The Spurgeon Series 1855 & 1856. Charles H. Spurgeon

{b } holding up the head of Medusa. That head turned all people into stone who looked upon it. There is a warrior there with a dart in his hand: he stands stiffened, turned into stone, with the javelin even in his fist. There is another with a sword beneath his robe about to stab; he is now the statue of an assassin, motionless and cold. Another is creeping along stealthily, like a man in an ambush, and there he stands a consolidated rock; he has looked only upon that head, and he is frozen into stone. Well, such is death. What I am when death is held before me, that I must be for ever. When my spirit goes, if God finds me hymning his praise, I shall hymn it in heaven; does he find me breathing out oaths, I shall follow up those oaths in hell. Where death leaves me, judgment finds me. As I die, so shall I live eternally.

      There are no acts of pardon passed

      In the cold grave to which we haste.

      It is for ever, for ever, for ever! Ah! there are a set of heretics in these days who talk of short punishment, and preach about God’s transporting souls for a term of years and then letting them die. Where did such men learn their doctrine, I wonder? I read in God’s word that the angel shall plant one foot upon the earth, and the other upon the sea, and shall swear by him who lives and was dead, that time shall be no longer. But if a soul could die in a thousand years it would die in time; if a million years could elapse, and then the soul could be extinguished, there would be such a thing as time; for talk to me of years, and there is time. But, sirs, when that angel has spoken the word, “Time shall be no longer,” things will then be eternal; the spirit shall proceed in its ceaseless revolution of weal or woe, never to end, for there is no time to stop it; the fact of its stopping would imply time, but everything shall be eternal, for time shall cease to be. It well becomes you then to consider where you are and what you are. Oh! stand and tremble on the narrow neck of land between the two unbounded seas, for God in heaven alone can tell how soon you may be launched upon the eternal future. May God grant that when that last hour may come, we may be prepared for it! Like the thief, unheard, unseen, it steals through night’s dark shade. Perhaps, as here I stand, and rudely speak of these dark hidden things, soon may the hand be stretched, and dumb the mouth that lisps the faltering strain. Oh! you who dwell in heaven, you power supreme, you everlasting King, let not that hour intrude upon me in an ill spent season; but may it find me wrapped in meditation high, hymning my great Creator. So in the last moment of my life I will hasten beyond the azure, to bathe the wings of this my spirit in their native element, and then to dwell with you for ever —

      Far from a world of grief and sin,

      With God eternally shut in.

      10. II. “THE STRENGTH OF SIN is the law.”

      11. I have attempted to show how to fight this monster — it is by extracting and destroying its sting. I prepare myself for the battle. It is true I have sin, and therefore I have put a sting into death, but I will endeavour to take it away. I attempt it, but the monster laughs me in the face, and cries, “The strength of sin is the law. Before you can destroy sin you must in some way satisfy the law. Sin cannot be removed by your tears or by your deeds, for the law is its strength, and until you have satisfied the vengeance of the law, until you have paid the uttermost farthing of its demands, my sting cannot be taken away, for the very strength of sin is the law.” Now, I must try and explain this doctrine, that the strength of sin is the law. Most men think that sin has no strength at all. “Oh!” say many, “we may have sinned very much, but we will repent, and we will be better for the rest of our lives; no doubt God is merciful, and he will forgive us.” And we hear many divines often speak of sin as if it were a very venial and minor thing. Inquire of them what is a man to do? There is no deep repentance required, no real inward workings of divine grace, no casting himself upon the blood of Christ. They never tell us about a complete atonement having been made. They have, indeed, some shadowy idea of atonement, that Christ died just as a matter of form to satisfy justice; but as to any literal taking away of our sins, and suffering the actual penalty for us, they do not consider that God’s law requires any such thing. I suppose they do not, for I never hear them assert the positive satisfaction and substitution of our Lord Jesus Christ. But, without that, how can we take away the strength of sin?

      12. 1. The strength of sin is in the law, first, in this respect, that the law being spiritual it is quite impossible for us to live without sin. If the law were merely carnal and referred to the flesh, if it simply related to open and overt actions, I question even then, whether we could live without sin; but when I turn over the ten commandments and read, “You shall not covet,” I know it refers even to the wish of my heart. It is said, “You shall not commit adultery”; but it is said, also, that whoever looks on a woman to lust after her has already committed that sin. So that it is not merely the act, it is the thought; it is not the deed simply, it is the very imagination, that is a sin. Oh, now, sinner, how can you get rid of sin? Your very thoughts, the inward workings of your mind, these are crimes — this is guilt and desperate wickedness. Is there not, now, strength in sin? Has not the law put a potency in it? Has it not nerved sin with such a power that all your strength cannot hope to wipe away the black enormity of your transgression?

      13. 2. Then, again, the law puts strength into sin in this respect — that it will not abate one tittle of its stern demands. It says to every man who breaks it, “I will not forgive you.” You hear people talk about God’s mercy. Now, if they do not believe in the Gospel they must be under the law; but where in the law do we read of mercy? If you will read the commandments through, there is a curse after them, but there is no provision made for pardon. The law itself does not speak of that; it thunders out, without the slightest mitigation, “the soul that sins it shall die.” If any of you desire to be saved by works, remember, one sin will spoil your righteousness; one speck of this earth’s dross will spoil the beauty of that perfect righteousness which God requires at your hands. If you would be saved by works, men and brethren, you must be as holy as the angels, you must be as pure and as immaculate as Jesus; for the law requires perfection, and nothing short of it; and God with unflinching vengeance, will strike every man low who cannot bring him a perfect obedience. If I cannot, when I come before his throne, plead a perfect righteousness as being mine, God will say, “You have not fulfilled the demands of my law; depart, accursed one! You have sinned, and you must die.” “Ah,” one says, “can we ever have a perfect righteousness, then?” Yes, I will tell you of that in the third point; thanks be to Christ, who gives us the victory through his blood and through his righteousness, who adorns us as a bride in her jewels, as a husband arrays his wife with ornaments.

      14. 3. Yet again, the law gives strength to sin from the fact that for every transgression it will exact a punishment. The law never remits a farthing of debt: it says, “Sin — punishment.” They are linked together with adamantine chains; they are tied, and cannot be severed. The law does not speak of sin and mercy; mercy comes in the gospel. The law says, “Sin — die; transgress — be chastised; sin — hell.” Thus are they linked together. Once let me sin, and I may go to the foot of stern justice, and, as with blind eyes, she holds the scales. I may say, “Oh, Justice, remember, I was holy once; remember that on such and such an occasion I did keep the law.” “Yes,” says Justice, “all I owe you, you shall have; I will not punish you for what you have not done; but do you remember this crime, oh sinner?” and she puts in the heavy weight. The sinner trembles, and he cries, “But can you not forget that? Will you not cast it away?”; “No,” Justice says, and she puts in another weight. “Sinner, do you remember this crime?” “Oh,” says the sinner, “will you not for mercy’s sake — ?” “I will not have mercy,” says Justice; “Mercy has its own palace, but I have nothing to do with forgiveness here; mercy belongs to Christ. If you will be saved by justice you shall have your fill of it. If you come to me for salvation, I will not have mercy brought in to help me; she is not my vicegerent; I stand here alone without her.” And again, as she holds the scales, she puts in another iniquity, another crime, another enormous transgression; and each time the man begs and prays that he may have that passed by. Justice says, “No, I must exact the penalty; I have sworn I will, and I will. Can you find a substitute for yourself? If you can, there is the only rational I have for mercy. I will