In great ranges of mountains there are lofty peaks which pierce the clouds, but, on the other hand, there are, here and there, lower parts of the range which are crossed by travellers, become national highways, and afford passages for commerce from land to land. My text rises before my contemplation like a lofty range of mountains, a very Andes for elevation. I shall not attempt, this morning, to climb the summits of its sublimity: we have not the time, we fear we have not the skill for such work, but I shall, to the best of my ability, conduct you over one or two practical truths, which may be serviceable to us this morning, and introduce us to sunny fields of contemplation.

At once to our work. I call upon you to observe very carefully, in the first place, the personality of the Christian religion as it is exhibited in the text before us.

How many personal pronouns of the first person are there in this verse? Are there not as many as eight? It swarms with I and me. The text deals not with the plural at all; it does not mention some one else, nor a third party far away, but the apostle treats of himself, his own inner life, his own spiritual death, the love of Christ to him, and the great sacrifice which Christ made for him. “Who loved me, and gave himself for me.” This is instructive, for it is a distinguishing mark of the Christian religion, that it brings out a man’s individuality. It does not make us selfish, on the contrary, it cures us of that evil, but still it does manifest in us a self-hood by which we become conscious of our personal individuality in an eminent degree. In the nocturnal heavens there had long been observed bright masses of light: the astronomers called them “nebulæ;” they supposed them to be stores of unfashioned chaotic matter, until the telescope of Herschell resolved them into distinct stars. What the telescope did for stars, the religion of Christ, when received into the heart, does for men. Men think of themselves as mixed up with the race, or swamped in the community, or absorbed in universal manhood; they have a very indistinct idea of their separate obligations to God, and their personal relations to his government, but the gospel, like a telescope, brings a man out to himself, makes him see himself as a separate existence, and compels him to meditate upon his own sin, his own salvation, and his own personal doom unless saved by grace. In the broad road there are so many travellers, that as one takes a bird’s eye view of it, it appears to be filled with a vast mob of men moving on without order; but in the straight and narrow way which leadeth unto life eternal, every traveller is distinct; he attracts your notice; he is a marked man. Having to go against the general current of the times, the believer is an individual upon whom observant eyes are fixed. He is a distinct individual, both to himself and the rest of his kind. You will very readily see how the religion of Jesus Christ brings out a man’s individuality in its very dawn; it reveals to him his own personal sin and consequent danger. You know nothing about conversion if you merely believe in human depravity and human ruin, but have never felt that you are depraved, and that you yourself are ruined. Over and above all the general woes of the race, there will be one particular woe of your own, if you have been by the Holy Spirit convinced of sin; you will cry, like that shrill-voiced prophet of Jerusalem, in the days of the siege, “Woe unto myself also;” you will feel as if the arrows of God were mainly aimed at you, and as if the curses of the law would surely fall upon you if upon none else. Certainly, beloved hearer, you know nothing about salvation unless you have personally looked with your own eye to Jesus Christ. There must be a personal reception of the Lord Jesus into the arms of your faith, and into the bosom of your love; and, if you have not trusted in the Crucified while standing alone in contemplation at the foot of the cross, you have not believed unto life eternal.

Then, in consequence of a separate personal faith, the believer enjoys a personal peace; he feels that if earth were all at arms abroad, he would still find rest in Christ, that rest being peculiarly his own, independently of his fellows. He may talk of that peace to others, but he cannot communicate it; others cannot give it to him, nor can they take it from him. Wherever the Christian religion is truly in the soul, it soon leads to a personal consecration to God. The man comes to the altar of Christ, and he cries, “Here I am; O most glorious Lord, I feel it to be my reasonable service to give spirit, soul, and body, unto thee. Let others do as they will; as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” The renewed man feels that the work of others does not exonerate him from service, and the general lukewarmness of the Christian church cannot be an excuse for his own indifference. He stands out against error, if need be, as a lone protestor, like Athanasius, crying, “I, Athanasius, against the whole world,” or he works for God in the building up of Jerusalem, like Nehemiah, being content to work alone if others will not assist him. He has discovered himself to have been personally lost, and to have been saved personally, and now his prayer is, “Lord, show me what thou wouldst have me to do; here am I, send me.” I believe that in proportion as our piety is definitely in the first person singular, it will be strong and vigorous. I believe, moreover, that in proportion as we fully realise our personal responsibility to God, shall we be likely to discharge it; but, if we have not really understood it, we are very likely to dream of work for God by proxy, to pay the priest or the minister to be useful for us, and act as if we could shift our responsibility from our own shoulders to the back of a society or a church. From its dawn up to its noonday glory, the personality of true godliness is most observable. All the teaching of our holy faith bears in this direction. We preach personal election, personal calling, personal regeneration, personal perseverance, personal holiness, and we know nothing of any work of grace which is not personal to the professor of it. There is no doctrine in Scripture which teaches that one man can be saved by the godliness of another. I cannot discover anything like salvation by sponsorship, except in the one case of the sponsorship of the Lord Jesus Christ. I find no human being placed in the stead of another, so as to be able to take another’s burden of sin, or perform another’s duty. I do find that we are to bear one another’s burdens in respect of sympathy, but not in the sense of substitution. Every man must bear his own burden, and give an account for himself before God. Moreover, the ordinances of the Christian religion teach us the same. When a man is typically buried with Christ by the public act of baptism, he cannot be dead for another or buried for another, nor can he rise again instead of another. There is the personal act of immersion to show forth our personal death to the world, personal burial with Christ, and personal resurrection with him. So also, in the Supper of the Lord, the distinct act of each man eating and drinking for himself, most manifestly sets forth that we stand as individuals before the Lord our God in our connection with the Lord Jesus Christ. Now, I feel earnest that nothing should ever spoil the effect of this truth upon our minds. It is so simple a truth, that when I make the statement, you perhaps wonder that I should repeat it so often; but simple as it is, it is constantly being forgotten. How many church members shelter themselves behind the vigorous action of the entire community! The church is being increased, the church opens schools, the church builds new houses of prayer, and so the church member flatters himself that he is doing somewhat, whereas that very man may not have, either by his contributions, or his prayers, or his personal teachings, done anything at all. O idle church member, I beseech thee, shake thyself from the dust; be not so mean as to appropriate other men’s labours. Before thine own Master, thou shalt stand or fall upon thine own individual service or neglect, and if thou bringest forth no fruit thyself, all the fruit upon the other boughs shall not avail thee. “Every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.” “Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away.”

Common enough is it, also, for persons to shelter themselves behind a society. A small annual contribution has often been a cloak for gross indifference to holy effort. Somebody else is paid to be a missionary, and to do your mission-work: is this the Lord’s way? Is this the path of obedience? Does not our Lord say to me, “As my Father hath sent me, even so send I you”? Now, the Father did not send Christ that he might procure a proxy and be a nominal Redeemer, but Jesus gave himself for us in personal service and sacrifice: even so does Jesus send us forth to suffer and to serve. It is well to support the minister; it is well to pay the city missionary that he may have his time to give to needful work; it is well to assist the Bible-woman that she may go from house to house, but remember, when all the societies have done all that is possible, they cannot exonerate you from your own peculiar calling, and however large your contributions to assist others to serve the Master, they cannot discharge on your behalf one single particle of what was due from you personally to your Lord. Let me pray you, brethren and sisters, if you have ever sheltered behind the work of others, stand forth in your own proper character, add remember that before God you must be estimated by what you have felt, what you have known, what you have learned, and what you have done.

