The Spurgeon Series 1855 & 1856. Charles H. Spurgeon

and not know it; how a man can pass from death to life, and not know it; how a man can be brought out of darkness into marvellous light without knowing it. I am sure I know it, when I shout out my old verse,

      Now free from sin, I walk at large,

      My Saviour’s blood is my full discharge;

      At his dear feet content I lay,

      A sinner saved, and homage pay.

      There are moments when the eyes glisten with joy; and we can say, “We are persuaded, confident, certain.” I do not wish to distress anyone who is under doubt. Often gloomy doubts will prevail; there are seasons when you fear you have not been called; when you doubt your interest in Christ. Ah! what a mercy it is that it is not your hold of Christ that saves you, but his hold of you! What a sweet fact that it is not how you grasp his hand, but his grasp of yours, that saves you. Yet I think you ought to know sometime or other, whether you are called of God. If so, you will follow me in the next part of my discourse which is a matter of pure experience; to us who are saved, it is “Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God.”

      14. The gospel is to the true believer a thing of power. It is Christ the power of God. Indeed, there is a power in God’s gospel beyond all description. Once, I, like Mazeppa, bound on the wild horse of my lust, bound hand and foot, incapable of resistance, was galloping on with hell’s wolves behind me, howling for my body and my soul, as their just and lawful prey. There came a mighty hand which stopped that wild horse, cut my bands, set me down, and brought me into liberty. Is there power, sir? Indeed, there is power, and he who has felt it must acknowledge it. There was a time when I lived in the strong old castle of my sins, and rested in my works. There came a trumpeter to the door, and bade me open it. I with anger chided him from the porch, and said he never should enter. There came a goodly personage, with loving countenance; his hands were marked with scars, where nails were driven, and his feet had nail prints too; he lifted up his cross, using it as a hammer; at the first blow the gate of my prejudice shook; at the second it trembled more; at the third down it fell, and in he came; and he said, “Arise, and stand upon your feet, for I have loved you with an everlasting love.” A thing of power! Ah! it is a thing of power. I have felt it here, in this heart; I have the witness of the Spirit within, and know it is a thing of might, because it has conquered me; it has bowed me down.

      His free grace alone,

      From the first to the last,

      Has won my affection,

      And held my soul fast.

      The gospel to the Christian is a thing of power. What is it that makes the young man devote himself as a missionary to the cause of God, to leave father and mother, and go into distant lands? It is a thing of power that does it — it is the gospel. What is it that constrains yonder minister, in the midst of the cholera, to climb up that creaking staircase, and stand by the bed of some dying creature who has that dire disease? It must be a thing of power which leads him to risk his life; it is love of the cross of Christ which bids him do it. What is that which enables one man to stand up before a multitude of his fellows, all unprepared it may be, but determined that he will speak nothing except Christ and him crucified? What is it that enables him to cry, like the warhorse of Job in battle, “Aha!” and move glorious in might? It is a thing of power that does it — it is Christ crucified. And what emboldens that timid female to walk down that dark lane in the wet evening, that she may go and sit beside the victim of a contagious fever? What strengthens her to go through that den of thieves, and pass by the profligate and profane? What influences her to enter into that charnel house of death, and there sit down and whisper words of comfort? Does gold make her do it? They are too poor to give her gold. Does fame make her do it? She shall never be known, nor written among the mighty women of this earth. What makes her do it? Is it love of merit? No; she knows she has no reward before high heaven. What impels her to it? It is the power of the gospel on her heart; it is the cross of Christ; she loves it, and she therefore says —

      Were the whole realm of nature mine.

      That were a present far too small;

      Love so amazing, so divine,

      Demands my soul, my life, my all.

      15. But I behold another scene. A martyr is hurried to the stake; the halberd {a} men are around him; the crowds are mocking, but he is marching steadily on. See, they bind him, with a chain around his middle, to the stake; they heap faggots all about him; the flame is lit; listen to his words; “Bless the Lord, oh my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name.” The flames are kindling around his legs; the fire is burning him even to the bone; see him lift up his hands, and say, “I know that my Redeemer lives, and though the fire devour this body, yet in my flesh shall I see the Lord.” Behold him clutch the stake, and kiss it as if he loved it, and hear him say, “For every chain of iron that man girds me with, God shall give me a chain of gold, for all these faggots, and this ignominy and shame, he shall increase the weight of my eternal glory.” See, all the lower parts of his body are consumed; still he lives in the torture; at last he bows himself, and the upper part of his body falls over; and as he falls you hear him say, “Into your hands I commend my spirit.” What wondrous magic was on him, sirs? What made that man strong? What helped him to bear that cruelty? What made him stand unmoved in the flames? It was the thing of power; it was the cross of Jesus crucified. For “to us who are saved it is the power of God.”

      16. But behold another scene far different. There is no crowd there; it is a silent room. There is a poor pallet, a lonely bed: a physician standing by. There is a young girl; her face is blanched by consumption; long has the worm eaten her cheek, and though sometimes the flush came, it was the death flush of the deceitful destroyer. There she lies, weak, pale, wan, worn, dying: yet behold a smile upon her face, as if she had seen an angel. She speaks, and there is music in her voice. Joan of Arc of old was not half so mighty as that girl. She is wrestling with dragons on her deathbed; but see her composure, and hear her dying sonnet:

      Jesus! lover of my soul,

      Let me to your bosom fly,

      While the billows near me roll, —

      While the tempest still is high!

      Hide me, oh my Saviour! hide

      Until the storm of life is past!

      Safe into the haven guide;

      Oh, receive my soul at last!

      And with a smile she shuts her eye on earth, and opens it in heaven. What enables her to die like that? It is the power of God to salvation; it is the cross; it is Jesus crucified.

      17. I have little time to discourse upon the other point, and be it far from me to weary you by a lengthy and prosy sermon, but we must glance at the other statement: Christ is, to the called ones, the wisdom of God, as well as the power of God. To a believer, the gospel is the perfection of wisdom, and if it does not appear so to the ungodly, it is because of the perversion of judgment consequent on their depravity.

      18. An idea has long possessed the public mind, that a religious man can scarcely be a wise man. It has been the custom to talk of infidels, atheists, and deists, as men of deep thought and comprehensive intellect; and to tremble for the Christian controversialist, as if he must surely fall by the hand of the enemy. But this is purely a mistake; for the gospel is the sum of wisdom; an epitome of knowledge; a treasure house of truth; and a revelation of mysterious secrets. In it we see how justice and mercy may be married; here we behold inexorable law entirely satisfied, and sovereign love bearing away the sinner in triumph. Our meditation upon it enlarges the mind; and as it opens to our soul in successive flashes of glory, we stand astonished at the profound wisdom obvious in it. Ah, dear friends! if you seek wisdom, you shall see it displayed in all its greatness; not in the balancing of the clouds, nor the firmness of earth’s foundations; — not in the measured march of the armies of the sky, nor in the perpetual motion of the waves of the sea; not in vegetation with all its fairy forms of beauty; nor in the animal with its marvellous tissue of nerve, and vein, and sinew: nor even in man, that last and loftiest work of the