drop like the rain, distill like the dew, and fall with a divine weight and power into the soul.
Now until this is the case, he cannot believe for himself what God says—he cannot mix faith with any promise however suitable, or any passage of Scripture however encouraging. But as soon as the Lord sends his word, and brings it home with heavenly power to the heart, immediately faith springs up and lays hold of the truth which God applies. As faith thus lays hold of the word, the word is brought into the soul. It penetrates at once into every corner of the heart—and as it diffuses itself, melts it, dissolves it, makes a way, and opens a channel for the mercy and grace of God to flow into.
What an effect a word from God can produce! Be it in reading, in hearing, on the knees, or in secret meditation—when a word drops from the Lord's mouth with divine power into the soul—what a change it produces! And nothing but this divine power can ever bring the "fool" out of his miserable condition! When this comes, it does the work in a moment—it heals all the wounds which sin has made—and repairs all the breaches in the conscience that folly has produced. One word from God heals them all! The Lord does not come as it were with plasters to heal first one sore and then another. He heals now as in the days of his flesh. When he healed then, he healed fully, at once, completely. The earthly doctor heals by degrees; he puts a plaster on one sore, and a liniment on another; and heals one by one. But when the Lord heals, it is done in a moment! The balm of Gilead flows over ALL the wounds, heals them up, and makes them perfectly whole.
It is then with the soul as with "the woman who had a hemorrhage for twelve years. She had spent everything she had on doctors and still could find no cure. She came up behind Jesus and touched the fringe of his robe. Immediately, the bleeding stopped." This is healing. Any testimony from God, really from God, does it in a moment. If you can get but one word from God into your soul to make you believe you are a child of God, and are savingly interested in his pardoning love and mercy—every wound, though there be a million, yes, every wound will be healed instantaneously! This is the only healing worth having. To be healed by 'evidences' is like being healed by plasters. You need an evidence here, and an evidence there, as a man that has his body full of sores needs a plaster upon every wound. One word from God is the real panacea, the true, the only "heal-all"—and Jesus (Jehovah-rophi, "the Lord my healer")—the only true, infallible Physician. Would you be healed completely, you must look to the Lord, and not to man—be a Hezekiah, not an Asa.
Two blessed consequences follow.
1. "He saved them out of their distresses." The word of the Lord does three things; it heals, it saves, it delivers. "He saved them out of their distresses." Not in their distresses; but out of them. He lifted them up and out. And this is the only way to be saved out of our distresses—to be lifted out of them into the bosom of God. Just as a man fallen into a deep pit is not delivered while he is in the pit, but by being brought out—so when the Lord saves by some application of his precious truth to the soul, he brings it out of distress into his own bosom, into an enjoyment of his presence and mercy, and of a full, complete salvation.
2 "He delivered them from their destructions." O! how many things there are even to those who have the grace of God, which would, but for sovereign mercy, prove their destruction! Lawful things, but for the grace of God, might prove their destruction. Your shop, your business, your farm, your family, your worldly occupation, all might be your destruction—but for the goodness and grace of God. But consider, besides—your temptations, snares, besetting sins, the lusts of the flesh, the pride of your heart, the carnality of your mind, would not all these things be your destruction—but for the grace of God?
John Bunyan says, "One leak will sink a ship; and one sin will destroy a sinner"—that is, one MASTER sin. And who is there that has not some temptation, some besetting sin, some snare, some evil perpetually at work? Who is not, more or less, in the sieve of some powerful temptation which would prove—but for the grace of God—his destruction; and, as far as he could do it, has already destroyed his soul?
"O Ephraim, you have destroyed yourself!" not "Ephraim, if you do not take very great care, you will by and by destroy yourself." But, "O Ephraim, you have destroyed yourself" already! And so have we destroyed our souls over and over again. Here is this temptation, this snare, this besetting sin, this trap of the devil—all ready to entangle our feet—and would prove again, and again, and again our destruction. It would ruin both body and soul, and sweep us into hell without remedy—if the Lord did not intervene and interpose. Here, then, is the "fool"—having destroyed his soul.