The worst form of the mischief is when persons imagine that family piety and national religion can ever be available in lieu of individual repentance and faith. Absurd as it may seem, yet a very common thing it is for people to say, “Oh, yes! we are all Christians-of course, we are all Christians-every Englishman is a Christian. We do not belong to the Brahmins or Mahometans: we are all Christians.” What grosser lie can a man invent than that? Is a man a Christian because he lives in England? Is a rat a horse because it lives in a stable? That is just as good reasoning. A man must be born again, or he is no child of God. A man must have living faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, or else he is no Christian, and he does but mock the name of Christian when he takes it upon himself without having part or lot in the matter.

Others say, “My mother and my father always professed such a religion, therefore I am bound to do the same.” Glorious reasoning, fit for idiots most surely! Have you never heard of that old Pagan monarch who professed conversion, and was about to step into the baptismal font, when, turning round to the bishop, he said, “Where did my father go when he died, before your religion came here, and where did his father go, and all the kings that were before me who worshipped Woden and Thor? Where did they go when they died? Tell me at once!” The bishop shook his head, and looked very sorrowful, and said he was afraid they were gone to a very dark place. “Ah! then,” said he, “I will not be separated from them.” Back he started, and remained an unwashed heathen still. You suppose that this folly expired in the dark ages! it survives and flourishes in the present. We have known persons impressed under the gospel, who have nevertheless clung to the false hopes of superstition or human merit, and have excused themselves by saying, “You see, I have always been brought up to it.” Does a man think because his mother was poor, or his father a pauper, that he himself must necessarily remain a beggar? If my parent was blind, am I bound to put out my own eyes to be like him? Nay, but if I have beheld the light of the truth of Jesus Christ, let me follow it, and not be drawn aside by the idea that hereditary superstition is any the less dangerous or erroneous because a dozen generations have been deluded by it. You must appear before God, my dear friend, on your own feet, and neither mother nor father can stand in your stead, therefore judge for yourself; seek for yourself eternal life; lift up your eyes to Christ’s cross for yourself, and let it be your own earnest endeavour that you yourself may be able to say, “He loved me, and gave himself for me.” We are all born alone: we come as sorrowful pilgrims into this world to traverse a path which only our own feet can tread. To a great extent we go through the world alone, for all our companions are but vessels sailing with us side by side, vessels distinct and bearing each one its own flag. Into the depth of our hearts no man can dive. There are cabinets in the chamber of the soul which no man can open but the individual himself. We must die alone, friends may surround the bed, but the departing spirit must take its flight by itself. We shall hear no tramp of thousands as we descend into the dark river, we shall be solitary travellers into the unknown land. We expect to stand before the judgment-seat in the midst of a great assembly, but still to be judged as if no other man were there. If all that multitude be condemned, and we are in Christ, we shall be saved, and if they should all be saved, and we are found wanting, we shall be cast away. In the balances we shall each be placed alone. There is a crucible for every ingot of gold, a furnace for every bar of silver. In the resurrection every seed shall receive his own body. There shall be an individuality about the frame that shall be raised in that day of wonders, an individuality most marked and manifest. If I am condemned at the last, no man can be damned for my spirit; no soul can enter the chambers of fire on my behalf, to endure for me the unutterable anguish. And, blessed hope, if I am saved, it will be I who shall see the King in his beauty: mine eyes shall behold him, and not another in my stead. The joys of heaven shall not be proxy joys, but the personal enjoyments of those who have had personal union with Christ. You all know this, and therefore, I pray you, let the weighty truth abide with you. No man in his senses thinks that another can eat for him, or drink for him, or be clothed for him, or sleep for him, or wake for him. No man is content nowadays with a second person’s owning money for him, or possessing an estate for him: men long to have riches themselves; they wish to be personally happy, to be personally honoured; they do not care that the good things of this life shall be merely nominally theirs, while other men grasp the reality; they wish to have a real grasp and grip of all temporal goods. O let us not play the fool with eternal things, but let us desire to have a personal interest in Christ, and then let us aspire to give to him, who deserves it so well, our personal service, rendering spirit, soul, and body, unto his cause.

Secondly, our text very plainly teaches us the interweaving of our own proper personality with that of Jesus Christ.

Read the text over again. “I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.” Here is the man, but here is the Son of God quite as conspicuously, and the two personalities are singularly interwoven. I think I see two trees before me. They are distinct plants growing side by side, but as I follow them downward, I observe that the roots are so interlaced and intertwisted that no one can trace the separate trees and allot the members of each to its proper whole. Such are Christ and the believer. Methinks I see before me a vine. Yonder is a branch, distinct and perfect as a branch; it is not to be mistaken for any other, it is a branch, a whole and perfect branch, yet how perfectly is it joined to the stem, and how completely is its individuality merged in the one vine of which it is a member! Now, so is it with the believer in Christ.

There was one parent man who threw his shadow across our path, and from whose influence we never could escape. From all other men we might have struggled away and claimed to be separate, but this one man was part of ourselves, and we part of him-Adam the first, in his fallen state: we are fallen with him, and are broken in pieces in his ruin. And now, glory be to God, as the shadow of the first man has been uplifted from us, there appears a second man, the Lord from heaven; and across our path there falls the light of his glory and his excellence, from which also, blessed be God, we who have believed in him cannot escape: in the light of that man, the second Adam, the heavenly federal head of all his people-in his light we do rejoice. Interwoven with our history and personality is the history and personality of the man Christ Jesus, and we are for ever one with him.

Observe the points of contact. First Paul says, I am “crucified with Christ;” what does he intend? He means a great many more things than I can tell you this morning; but, briefly, he means this: he believed in the representation of Christ on the cross; he held that when Jesus Christ hung upon the tree, he did not hang there as a private person, but as the representative of all his chosen people. As the burgess in the House of Commons votes not for himself alone, but in the name of the township which has sent him to Parliament, so the Lord Jesus Christ acted in what he did as a great public representative person, and the dying of Jesus Christ upon the tree was the virtual dying of all his people. Then all his saints rendered unto justice what was due, and made an expiation to divine vengeance for all their sins. “I am crucified with Christ.” The apostle of the Gentiles delighted to think that as one of Christ’s chosen people, he died upon the tree in Christ. He did more than believe this doctrinally, however, he accepted it confidently, resting his hope upon it. He believed that by virtue of Jesus Christ’s death, he had himself paid the law its due, satisfied divine justice, and found reconciliation with God. Beloved, what a blessed thing it is when the soul can, as it were, stretch itself upon the cross of Christ, and feel “I am dead; the law has killed me, cursed me, slain me, and I am therefore free from its power, because in my Surety I have borne the curse, and in the person of my Substitute the whole that the law could do, by way of condemnation, has been executed upon me, for I am crucified with Christ.” Oh, how blessed it is when the cross of Christ is laid upon us, how it quickens us! Just as the aged prophet went up, and stretched himself upon the dead child, put his mouth upon the child’s mouth, and his hands upon the child’s hands, and his feet upon the child’s feet, and then the child was quickened, so when the cross is laid upon my soul, it puts life, power, warmth, and comfort into me. Union with the suffering, bleeding Saviour, and faith in the merit of the Redeemer, are soul cheering things: O for more enjoyment of them! Paul meant even more than this. He not only believed in Christ’s death and trusted in it, but he actually felt its power in himself in causing the crucifixion of his old corrupt nature. If you conceive of yourself as a man executed, you at once perceive that, being executed by the law, the law has no further claim upon you; you resolve, moreover, that having once proven the curse of sin by the sentence passed upon you, you will not fall into that same offence again, but henceforth, being miraculously delivered from the death into which the law brought you, you will live in newness of life. You must feel so if you feel rightly. Thus did Paul view himself as a criminal upon whom the sentence of the law had been fulfilled. When he saw the pleasures of sin, he said, “I cannot enjoy these: I am dead to them. I once had a life in which these were very sweet to me, but I have been crucified with Christ; consequently, as a dead man can have no delight in the joys which once were delights to him, so neither can I.” When Paul looked upon the carnal things of the world, he said, “I once allowed these things to reign over me. What shall I eat? what shall I drink? and wherewithal shall I be clothed? These were a trinity of questions of the utmost importance: they are of no importance now, because I am dead to these things; I cast my care upon God with regard to them; they are not my life; I am crucified to them.” If any passion, if any motive, if any design should come into our mind, short of the cross of Christ, we should exclaim, “God forbid that I should glory in any of these things; I am a dead man. Come, world, with all thy witchery; come, pleasure, with all thy charms; come, wealth, with all thy temptations; come, all ye tempters that have seduced so many; what can you do with a crucified man? How can you tempt one who is dead to you?” Now, it is a blessed state of mind when a man can feel that through having received Christ, he is, to this world, as one who is utterly dead. Neither does he yield his strength to its purposes, nor his soul to its customs, nor his judgment to its maxims, nor his heart to its affections, for he is a crucified man through Jesus Christ; the world is crucified unto him, and he unto the world. This is what the apostle meant.

