before men in all honesty — so you would imagine. Ask him about any doctrine, and he can give you a discourse on it. In fact, he could write a treatise upon anything in the Bible, and a great many things besides. He knows almost everything; and here, up in this dark attic of the head, his religion has taken up its abode; he has a best parlour down in his heart, but his religion never goes there — that is shut against it. He has money in there — mammon, worldliness; or he has something else — self-love, pride. Perhaps he loves to hear experiential preaching; he admires it all; in fact, he loves anything that is sound. But then he has not any sound in himself: or rather, it is all sound and there is no substance. He likes to hear true doctrine; but it never penetrates his inner man. You never see him weep. Preach to him about Christ crucified, a glorious subject, and you never see a tear roll down his cheek; tell him of the mighty influence of the Holy Spirit — he admires you for it, but he never had the hand of the Holy Spirit on his soul; tell him about communion with God, plunging into Godhead’s deepest sea, and being lost in its immensity — the man loves to hear, but he never experiences, he has never communed with Christ; and accordingly when once you begin to strike home, when you lay him on the table, take out your dissecting knife, begin to cut him up, and show him his own heart, let him see what it is by nature, and what it must become by grace — the man is shocked, he cannot stand that; he wants none of that — Christ received in the heart and accepted. Albeit, that he loves it enough in the head, it is to him a stumblingblock, and he casts it away. Do you see yourselves here, my friends? See yourselves as others see you? See yourselves as God sees you? For so it is, here are many to whom Christ is as much a stumblingblock now as ever he was. Oh you formalists! I speak to you; oh you who have the nutshell, but abhor the kernel; oh you who like the trappings and the dress, but do not care for that fair virgin who is clothed with it: oh you who admire the paint and the tinsel, but abhor the solid gold, I speak to you; I ask you, does your religion give you solid comfort? Can you stare death in the face with it, and say, “I know that my Redeemer lives?” Can you close your eyes at night, singing as your vesper song —
I to the end must endure,
As sure as the earnest is given?
Can you bless God for affliction? Can you plunge in decked out as you are, and swim through all the floods of trial? Can you march triumphant through the lion’s den, laugh at affliction, and bid defiance to hell? Can you? No! Your gospel is an effeminate thing; a thing of words and sounds, and not of power. Cast it from you, I beseech you: it is not worth keeping; and when you come before the throne of God, you will find it will fail you, and fail you so that you shall never find another; for lost, ruined, destroyed, you shall find that Christ who is now σκανδαλον, “a stumblingblock,” will be your Judge.
9. I have described the Jew, and I have now to describe the Greek. He is a person of quite a different exterior to the Jew. As to the phylactery, to him it is all rubbish; and as to the broad hemmed garment, he despises it. He does not care for the forms of religion; he has an intense aversion, in fact, to broad brimmed hats, or to anything which looks like outward show. He appreciates eloquence; he admires a smart saying; he loves a quaint expression; he likes to read the last new book; he is a Greek, and to him the gospel is foolishness. The Greek is a gentleman found in most places nowadays: manufactured sometimes in colleges, constantly made in schools, produced everywhere. He is on the exchange; in the market; he keeps a shop; rides in a carriage; he is a noble, a gentleman; he is everywhere; even in court. He is thoroughly wise. Ask him anything, and he knows it. Ask for a quotation from any of the old poets, or anyone else, and he can give it to you. If you are a Mohammedan, and plead the claims of your religion, he will hear you very patiently. But if you are a Christian, and talk to him of Jesus Christ, “Stop your sermonizing,” he says, “I do not want to hear anything about that.” This Grecian gentleman believes all philosophy except the true one; he studies all wisdom except the wisdom of God; he seeks all learning except spiritual learning; he loves everything except that which God approves; he likes everything which man makes, and nothing which comes from God; it is foolishness to him, confounded foolishness. You have only to discourse about one doctrine in the Bible, and he shuts his ears; he wishes no longer for your company; it is foolishness. I have met this gentleman a great many times. Once when I saw him, he told me he did not believe in any religion at all; and when I said I did, and had a hope that when I died I would go to heaven, he said he dared say it was very comfortable, but he did not believe in religion, and that he was sure it was best to live as nature dictated. Another time he spoke well of all religions, and believed they were very good in their place, and all true; and he had no doubt that if a man were sincere in any kind of religion, he would be all right at last. I told him I did not think so, and that I believed there was only one religion revealed of God — the religion of God’s elect, the religion which is the gift of Jesus. He then said I was a bigot, and wished me good morning. It was to him foolishness. He had nothing to do with me at all. He either liked no religion, or every religion. Another time I held him by the coat button, and I discussed with him a little about faith. He said, “It is all very well, I believe that is true Protestant doctrine.” But presently I said something about election, and he said, “I do not like that; many people have preached that and turned it to bad account.” I then hinted something about free grace; but that he could not endure, it was to him foolishness. He was a polished Greek, and thought that if he were not chosen, he ought to be. He never liked that passage — “God has chosen the foolish things of this world to confound the wise, and the things which are not, to bring to nothing things that are.” He thought it was very discreditable to the Bible; and when the book was revised, he had no doubt it would be cut out. To such a man — for he is here this morning, very likely come to hear this reed shaken in the wind — I have to say this: Ah! you wise man, full of worldly wisdom; your wisdom will stand you in good stead here, but what will you do in the swellings of Jordan? Philosophy may do well for you to lean upon while you walk through this world; but the river is deep, and you will want something more than that. If you have not the arm of the Most High to hold you up in the flood and cheer you with promises, you will sink, man; with all your philosophy, you will sink; with all your learning, you shall sink, and be washed into that awful ocean of eternal torment, where you shall be for ever. Ah! Greeks, it may be foolishness to you, but you shall see the Man your Judge, and then you shall rue the day that ever you said that God’s gospel was foolishness.
10. II. Having spoken thus far upon the gospel rejected, I shall now briefly speak upon the GOSPEL TRIUMPHANT. “To us who are called, both Jews and Greeks, it is the power of God, and the wisdom of God.” Yonder man rejects the gospel, despises grace, and laughs at it as a delusion. Here is another man who laughed at it too; but God will fetch him down upon his knees. Christ shall not die for nothing. The Holy Spirit shall not strive in vain. God has said, “My word shall not return to me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.” “He shall see of the travail of his soul, and shall be abundantly satisfied.” If one sinner is not saved, another shall be. The Jew and the Greek shall never depopulate heaven. The choirs of glory shall not lose a single songster by all the opposition of Jews and Greeks; for God has said it; some shall be called; some shall be saved; some shall be rescued.
Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorred,
And the fool with it, who insults his Lord.
The atonement a Redeemer’s love has wrought
Is not for you — the righteous need it not.
See that prostitute wooing all she meets,
The wornout nuisance of the public streets,
Herself from morn to night, from night to morn,
Her own abhorrence, and as much your scorn:
The gracious shower, unlimited and free,
Shall fall on her when heaven denies it thee.
Of