All WE can do (it seems a dreadful thing to say—but I believe it is true) is to damn our own souls—that is all we can do, by nature. And what GOD has to do, is to keep us from is to keep us from damning ourselves! For our heart is so vile, our nature so corrupt—we are so bent upon backsliding, so deadly intent upon our idols, that God has to hold us back from hurling our own souls to the bottomless pit!
How manly are our "DESTRUCTIONS." And these "destructions" are like poison. We sip, and sip, and sip, not knowing there is poison in the cup. Its sweetness hides its venom. Arsenic is in every glass—the table is spread with wine—and to drink is to die! See how "the wine is the poison of dragons and the cruel venom of asps!" Look at our self-righteousness and pharisaic pride—is not that sufficient to destroy? Look at our carnality and worldly-mindedness, with all our reckless and vain thoughts—are not these sufficient to destroy? Look at our unbelief and infidelity—is not that sufficient to destroy? Look at the base lusts and sensual appetites—is there not enough of this poison in our heart to send a world to perdition? Look at the workings of despondency and despair—are not these sufficient to destroy?
Watch the movements of our heart in the various circumstances of life. Is not there a snare in everything? In business, in our occupation, at home, abroad, wherever we go, in whatever company we go—is not some secret snare hidden? And would not that snare entangle and destroy our souls—but for the sovereign grace and mercy of God?
A man does not know himself, nor the evil of sin, nor the wickedness of the human heart, nor the depth of the fall, who does not see and feel he has over and over again been entangled in things—which but for the grace of God would have been his eternal destruction! If he were to say he had not, I would not believe him, for I would know he either deceived himself or wished to deceive me—in other words, was an Antinomian, a Pharisee, or a hypocrite. For sure I am, if any one is acquainted with the depth of the fall, the wickedness and weakness of our Adam nature, and what a man can think, say, and do, when not upheld by the grace of God—he will say, "but for the grace of God I would again and again have rushed upon my own destruction!"
Then do not think me very hard this morning, if I have been calling you all "fools." I put myself into the catalogue. He who stands in the pulpit, and those who sit in the pew, all bear the same name, for they have the same nature. We are all "fools"—for folly is bound up in our hearts. If we possess one particle of the grace of God, or one grain of heavenly wisdom, we shall say, "Lord, I have been, am, shall be to my dying day a fool, if you do not give me wisdom, and keep me every moment of my life—yes, keep me as the apple of your eye."
Then you need not think yourself a very 'unusual person' as we sometimes do think ourselves—nor a very out-of-the-way wretch, since there are other "fools" in the world beside yourself. And if you are the character as traced here by the pen of inspiration, there may be something in it to lift up your head, and encourage you to believe there is something still of the good work of God upon your soul. Christ is our wisdom—and as we feel our folly, it may make us by his grace, perhaps, more cautious for the future. The burnt child dreads the fire. And if entangled in this or that snare we learn to deplore the consequences—it may produce a holy watchfulness. He is a wise man who knows himself to be a fool. The greatest fool is he who does not know his own folly. Such an one resembles certain very clever people, whom we used to meet with in the world. O, they knew everything—nobody could instruct them. They had not wisdom enough to see their own ignorance.
So in grace. He is a wise man who knows himself to be a fool. It is not every professor of Calvinism who has got as far as this. If a sense of our own folly makes us prize that 'wisdom and teaching which comes from above', it may not be our worst lesson. We may have had to bitterly regret our folly—but if it has brought down our pride and self-righteousness, made us hate and abhor ourselves in our own eyes, and opened a way for the free manifestations of God's superabounding grace, mercy, and truth—it may have been for our spiritual good. At any rate, it is better than being a "fool" and not knowing it.
There are two kinds of fools. One that does not know his own folly—and he is the worst of fools. And there is another that does know it—and he is next door to becoming a wise man; for the deeper he sinks in a sense of his own folly—the higher he will rise into an apprehension of Christ as his wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption.
Back to J. C. Philpot Sermons