Notice next another point of contact. He says, “Nevertheless I live,” but then he corrects himself, “yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.” You have seen the dead side of a believer: he is deaf, and dumb, and blind, and without feeling to the sinful world, yet he adds, “Nevertheless I live.” He explains what his life is-his life is produced in him by virtue of Christ’s being in him and his being in Christ. Jesus is the source of the Christian’s life. The sap in the vine lives even in the smallest of the tendrils. No matter how minute may be the nerve, the anatomist will tell you that the brain-life lives in its most distant extremity. So in every Christian; though the Christian may be insignificant, and possessed of little grace, yet still, if he be truly a believer, Jesus lives in him. The life which keeps his faith, his hope, his love still in existence, comes from Jesus Christ, and from him alone. We should cease to be living saints if we did not daily receive grace from our covenant Head. As the strength of our life comes from the Son of God, so is he the ruler and moving power within us. How can he be a Christian who is ruled by any but Christ? If you call Christ “Master and Lord,” you must be his servant; nor can you yield obedience to any rival power, for no man can serve two masters. There must be a master-spirit in the heart; and unless Jesus Christ be such a master-spirit to us, we are not saved at all. The life of the Christian is a life which springs from Christ, and it is controlled by his will. Beloved, do you know anything about this? I am afraid it is dry talking to you about it unless you feel it. Has your life been such during the past week? Has the life which you have lived been Christ’s living in you? Have you been like a book printed in plain letters, in which men might read a new edition of the life of Jesus Christ? A Christian ought to be a living photograph of the Lord Jesus, a striking likeness of his Lord. When men look at him they should see not only what the Christian is, but what the Christian’s Master is, for he should be like his Master. Do you ever see and know that within your soul Christ looks out at your eyes, regarding poor sinners and considering how you may help them? that Christ throbs in your heart, feeling for the perishing, trembling for those who will not tremble for themselves? Do you ever feel Christ opening your hands in liberal charity to help those who cannot help themselves? Have you ever felt that a something more than yourself was in you, a spirit which sometimes struggles with yourself, and holds it by the throat and threatens to destroy its sinful selfishness-a noble spirit which puts its foot upon the neck of covetousness, a brave spirit that dashes to the ground your pride, an active fervent spirit that burns up your sloth? Have you never felt this? Truly we that live unto God feel the life of God within, and desire to be more and more subdued under the dominant spirit of Christ, that our manhood may be a palace for the Well-beloved. That is another point of contact.

Further on, the apostle says-and I hope you will keep your Bibles open to follow the text-“The life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God.” Every moment the life of the Christian is to be a life of faith. We make a mistake when we try to walk by feeling or by sight. I dreamed the other night, while musing upon the life of the believer, that I was passing along a road which a divine call had appointed for me. The ordained pathway which I was called to traverse was amid thick darkness, unmingled with a ray of light. As I stood in the awful gloom, unable to perceive a single inch before me, I heard a voice which said, “Let thy feet go right on. Fear not, but advance in the name of God.” So on I went, putting down foot after foot with trembling. After a little while the path through the darkness became easy and smooth, from use and experience; just then I perceived that the path turned: it was of no use my endeavouring to proceed as I had done before; the way was tortuous, and the road was rough and stony; but I remembered what was said, that I was to advance as I could, and so on I went. Then there came another twist, and yet another, and another, and another, and I wondered why, till I understood that if ever the path remained long the same, I should grow accustomed to it, and so should walk by feeling; and I learned that the whole of the way would constantly be such as to compel me to depend upon the guiding voice, and exercise faith in the unseen One who had called me. On a sudden it appeared to me as though there was nothing beneath my foot when I put it down, yet I thrust it out into the darkness in confident daring, and lo, a firm step was reached, and another, and another, as I walked down a staircase which descended deep, down, down, down. Onward I passed, not seeing an inch before me, but believing that all was well, although I could hear around me the dash of falling men and women who had walked by the light of their own lanterns, and missed their foothold. I heard the cries and shrieks of men as they fell from this dreadful staircase; but I was commanded to go right on, and I went straight on, resolved to be obedient even if the way should descend into the nethermost hell. By-and-by the dreadful ladder was ended, and I found a solid rock beneath my feet, and I walked straight on upon a paved causeway, with a balustrade on either hand. I understood this to be the experience which I had gained, which now could guide and help me, and I leaned on this balustrade, and walked on right confidently till, in a moment, my causeway ended and my feet sank in the mire, and as for my other comforts, I groped for them, but they were gone, for still I was to know that I must go in dependence upon my unseen Friend, and the road would always be such that no experience could serve me instead of dependence upon God. Forward I plunged through mire and filth and suffocating smoke, and a smell as of death-damp, for it was the way, and I had been commanded to walk therein. Again the pathway changed, though all was midnight still: up went the path, and up, and up, and up, with nothing upon which I could lean; I ascended wearily innumerable stairs, not one of which I could see, although the very thought of their height might make the brain to reel. On a sudden my pathway burst into light, as I woke from my reverie, and when I looked down upon it, I saw it all to be safe, but such a road that, if I had seen it, I never could have trodden it. It was only in the darkness that I could have performed my mysterious journey, only in child-like confidence upon the Lord. The Lord will guide us if we are willing to do just as he bids us. Lean upon him, then. I have painted a poor picture, but still one which, if you can realise, it will be grand to look upon. To walk straight on, believing in Christ every moment, believing your sins to be forgiven even when you see their blacknes, believing that you are safe when you seem in the utmost danger, believing that you are glorified with Christ when you feel as if you were cast out from God’s presence-this is the life of faith.

Furthermore, Paul notes other points of unity. “Who loved me.” Blessed be God, before the mountains uplifted their snow-crowned heads to the clouds, Christ had set his heart upon us. His “delights were with the sons of men.” In his “book all our members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.” Believer, get a hold of the precious truth that Christ loved you eternally-the all-glorious Son of God chose you, and espoused you unto himself, that you might be his bride throughout eternity. Here is a blessed union indeed.

Observe the next, “and gave himself for me;” not only gave all that he had, but gave himself; not merely laid aside his glory, and his splendour, and his life, but yielded up his very self. O heir of heaven, Jesus is yours at this moment. Having given himself once for you upon the tree, to put your sin away, at this moment he gives himself to you to be your life, your crown, your joy, your portion, your all in all. You have found out yourself to be a separate personality and individuality, but that personality is linked with the person of Christ Jesus, so that you are in Christ, and Christ is in you; by a blessed indissoluble union you are knit together for ever and ever

Lastly, the text describes the life which results from this blended personality.

