there is nothing in a sinner which can entitle him to salvation, or recommend him to mercy; it must be God’s own heart which must dictate the motive why men are to be saved. One person says, “God will save me, because I am so upright.” Sir, he will do no such thing. Another says, “God will save me because I am so talented.” Sir, he will not. Your talent! Why you drivelling, self-conceited idiot, your talent is nothing compared with that of the angel that once stood before the throne, and sinned, and who now is cast into the bottomless pit for ever! If he would save men for their talent, he would have saved Satan; for he had talents enough. As for your morality and goodness, it is only filthy rags, and he will never save you for anything you do. None of us would ever be saved, if God expected anything from us: we must be saved purely and solely for reasons connected with himself, and lying in his own heart. Blessed be his name, he saves us for “his name’s sake.” What does that mean? I think it means this: the name of God is his person, his attributes, and his nature. For his nature’s sake, for his very attributes’ sake, he saved men; and, perhaps, we may include this also: “My name is in him” — that is, in Christ; he saves us for the sake of Christ, who is the name of God. And what does that mean? I think it means this:
14. He saved them, first so that he might display his nature. God is all love, and he wanted to display it; he did show it when he made the sun, the moon, and the stars, and scattered flowers over the green and laughing earth. He did show his love when he made the air balmy to the body, and the sunshine cheering to the eye. He gives us warmth even in winter, by the clothing and by the fuel which he has stored in the heart of the earth, but he wanted to reveal himself still more. “How can I show them that I love them with all my infinite heart? I will give my Son to die to save the very worst of them, and so I will reveal my nature.” And God has done it; he has revealed his power, his justice, his love, his faithfulness, and his truth; he has revealed his whole self on the great platform of salvation. It was, so to speak, the balcony on which God stepped to show himself to man — the balcony of salvation — here it is he reveals himself, by saving men’s souls.
15. He did it, again, to vindicate his name. Some say God is cruel; they wickedly call him a tyrant. “Ah!” says God, “but I will save the worst of sinners, and vindicate my name; I will blot out the stigma; I will remove the slur; they shall not be able to say that, unless they are filthy liars, for I will be abundantly merciful. I will take away this stain, and they shall see that my great name is a name of love.” And he said, again, “I will do this for my name’s sake, that is, to make these people love my name. I know if I take the best of men, and save them, they will love my name; but if I take the worst of men, oh, how they will love me! If I go and take some of the offscouring of the earth, and make them my children, oh, how they will love me! Then they will cleave to my name; they will think it more sweet than music; it will be more precious to them than the spikenard of the Eastern merchants; they will value it as gold, yes, as much fine gold. The man who loves me best, is the man who has the most sins forgiven: he owes much, therefore he will love much.” This is the reason why God often selects the worst of men to make them his. An old writer says, “In the carvings of heaven were made out of knots; the temple of God, the king of heaven, is a cedar one, but the cedars were all knotty trees before he cut them down.” He chose the worst, that he might display his workmanship and his skill, to make to himself a name; as it is written, “It shall be to me for a name, for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.” Now, dear hearers, of whatever class you are, here is something I have to offer well worthy of your consideration, namely — that if saved, we are saved for the sake of God, for his name’s sake, and not for our own.
16. Now this puts all men on the same level with regard to salvation. Suppose that in coming into this garden, the rule had been that every one should have made mention of my name as the key for admittance; the law is, that no man is to be admitted for his rank or title, but only by the use of a certain name. Up comes a lord; he makes use of the name and comes in: up comes a beggar, all in patches, he makes use of the name — the law says it is only the use of the name that will admit you — he makes use of it and he enters, for there is no distinction. So, my lady, if you come, with all your morality, you must make use of his name: if you come, poor filthy inhabitant of a cellar or an attic, and make use of his name, the doors will fly wide open, for there is salvation for every one who makes mention of the name of Christ, and for no one else. This pulls down the pride of the moralist, abases the self-exaltation of the self-righteous, and puts us all, as guilty sinners, on an equal footing before God, to receive mercy at his hands, “For his name’s sake,” and for that reason alone.
17. IV. I have detained you too long; let me close by noticing obstacles removed, in the word “nevertheless.” I shall do that in somewhat of an interesting form, by way of a parable.
18. Once upon a time, Mercy sat upon her snow white throne, surrounded by the troops of love. A sinner was brought before her, whom Mercy intended to save. The herald blew the trumpet, and after three blasts from it; with a loud voice, he said, “Oh heaven, and earth, and hell, I summon you today to come before the throne of Mercy, to tell why this sinner should not be saved.” There stood the sinner trembling with fear; he knew that there were multitudes of opponents, who would press into the hall of Mercy, and with eyes full of wrath, would say “He must not, and he shall not escape; he must be lost!” The trumpet was blown, and Mercy sat placidly on her throne, until there stepped in one with a fiery countenance; his head was covered with light, he spoke with a voice like thunder, and out of his eyes flashed lightning “Who are you?” said Mercy. He replied, “I am Law; the law of God.” “And what have you to say?” “I have this to say,” and he lifted up a stony tablet, written on both sides; “these ten commands this wretch has broken. My demand is blood; for it is written, ‘The soul that sins it shall die.’ Either he dies, or justice must.” The wretch trembles, his knees knock together, the marrow of his bones melts within him, as if they were ice dissolved by fire, and he shakes with very fright. Already he thought he saw the thunderbolt launched at him, he saw the lightning penetrate into his soul, hell yawned before him in his imagination, and he thought himself cast away for ever. But Mercy smiled, and said, “Law, I will answer you. This wretch deserves to die; justice demands that he should perish — I award you your claim.” And oh! how the sinner trembles. “But there is one there who has come with me today, my king, my Lord; his name is Jesus; he will tell you how the debt can be paid, and the sinner can go free.” Then Jesus spoke, and said, “Oh Mercy, I will do your bidding. Take me Law, put me in a garden; make me sweat drops of blood; then nail me to a tree; scourge my back before you put me to death; hang me on the cross; let blood run from my hands and feet; let me descend into the grave; let me pay all the sinner owes; I will die in his place.” And the Law went out and scourged the Saviour, nailed him to the cross, and coming back with his face all bright with satisfaction, stood again at the throne of Mercy, and Mercy said, “Law, what have you now to say?” “Nothing,” he said, “fair angel, nothing.” “What! not one of these commands against him?” “No, not one. Jesus, his substitute, has kept them all — has paid the penalty for his disobedience; and now, instead of his condemnation, I demand as a debt of justice that he be acquitted.” “Stand here,” said Mercy, “sit on my throne; you and I together will now send forth another summons.” The trumpet rang again. “Come here, all you who have anything to say against this sinner, why he should not be acquitted”; and up comes another — one who often troubled the sinner, one who had a voice not as loud as that of the Law, but still piercing and sharp — a voice whose whispers were like the cuttings of a dagger. “Who are you?” says Mercy. “I am Conscience; this sinner must be punished; he has done so much against the law of God that he must be punished; I demand it; and I will give him no rest until he is punished, nor even then, for I will follow him even to the grave, and persecute him after death with pangs unutterable.” “No,” said Mercy, “Hear me,” and while he paused for a moment, she took a bunch of hyssop and sprinkled Conscience with the blood, saying “Hear me, Conscience, ‘The blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, cleanses us from all sin.’ Now what have you to say?” “No,” said Conscience, “nothing.
Covered