If you will have patience with me, I will be as brief as I can while I go over the text again, word by word. Brethren, when a man finds and knows himself to be linked with Christ, his life is altogether a new life. I gather that from the expression, “I am crucified, nevertheless I live.” Crucified, then dead; crucified, then the old life is put away-whatever life a crucified man has must be new life. So is it with you. Upon your old life, believer, sentence of death has been pronounced. The carnal mind, which is enmity against God, is doomed to die. You can say, “I die daily.” Would to God the old nature were completely dead. But whatever you have of life was not given you till you came into union with Christ. It is a new thing, as new as though you had been actually dead and rotted in the tomb, and then had started up at the sound of the trumpet to live again. You have received a life from above, a life which the Holy Spirit wrought in you in regeneration. That which is born of the flesh is flesh, but your grace-life did not come from yourself: you have been born again from above.

Your life is a very strange one-“I am crucified, nevertheless I live.” What a contradiction! The Christian’s life is a matchless riddle. No worldling can comprehend it; even the believer himself cannot understand it. He knows it, but as to solving all its enigmas, he feels that to be an impossible task. Dead, yet alive; crucified with Christ, and yet at the same time risen with Christ in newness of life! Do not expect the world to understand you, Christian, it did not understand your Master. When your actions are misrepresented, and your motives are ridiculed, do not be surprised. “If ye were of the world, the world would love his own: but because ye are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you.” If you belonged to the village, the dogs would not bark at you. If men could read you, they would not wonder; it is because you are written in a celestial language that men cannot comprehend you, and think you worthless. Your life is new; your life is strange.

This wonderful life, resulting in the blended personality of the believer and the Son of God, is a true life. This is expressed in the text, “Nevertheless I live”-yes, live as I never lived before. When the apostle declares himself to be dead to the world, he would not have us imagine that he was dead in the highest and best sense; nay, he lived with a new force and vigour of life. It seemed to me, brethren, when I woke up to know Christ, that I was just like the fly newly burst from the chrysalis, I then began really to live. When a soul is startled by the thunder claps of conviction, and afterwards receives pardon in Christ, it begins to live. The worldling says he wants to see life, and therefore plunges into sin! Fool that he is, he peers into the sepulchre to discover immortality. The man who truly lives is the believer. Shall I become less active because I am a Christian? God forbid! Become less industrious, find less opportunities for the manifestation of my natural and spiritual energies? God forbid! If ever a man should be like a sword too sharp for the scabbard, with an edge which cannot be turned, it should be the Christian: He should be like flames of fire burning his way. Live while you live. Let there be no drivelling and frittering away of time. Live so as to demonstrate that you possess the noblest form of life.

Clear is it, also, that the new life which Christ brings to us is a life of self-abnegation, for he adds, “I live, yet not I.” Lowliness of mind is part and parcel of godliness. He who can take any credit to himself knows not the spirit of our holy faith. The believer when he prays best says, “Yet not I, but the Spirit of God interceded in me.” If he has won any souls to Christ, he says, “Yet not I; it was the gospel; the Lord Jesus wrought in me mightily.” “Not unto us, not unto us, but unto thy name be all the praise.” Self-humiliation is the native spirit of the true-born child of God.

Further, the life which Christ works in us is a life of one idea. Is the believer’s soul ruled by two things? Nay, he knows but one. Christ liveth in me. Two tenants in the chamber of my soul? Nay, one Lord and Master I serve. “Christ liveth in me.” An old divine desired that he might eat and drink and sleep eternal life. Do you thus live! Alas! I mourn that I live too much in the old life, and too little does Jesus live in me; but the Christian, if he should ever come to perfection, and God grant we each may come as near to it as possible even now, will find that the old “I live,” is kept under, and the new Christ-life reigns supreme. Christ must be the one thought, the one idea, the one master-thought in the believer’s soul. When he wakes in the morning the healthy believer enquires, “What can I do for Christ?” When he goes about his business he asks, “How shall I serve my Lord in all my actions?” When he makes money he questions himself, “How can I use my talents for Christ?” If he acquires education, the enquiry is, “How can I spend my knowledge for Christ?”

To sum up much in little, the child of God has within him the Christ-life; but how shall I describe that? Christ’s life on earth was the divine mingled with the human-such is the life of the Christian; there is something divine about it: it is a living, incorruptible seed, which abideth for ever. We are made partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption which is in the world through lust, yet our life is thoroughly human life. The Christian is a man among men; in all that is manly he labours to excel, yet he is not as other men are, but wears a hidden nature which no mere worldling understands. Picture the life of Christ on earth, beloved, and that is what the life of God in us ought to be, and will be in proportion as we are subject to the power of the Holy Spirit.

Notice again, keeping close to the text, that the life which God worketh in us is still the life of a man. “The life that I now live in the flesh,” says the apostle. Those monks and nuns who run away from the world for fear its temptations should overcome them, and seclude themselves for the sake of greater holiness, are as excellent soldiers as those who retire to the camp for fear of being defeated. Of what service are such soldiers in the battle, or such persons in the warfare of life? Christ did not come to make monks of us: he came to make men of us. He meant that we should learn how to live in the flesh. We are neither to give up business nor society, nor in any right sense to give up life. “The life I live in the flesh,” says the apostle. Look at him busy at his tent-making. What! an apostle making tents? What say you brethren to the Archbishop of Canterbury stitching away for his living? It is too low for a state bishop certainly, but not too low for Paul. I do not think the apostle was ever more apostolic than when he picked up sticks. When Paul and his companions were shipwrecked at Melita, the apostle was of more service than all the Pan-Anglican synod with their silk aprons, for he set to work like other people to gather fuel for the fire; he wanted to warm himself as other men, and therefore he took his share at the toil. Even so you and I must take our turn at the wheel. We must not think of keeping ourselves aloof from our fellow men, as though we should be degraded by mingling with them. The salt of the earth should be well rubbed into the meat, and so the Christian should mingle with his fellow men, seeking their good for edification. We are men, and whatever men may lawfully do, we do; wherever they may go, we may go. Our religion makes us neither more nor less than human, though it brings us into the family of God. Yet the Christian life is a life of faith. “The life which I live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God.” Faith is not a piece of confectionery to be put upon drawing room tables, or a garment to be worn on Sundays; it is a working principle, to be used in the barn and in the field, in the shop and on the exchange; it is a grace for the housewife and the servant; it is for the House of Commons and for the poorest workshop. “The life which I live in the flesh, I live by faith.” I would have the believing cobbler mend shoes religiously, and the tailor make garments by faith, and I would have every Christian buy and sell by faith. Whatever your trades may be, faith is to be taken into your daily callings, and that is alone the truly living faith which will bear the practical test. You are not to stop at the shop door and take off your coat and say, “Farewell to Christianity till I put up the shutters again.” That is hypocrisy; but the genuine life of the Christian is the life which we live in the flesh by faith of the Son of God.

To conclude: the life which comes out of the blended personality of the believer and Christ is a life of perfect love. “He gave himself for me.” My question is, therefore, What can I do for him? The new life is a life of holy security, for, if Christ loved me, who can destroy me? It is a life of holy wealth, for, if Christ gave his infinite self to me, what can I want? It is a life of holy joy, for, if Christ be mine, I have a well of holy joy within my soul. It is the life of heaven, for, if I have Christ, I have that which is the essence and soul of heaven.

I have talked mysteries, of which some of you have not understood so much as a sentence. God give you understanding that you may know the truth. But if you have not understood it, let this fact convince you: you know not the truth because you have not the Spirit of God; for the spiritual mind alone understands spiritual things. When we talk about the inner life, we seem like those that dote and dream to those who understand us not. But if you have understood me, believer, go home and live out the truth, practise that which is practicable, feed upon that which is full of savour, rejoice in Christ Jesus that you are one with him, and then, in your own proper person, go out and serve your Master with might and main, and the Lord send you his abundant blessing. Amen and Amen.

SAVING KNOWLEDGE

A Sermon

Delivered on Lord’s-day Morning, November 24th, 1867, by

C. H. SPURGEON,

at the metropolitan tabernacle, newington.

“Jesus answered and said unto her, If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water.”-John 4:10.

The matter will turn, this morning, upon those few words, “If thou knewest the gift of God.” The woman of Samaria, who was met by our Lord at the well, was an object of electing love, but she was not yet regenerated. One difficulty alone lay in the way: she was an honest ingenuous spirit, willing to receive the truth, perfectly willing to be obedient to it; but ignorance lay like a stone before the door of her sepulchre. “If thou knewest the gift of God,” says Christ, “then thou wouldst have asked, and I would have given.” There was the one barrier; if that could be removed, she would be a saved soul. The impediment which lay so much in her way was ignorance concerning the Lord Jesus himself. She was not an uninstructed woman. She was evidently acquainted at least with portions of Biblical history: she could speak of “Father Jacob, which gave us the well, and drank thereof himself, and his children, and his cattle.” She was versed certainly in the peculiarities of her sect: “How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria? for the Jews have no dealings with the Samaritans.” She was equally well acquainted with the hopes which were common to her people and to the Jewish nation: “I know that Messias cometh, which is called Christ: when he is come, he will tell us all things.” She was not, therefore, kept out of the kingdom on account of ignorance. In these matters she was better instructed. I am afraid there are some of you-for, alas! in this age there are hundreds of people who are educated in everything except their Bibles-who could answer questions upon most sciences, but concerning Christ crucified, they know not even so much as the very elements. But the point which kept this woman, I say, out of the kingdom was this, that she did not know Christ; she knew not “the gift of God,” and who it was that said unto her, “Give me to drink.” And this, indeed, is enough to keep any of us out of peace, and life, and joy, for, until we know God in human flesh, we cannot find peace and comfort. The great riddle of “What must I do to be saved?” remains unsolved till we know Christ and are found in him. We may go about, and we may study this, and that, and the other, but we shall remain fools in the matters of eternal salvation until we come and sit at the feet of the great Teacher, and know him, and are known of him.

I shall essay, this morning, as God may help me, to speak with you upon spiritual ignorance, upon what would follow if that ignorance were removed, hoping that I may be allowed to say a few stirring things to some of you, to induce you to get rid of any ignorance which now bars you out of peace, and that others of you who know the truths of Jesus Christ, may be more earnest to tell to the unenlightened what you know yourselves, lest they should perish and their blood should be required at your hands.

I shall commence, then, this morning, by some few remarks upon the gift of God and the knowledge of it; and then, secondly, I shall turn to the “if” of the text, and what then? and, thirdly, I shall take up the “if” of the text once more, and show what it has to do with the believer.

First, our text speaks of a gift, and of the knowledge of it.

The latter half of the verse informs us that the gift of God is no other than the Man who spoke to the woman and said, “Give me to drink.” In fact, Jesus Christ is “God’s unspeakable gift,” for whom we should daily and hourly lift up our hearts in gratitude to God. Christ was God’s gift to the fallen seed of man. Long ere this world was made, he ordained in the eternal purpose that Christ should be the covenant Head of his elect, their Surety, and their Redeemer: he gave Christ to us before he spread the starry sky: he was the Father’s goodly gift when the fulness of time was come. Many promises had heralded the Master’s coming, and at last he appeared, a babe of a span long in his mother’s arms. His holy life and his suffering death were the gifts of God to us, for “He spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all.” To the whole company of God’s elect, Christ Jesus is the priceless boon which the Father’s love has bestowed upon them. And when you and I receive Jesus Christ into our heart, he evermore comes as a gift. The faith by which we receive him is a gift: the gift of God is faith, but Jesus Christ himself never comes to a soul that has faith, as a reward. No man ever received Christ by the works of the law or the deeds of the flesh. It is not possible, my brethren, that the highest and most perfect obedience should ever deserve such a reward as the gift of the Son of God. Conceive of any virtue, and you will not dare to blaspheme so much as to think that it could deserve the death of Christ. Nay, the price is too great to be a recompense for any of our exertions. It is the spontaneous boon of heaven, given to us, not on the footing of the law, but on the grounds of the sovereign grace of God, who giveth as he wills to the unworthy sons of men. If you come to God with a price in your hands, you shall not have Christ; if you come to God thinking to force your way to heaven, or supposing that you could even contribute towards your entrance there, you shall find the gates of the law shutting you out for ever; but if you come humbly penitent, confessing your soul-poverty, and plead with the Father that he would give to you his Son, you shall receive the gift of God into your soul most freely. “The wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life.” “We are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.” Man is dead in sin, but Christ is a gift bringing life to the dead.

The text uses the definite article, “If thou knewest the gift of God,” setting Christ as God’s gift beyond all other gifts. True, the light of the sun is the gift of God to us. There is not a piece of bread we eat, nor a drop of water we drink, but what it may be called the gift of God; but the gift which comprehends, excels, and sanctifies all other gifts, is the gift of Jesus Christ to the sons of men. I wish I had the power to speak as I should do of this gift, but I am reminded by God’s word that it is “unspeakable.” “Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift.” I can comprehend God’s giving the earth to the children of men, giving to Adam and his seed dominion over all the works of his hands; I think I can understand God’s giving heaven to his people, and permitting them to dwell at his right hand for ever and ever; but that God should give the only begotten, “very God of very God,” to take upon himself our nature, and in that nature actually to be “obedient unto death, even the death of the cross,” this we cannot understand, and even the angels with their mightier intellects cannot grasp it fully. They look into it, but as they gaze they desire to see more, for even they feel they cannot search this out to perfection. A depth unfathomable of divine love is there in the condescending lovingkindness which gave Jesus Christ to die for us when we were yet sinners.

Beloved, it is an unrivalled gift. God has given to us such a treasure, that if heaven and earth were melted down, the price could not buy another like to him. All eternity cannot yield such a person as the Lord Jesus. Eternal God, thou hast no equal! and becoming Son of man, thy condescension has nothing that can rival it. Oh, what a gift! Thou canst not conceive of anything that thou canst put side by side with it. It is a gift, beloved, which comprehends all things within itself. “He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?” Get Christ and you have the pardon of sin, the justification of your person; in the bowels of that redemption you shall find sanctification, adoption, regeneration. Every covenant gift is wrapped up in Christ Jesus. “A bundle of myrrh is my wellbeloved unto me;” not one sprig of it, but a whole bundle. All things that can possibly be needed for the Christian for time and for eternity, are given to him in the person of the Lord Jesus.

And as this gift comprehends all, so it sweetens all. Temporal mercies without Christ are like ciphers without a figure; but when you have these temporal mercies, and Christ stands in front of them, oh, what an amount they make! Temporal mercies without Christ are unripe fruit; but when Christ shines upon them, they grow mellow and sweet. Temporal mercies without Christ are the dry rivers-Christ fills them to the brim. They are like trees with leaves only, but Christ comes to give them fruit upon which we may live. Brethren, what are all the mercies of this life to us without Christ? Would they not make our souls hunger? “Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.” The full wine vat, or the barn that needeth to be enlarged, what would these be without a Saviour? O God, take them all away if thou wilt, but give us more of Christ. Fill our hearts with the love of Christ, and thou mayst empty the cupboard and purse if thou wilt. Mercies are blessed when we have Christ with them, but if Christ be gone, they are but empty vanities.

Our Lord Jesus Christ is a gift most precious moreover, my brethren, because he who gets it is sure that he has the favour of God. Other mercies do not necessarily bring with them God’s favour. God gives the most of this world full often to wicked men. He pours the husks out to the swine; as for his children, he often wrings out to them a full cup of bitterness. This world is not our portion, as we know right well. The wicked have their portion here, and they are full of fatness; their houses are full of store, and they leave the rest of their substance unto their babes. But get Christ, and you have God’s favour-you are sure of it. This is “The blessing of the Lord that maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it.” It is a right-hand and a left-hand blessing. Get Christ, and it is all blessing and no curse whatsoever. If thou hast Christ, as sure as thou livest, God loves thee, for there never was a soul that had Christ’s name written upon its forehead but what eternal love had inscribed it there, and in that writing had given a sure evidence and pledge of love that could not end.

If thou hast Christ, again, thou must prize the gift, because this is a token of thine everlasting salvation. Hell never did enclose within its gates a single soul that rested on the cross of Christ, and it never shall. If thou hast Christ, for thee are the melodies of heaven, for thee the goodly land that “floweth with milk and honey;” thou shalt never bear the wrath of God, Christ has borne it for thee; thou shalt never hear it said, “Depart, ye cursed,” for Christ has said it, “Ye are blessed for ever and ever,” yea, and ye shall be blessed.

We shall now turn to the further thought which stands linked to the one I have thus tried to lay before you.

In the text, knowledge is put with the gift: “If thou knewest the gift of God.” Yonder woman in the wilderness is sore vexed, her heart is ready to break; she has left the abode of her master, and journeyed far; she is faint herself, but a far greater trouble depresses her: her child, her only boy, lies under yonder shrubs to die for want of a drop of water. Do you see the anguish depicted on her face? Do you hear her bitter cries? Ah, woman, thou mayst well wipe thine eyes, thy distress is causeless; thou hast room for thanksgiving, and not for sorrow; yonder is a spring of water, dip thy pitcher and refresh thy child. But, beloved, what was the use of the spring of water to her if she could not see it? Till her eyes were opened, Hagar could not see that God had provided for her: she must suffer and her child must die till she could perceive the supply. It is so with the gift of God. Beloved, until we know Christ, we famish for him, but we find no relief. A sense of need is a very blessed work of grace, but it will not save you; you must get beyond knowing your need, you must perceive, accept, and enjoy the supply, or else assuredly you will perish, none the less because of your knowledge of your need. Now, a knowledge of Christ is the gift of God. No man ever knew Christ experimentally and truly, except by the operation of the Holy Spirit upon his heart. In vain for those who are the advocates of free agency and human power to talk, but wherever you meet with a gracious spirit, you will be sure to find the confession that it was as much the work and gift of God to give us faith as to give us the object of faith:-

“’Twas the same love that spread the feast,

That sweetly forced us in;

Else we had still refused to taste,

And perish’d in our sin.”

If God did nothing more for men than provide a Saviour, and leave it for them to accept, if he never operated upon their souls and affections by his holy Spirit, not one of Adam’s race would ever enter into eternal life. If thou wouldst have a knowledge of Christ, thou must have it through the Holy Spirit, for this cometh not by the works of the law, nor by the efforts of the flesh. That which is born of the flesh is still flesh; and only that which is born of the Spirit is spirit, and can make thee acquainted with spiritual truth.

A saving knowledge of Christ is always personal. The man does not take it at second hand, he does not catch it up from what his mother told him. She may be the instrument, the happy instrument, but the man learns for himself, or else he does not know savingly. Beware, beloved, of copying your religion out of other men’s books. It must be written with the pen of the Holy Spirit upon the fleshy tablet of your own heart, or else you know nothing aright. Observe also, that as this knowledge is spiritual, so, as it is spoken of in the text, it immediately concerns Christ. All other knowledge, whatever it may be, will fail to save unless we know the gift of God, unless we are clearly acquainted with the person of the Lord Jesus Christ. I say, with the person, for let me insist upon it, it is necessary for you and me to rest wholly upon the person, work, and righteousness of Jesus. You may know a great deal about his offices, you may have read much about what he did, but you must pass through all these, and get to himself: “Come unto me,” saith he, “all ye that labour and are heavy laden.” At his feet your soul must cast itself down, kissing the Son lest he be angry. Before him, the Great High Priest, you must present yourselves, desiring to be sprinkled with his precious blood, and to be saved in him. Remember he is a man like yourselves. Though “God over all, blessed for ever,” yet is he man of the substance of his mother. Let your soul advance to him in thought, this morning, lay hold upon him! If you cannot put your finger into the print of the nails, and your hand into his side literally, with Thomas, yet do it spiritually. Remember, it is to know Christ and his cross, which is the saving knowledge; and everything short of this will leave you short of eternal life. Brethren, it must be spiritual knowledge. Any acquaintance with Christ that can be derived from pictures, or that may come to us through the use of outward symbols, will be all valueless. We must know Christ, not after the flesh, by the eye and eat, we must comprehend him by our inmost souls being acquainted with him. Our heart must trust him. Put away the crucifix! Let your soul wear the cross, not your body. Hang not up the image of Christ on the wall, hang it upon the walls of your heart, there let his image be stored. Bear about you the marks of the Lord Jesus Christ in your life and character, and let your contemplations and thoughts be continually exercised about him. This is the kind of knowledge of Christ-heart knowledge, spiritual fellowship, the knowledge of the most vital part of the man, his soul, his new-born spirit. Now, such knowledge as this, when God has once given it to us, becomes very operative upon the entire man; he has found the great secret, and he feels inclined to tell it; he has learned a great mystery, and it at once affects all the parts and passions of his nature, making a new man of him. This knowledge he never loses: he may forget much, but he never can forget Christ if he has once known him. Like the dying saint who had forgotten his wife, forgotten his children, forgotten his own name, and yet smiled sweetly when they asked him if he remembered Christ Jesus. This is printed on the believer’s heart: the warp and woof of his being bears this, like a golden thread, right through its centre. Jesus, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, and let my right hand forget its cunning, but never shall my heart forget thee who hast given thyself for me! This is the knowledge which we should desire, the knowledge spoken of in the text. Desire it, I beseech you, above gold, yea, seek it above much fine gold.

O you that have it not, open your mouths and pant after it! Hunger and thirst to know Christ, and take no rest, and get no satisfaction till you do know him! If you ask me how this can be, I remind you that God alone can reveal him to you, but yet you are to use the means. “Search the Scriptures, for in them ye think ye have eternal life,” and these are they which testify of Christ. Attend a Christ-honouring ministry! If you have been sitting under any minister who does not extol Christ, and lift him up before you, however eloquent and intelligent he may be, leave his ministry, it is not fit for poor dying souls to listen to. You that need salvation can only find it in Christ. Seek, therefore, a ministry that is full of Christ. Christ is the first, and Christ the midst, and Christ the last, and without end. Depend upon it, as men would think it folly to deal at a shop where the bread (so called) was not bread, where the food that was given was so adulterated as to yield no nutriment, so is it a sin on our part if we do not seek out the pure unadulterated milk of the word, and endeavour to grow thereby. Oh, how many souls are poisoned by listening to a ministry that is not full of Christ! But oh, if you do get a ministry that savours of the Lord Jesus, hear with both your ears, drink it in; be like the thirsty furrows that do not refuse a single drop of heaven’s rain; receive with meekness the living word. Add to this an earnest prayer for illumination. Wait upon God each day, and say, “Show me thy Son; lo, I would know Christ: I would know him so as to be saved by him,” and remember, “He that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened,” “Ask and it shall be given you.” They that seek the Lord shall in due time be found of him. “He that calleth upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.”

The first word of the text is “If,” “If thou knewest the gift of God.” “If,” and what then?

The “if” seems to me to wear a black side. It supposes that there are many who do not know “the gift of God.” Alas! no supposition, but a fearful fact. Dear hearer, may I ask you to look to your own soul now! You are a church member: you have been considered to be a Christian from your youth till the present time; at least, you have reckoned yourself to be so. But ask thyself if thou knowest now the gift of God. Is Jesus Christ all in all to thee? Dost thou rest on him as the unbuttressed pillar of thy confidence? Dost thou love him? Is he thy Master? Art thou conformed unto his image? Hast thou ever spoken to him? Has he ever had communion with thee-supping with thee, and thou with him? As the Lord my God liveth, before whom I stand, if thou knowest not Christ, thy high profession is but a painted pageant to go to hell in, thy fancied experience is a will-o’-the-wisp leading thee to destruction, and all thy fond hopes shall come tumbling about thine ears, like a house that is founded on sand, which totters in the day of storm. I pray you, then, dear hearers, as you would be right at the last, make heart-searching enquiries now, and let this be the question: Whether thou knowest the gift of God in thy soul or no?

But we will deal better with the bright side, knowing that there are many here who do not know the grace of God at all, it is a mercy to think that they may know it, for the “If thou knewest” implies that some who do not know it yet may know it before they die; and, thank God, some of you shall know it, and glorious results will follow at once. “If thou knewest the gift of God,” my dear hearer, thou who art not yet converted, what a change would come over thee! Let me single thee out. Thou art here, this morning, quite uninterested in religion; thou hast come here this morning out of curiosity to look at the large assembly and hear the strange preacher, but religion has no interest in it for thee. Life and death, and all the problems that connect themselves with time and eternity, are nothing to thee. Thou art a butterfly, flying from flower to flower. Thou hast no deeper sense of things than a man of the world, who thinks to live and die, and so to come to his end. Ah! but if thou knewest Christ, it would soon be different with thee; that vain mind of thine would soon be full of thoughts; these worldly toys which are now so engrossing would then be put into their proper places. Thou wouldst become thoughtful, and, let me tell thee, thou wouldst become infinitely happier than thou art now, for thy present ease is a hollow thing. Thou art afraid to try it. Thou darest not sit down and think for an hour of thine own state and future-thou knowest thou darest not. But, oh! “if thou knewest the gift of God,” thou couldst endure sober thought, yea, it would be thy delight. And as for the future, thou wouldst dare to look into it; yea, it would be thy greatest comfort to anticipate the glories which God has prepared for them that love him. As I think on some of you indifferent ones, I could fain weep over you, not merely because of the hell which will be your portion, but because of the heaven which you are losing even now. A heaven below it is to know Christ, and you are missing this. Man of pleasure! Christ is pleasure. Men who would have ease and peace! Christ is the true ease, and if you knew him, you would find true peace.

Possibly there may be some few in this assembly to whom religion is not even a matter of indifference, but worse: they have persecuted it: they are accustomed to vent their sharpest wit upon anything religious. To them, godliness is always known by the name of cant, and if a man be known to be a professor of religion, he is at once the butt of every sneer. Ah, but if thou knewest Christ, thou wouldst not do this. Saul of Tarsus sought much the destruction of the people of God, but when once Christ had said to him, “Why persecutest thou me?” and he understood that Christ was no other than the God over all, the Redeemer of men, than he said, “Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?” Ah, persecutor! you would be just as warm for the cause as you are hot against it if you did but know Christ. Man, you would not have the heart to spit into the face of the Crucified; you would never crucify him afresh who died for his enemies; you would never be so cruel and barbarous as to trample on the members of Christ when you know that Christ, out of pure love, suffered for the sons of men. “If thou knewest the gift of God,” persecutor, it would be otherwise with thee than it is now.

Ay, and there are some here who would not persecute, but nevertheless they trifle with religion. Many more belong to this class than to the two I have just mentioned. I know many of you are impressed when we are delivering truth earnestly, and you vow what you do not pay, and you promise reformations which are never made. Ah, you triflers, you who halt between two opinions, who, like Felix, would wait for a more convenient season, “if thou knewest the gift of God,” this morning would be the convenient season. Oh, if God did but give thee an understanding of the preciousness and sweetness of Christ, thou wouldst not delay. Who delays to be crowned when the time has come for him to receive a kingdom? What heir would ever postpone the day in which he should enter into the heritage? Doth the bridegroom put off the hour of his marriage? Do men wish their happiness to be removed far away? Oh, no! and if thou knewest what Christ would be to thy soul, and what joy and blessedness thou wouldst have in receiving him, thou wouldst say, “Now is my time as it is God’s time. O God, I give myself to thee!” Trifler, may you yet know the gift of God!

Alas! there are some here who are not exactly triflers. They have serious thoughts, but they have some sin which they cannot give up. I cannot particularise cases, but there are such here. There are men here who would be Christ’s, but the habit of taking intoxicating drink to excess clings hard to them. Have I not talked to some of you, who have with tears confessed the sin, and longed to be delivered from the snare, but you could not? Your besetting sins are too dear to you for you to give them up. With some it may be filthier vices still. With others it is the thought, “Religion is too severe. To follow Christ is to give up so much; I must have a little more indulgence; I must for a little time at any rate drink of the wine of Satan’s banquet.” Ah, “if thou knewest the gift of God,” thou wouldst give up the sweetest thing earth ever knew, to know the greater sweetness of Christ. What! will ye put my Lord and Master in comparison with the painted harlot of this wicked world? Will ye put the solid gold of heaven’s kingdom in contrast with the filthy draff and dross of this world’s merchandise? O my Master, thou art no more to be compared to the riches and enjoyments of life, than the sun is to be likened to a glowworm. Let Christ arise in thy soul, and all thy starry joys will be gone. You will find this one great joy fills your spirit to the brim and overflows, so that there is an exceeding and eternal weight of glory too great for thy spirit to be able to compass. If thou knewest the grace of God, voluptuary, thou wouldst turn from thy tables to feed on him: thou wouldst leave thy gilded couches of pomp and vanity, and all the world calls good or great; thou wouldst leave it all, turning from ashes to feed upon angels’ food, even upon Christ the Lord, and the Redeemer of men.

There is another class here present, represented by some few, who would fain be saved, but they fear they are too bad. They think that they could never be saved after delaying so long and sinning so foully. “If thou knewest the gift of God,” thou wouldst never think that, for my Lord Jesus loves great sinners. “This man,” it is said, “receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.” When the woman that had been a sinner washed his feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head, he did not utter an upbraiding word. The Lord is gentle, and full of compassion and tenderness and truth. He came not with a sword to slay, but he came to be slain himself, that we might not die. You have only to come to him, and let this encourage you. He has said it, “Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.” He cannot cast you out; he must receive you; his word binds him to it; he cannot deny himself, and therefore he cannot refuse you.

If it were proper for us to prolong this addressing of separate characters, I think there would be in this suggestion, “If thou knewest the gift of God,” something for everyone. I am sure if any of us who are now at enmity to God did but know what Christ is, if they could but know, as with the knowledge I have before described, the person of the Lord Jesus, faith would follow immediately; we should trust our souls to God, and feel safe in the hands of God’s appointed propitiation. Faith would be sure to be followed by prayer: we should cry to him whom we now know, and prayer would be followed by his blessing. At the heels of that would come holy love to him; holy love would prompt us to serve, service would be followed by increasing strength, increasing strength would augment daily joy, till we should go up Jacob’s ladder, gaining virtue after virtue by the power of the Son of God, till we were meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light. Each point in Christ’s character, if known, would work good to us. For instance, “if thou knewest the gift of God,” that he came to save the vilest of the vile, how couldst thou doubt or despair because of thy sins? If thou knewest that the salvation of Christ is finished by himself, and not by us, how couldst thou dream of adding thereto, or think it necessary to bring thine own feelings, and frames, and doings, to make the salvation complete which Christ has finished altogether apart from thee? If thou knewest that Christ never forsook his people, wouldst thou be trembling and fearing lest in the hour of temptation he should fail thee? If thou knewest how suitable Christ is to thee, how ready he is to receive thee, how full of love he is to all his people, how he feels in his heart all your pains and all your groans, how his honour is bound up in your salvation, how he has pledged himself to bring every one of the saints to the Father’s right hand-if thou knewest all this, Christian, thou wouldst live above thy doubts, and fears, and frames, and feelings; thou wouldst live a heavenly life, like one who has seen Christ, and then has been made like unto him.

Beloved, if we were to take a walk, this morning, through the streets of London, how many cases we should see where we might say sorrowfully of the persons we looked upon, “Alas for thee! if thou knewest the grace of God, what a difference would come over thee!”

Perhaps at this very hour you will find the great mass of the working men in London in their shirt sleeves. It has not struck them at all that going to a place of worship is desirable. They will be lounging about; the penny paper has been taken, and they have begun to read that; but as yet the public house is not open: they feel as if there was nothing in the world to do but just lounge about and let the time run on. Ah! stepping into such a house you might say, “If thou knewest the gift of God, thy Sabbaths would assume quite a different appearance. Thou wouldst not talk about pharisaic Sabbatarians, and the strictness of shutting up the house of drink, and only opening the house of worship, but thou wouldst feel the Sabbath a delight, and the holy of the Lord honourable. Instead of wasting thy time, it would seem to thee as though Sabbaths were too short, and opportunities and means of grace too few. If thou knewest the gift of God, it would be otherwise with thee, working man.”

Step into the next church or chapel, I do not care which, and observe the multitudes of the people going through the worship with mere formality, confessing what they never felt, and professing to believe what they know nothing of. Ah, we might look into the face of each worshipper and say, “If thou knewest the gift of God, thou wouldst give up this formalism, and worship God in spirit and in truth.” We need not go far; there are many of you here in that state. May you know the gift of God, and forget formalities, and worship God in truth.

At some places you may step into the church or meeting house, and listen to the minister-an eloquent address, but altogether Christless: no care about the souls of men, no dealing with human consciences. Pompous sentences, sounding periods, high flights, climaxes, and I know not what oratorical flower, but nothing concerning the weighty matter of eternity, about the undying soul, and the precious cleansing blood, Ah! preacher, “if thou knewest the gift of God,” if thou hadst in thy soul any sense of the preciousness of the salvation of Christ, thou wouldst preach after another fashion.

Step in where the Ritualist has dressed himself in all his gaudy apparel, flaunting like a peacock before God himself, and you may well say to him, “If thou knewest the gift of God,” thou wouldst lay aside these fooleries and come before God sooner in sackcloth than in thy tag-rags, humbling thyself before the Most High as a poor, guilty sinner, most accursed of all the human race for having dared to call thyself a priest; for priest thou art not for thy fellow men, for one is priest, even Christ Jesus, and no other is priest, save only that all saints have a common priesthood which some cannot usurp to themselves alone, unless they dare to bring upon themselves the vengeance of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, who called themselves priests and were not. “If thou knewest the gift of God,” poor simpleton that thou art, thou wouldst doff that priestly array, and bow before the great High Priest of our profession, and worship him alone.

I might knock at that door yonder going down the street, after leaving that ritualistic mass house, and might find the merchant in his counting house. He looks a little disconcerted that I should call upon him on the Sabbath morning and find him with his pen behind his ear; but he says he has no time to cast up his accounts at any other period. Ah, but “if thou knewest the gift of God,” thou wouldst find other time, and find other occupation for this time than spending upon thyself what God claims to be his own.

I pass on into the chamber of sickness, and I see on the bed of death a sinner full of fears and dread about the world which lies before him. Listen to his groans. He has no hope. He has lived without Christ. The world has been his portion, and now he has to leave it, and he is unprepared to meet his Judge. All is dark as the pit whither he is going. How miserable his state as he feels he is parting with all he has loved, and for which he has lived, and that there is nothing before him but a dread unknown existence in another world. Ah! if he only knew the gift of God, what a change there would be at once! What light, joy, and peace would come into that chamber! All its gloom would pass away, and in the place of it would come such rapture as would lead men to say, “Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his.”

I shall not detain you longer. We might go down one street and up another for many a day, and we should find thousands to whom we should say, “If thou knewest the gift of God, thou wouldst be another and different man from what thou art.”

And now, lastly-the “if” of our text, and how does it concern believers?

It seems to me to concern believers this way. Evidently there are tens of thousands who do not know the gift of God. Enquiry, then, of the most solemn kind should at once be made, “Has this ignorance of theirs been my fault? These men know not the gift of God: how can they know it unless there be some one to teach them? How shall they hear without a preacher? Is this ignorance to be laid at my door? Beloved, in the name of Jesus Christ, I ask you seat-holders and members of this place who know Christ yourselves, is there a person sitting next to you in the pew who does not know Christ, and have you done your best to tell him about Christ? I pause, that conscience may give its reply. And you who do often speak about Christ in the school or in the street, preaching or not preaching, let me ask you, do you so talk about Christ that people can understand you? Believe me, I do try to use very simple words, but I often hear of words I have uttered which have not been understood by people present. I am always grieved when such is the case. God knoweth I would speak the most vulgar words I could find if people could understand them better. To me the finery of language is less than nothing. I would sooner preach Christ’s cross in the tongue of Billingsgate if all would understand, than speak in the most polished tongue so that the poor could not comprehend me. My dear brethren, that a soul should go to hell lost through our fine sentences, who shall be accountable for this? The watchman is not to speak in Greek to those who only know English, or even in good English to those who do not understand the language if it be well spoken, Augustine, I believe, frequently preached in exceedingly bad Latin. because it was the common talk of the people, and if he had spoken classic Latin he would not have been understood. And so must we do. If any man does not know Christ, have you told it to him in all the ways which you can find out of making it plain and clear? If you have not, then some responsibility lies with you. Then next, suppose you have not, will you, my brethren, for the future resolve in God’s strength that if any man perisheth for lack of knowledge, it shall not in the future be your fault? Make no rash vows, but do solemnly put it to your heart. But if you cannot speak as you would, yet you will distribute such publications, and give away such tracts as may tell the gospel simply. If you cannot do what you would, O resolve, dear brethren, to do what you can, that none here may be without the knowledge of Christ.

But though a professor, I shall venture to say to you, that the text does seem to say to you, Dost thou know the gift of God thyself? When I asked you whether you told others about it, I think a question might have been raised-if you have not told others, it is very questionable whether you know it yourself. If you never weep for other men’s sins, and never desire their salvation, you are not a saved soul. One of the first instincts of the saved soul is to say, “What can I do that others may be saved also?” Now, if you have done nothing, let a suspicion arise; and to us all, I think, there may be this query put: judging by my efforts, judging by my actions, judging by my inward feelings, may I not often ask myself, Do I know this gift of God? And may I not come, this morning, just as I did at the first, as a sinner, and look up to the wounds of Jesus, and cast myself again upon him? If I never did believe before, Lord Jesus, I trust thee now. Up till now if I have been a deceived one, here I am-

My faith looks up to thee,

Thou Lamb of Calvary,

Saviour divine:

Now hear me while I pray;

Take all my guilt away;

Oh let me from this day

Be wholly thine.”