134 Sermon Illustrations on Conviction of Sin

In the early part of the reign of Louis XVI, a German prince traveling through France visited the arsenal at Toulon where the galleys were kept. The commandant, as a compliment to the prince's rank, said that he was welcome to set free any one galley slave whom he should choose to select. The prince, willing to make the best use of the privilege, spoke to many of them in succession, inquiring why they were condemned to the galleys. Injustice, oppression, false accusations were assigned by one after another as the causes of their being there. In fact, they were all injured and ill-treated persons. At last he came to one who, when asked the same question, answered to this effect: "Your Highness, I have no reason to complain. I have been a very wicked, desperate wretch. I have deserved to be broken alive on the wheel. I account it a great mercy that I am here." The prince fixed his eyes upon him and said: "You wicked wretch! It is a pity you should be placed among so many honest men. By your own confession, you are bad enough to corrupt them all; but you shall not stay with them another day." Then, turning to the officer he said, "This is the man, sir, whom I wish to be released."

A gentleman once took exception to a message based upon the Word of God concerning Jew and Gentile, that both are guilty before God. The preacher remarked, "But the Word of God distinctly says, 'There is no difference: for all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God' " (Romans 3:22-23). The preacher's friend then replied, "Do you mean to say that there is no difference between an honest man and a dishonest one, between an intemperate man and a sober man?" "No," the preacher remarked, "I did not affirm that there was no room for comparison between such cases; but my position is, if two men were standing here together, one an intemperate man and the other a sober man, I should say of the one, 'This man is an intemperate sinner; the other is a sober sinner.' " Our friend did not know how to meet the difficulty, but answered, "Well, I don't like such teaching." Very quietly the preacher replied, "Then I will make some concession and meet your difficulty. I will admit that many are 'superior sinners,' and that you are a superior sinner." What consternation was pictured on the face of the respectable sinner. Sometimes it is harder for respectable sinners to be justified because of their self-righteousness than it is for out-and-out sinners.

A lady in a carpool took God's name in vain and immediately apologized to her companions. One of them quickly responded, "You do not owe us an apology. You did not use our names." Sin does hurt people around us and requires a reconciliation with that person. But we must always remember, with David, "Against Thee, Thee only, I have sinned, and done what is evil in Thy sight" (Psalms 51:4 NASB). Our Concept of Righteousness There are Christians who, in effect, define righteousness by what they shun. They keep away from certain foods and drinks, from certain people, from certain places. There certainly are occasions when Christians do well to keep their distance, but our Lord's emphasis was against that way of defining unrighteousness. He stressed one's internal attitude, regardless of the external surroundings: "What comes out of a man is what defiles a man. For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, fornication, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, foolishness" (Mark 7:20-22). It is convenient to focus on the sins of others; this keeps the spotlight away from oneself. And it is convenient to understand sin in terms of actions that can be physically avoided; one can thereby avoid disturbing thoughts about attitudes such as coveting, envy, and pride, which our Lord includes on his list of "evil things" right along with theft, murder, and adultery. God everywhere shows a lot of concern about sin, and so should we. But it is the nature of sin to deceive us, even when we think we are being righteous. We must work at keeping our understandings and emphasis in line with what God has revealed. A Fence or an Ambulance A certain community was near a dangerous highway curve where several cars had misguided the curve and fallen over a cliff. Great discussion took place in the town over what to do about the situation. Some in the discussion group thought it a good idea to station an ambulance at the bottom of this cliff to give immediate aid to the victims. Wiser heads suggested it might be better to erect a fence around the curve on top of the cliff. To us, such a discussion is ridiculous. We know it is much better to prevent accidents and deaths than to treat them after the fact. Let us not overlook the truth that this principle also has much spiritual merit. We need not debate whether Christians sin. The New Testament speaks plainly. If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we claim we have not sinned, we make Him out to be a liar, and His Word has no place in our lives. The Apostle John immediately follows this truth with a powerful statement of assurance. "My dear children, I write this to you so that you will not sin. But if anybody does sin, we have One who speaks to the Father in our defense, Jesus Christ, the Righteous One" (1 John 2:1-2). Although forgiveness and grace are abundant, Jesus does not intend for us to just focus on these. He not only provides forgiveness, He also gives us the power to keep from sin. How much better that we focus on the "fence" at the top rather than on the "ambulance" at the bottom.

One day, after a gospel meeting in a prison in Greece, the chief of chaplains of the prisons was discussing with the preacher the wonderful response by the prisoners of Greece to the message of the Gospel: "When you deal with a prisoner, you do not need to persuade him that he is a sinner. His imprisonment is a proof of it. But there are many out of jail who should be in, and because they are out they argue all is well with them and they need no Savior."

“They have healed the hurt of the daughter of My people slightly, saying, Peace, peace; when there is no peace.” Jeremiah 8:11

When I was a boy, I heard a Northern Ireland preacher relate the following story, which he declared to be absolutely authentic. It is a striking illustration of the lack of understanding of spiritual problems prevalent in some quarters, even in our enlightened days.

In a Scottish home the younger son, a lad in his late teens, named Robert, (generally “Robbie” in the family) became troubled about his soul. Realizing he was a lost sinner, he sought in vain for some one who could make plain to him the way of peace with God. His father, though a religious man and an esteemed office-bearer in the local kirk, could not understand why a lad brought up as his son had been should think himself lost and in need of salvation.

In his distress the boy sought out the minister, who after a long talk with him told him he should put away such gloomy thoughts and try to get his mind on brighter things. As the youth was musically inclined, the pastor suggested to the father to purchase a fiddle for his son and have him take violin lessons. This was done, but although Robbie tried to forget his “gloomy ideas” (as the minister called them) and resolutely set himself to learn to play the fiddle, he at last gave up in despair. “I cannot fiddle,” he exclaimed, “when I am lost in my sins and may die any moment and go into hell because I cannot find how to be saved.”

A physician was called in, who, after examining the boy, advised that he be sent to a sanitarium for mental cases, as he felt sure he was losing his mind, and if not properly treated, might do something desperate.

So to the asylum the poor lad was taken. There for weeks he paced a narrow room in anguish of soul, as he exclaimed again and again, “Oh, that I knew how to get rid o’ my sins!”

One day, a lady who knew Christ came to that institution in order to help and comfort a friend of hers who had suffered a nervous breakdown. As she passed the room of poor Robbie she heard his sobs and wondered if it was a case of conviction of sin rather than incipient insanity. She was given an opportunity to speak with him and, after hearing his story, she pointed him to Christ and left with him a New Testament, marking several passages, which she asked him to read carefully. As he pondered these verses, telling of Christ’s finished work and the blood that cleanseth from all sin, light from heaven shone into his darkened soul and soon he was rejoicing in God’s salvation.

The change in his behavior was so notable that the attending alienist decided he was cured by the treatment received, and he notified the father that Robbie might now safely be taken home. His brother James came for him and was delighted to find Robbie so calm and peaceful. Little was said until he arrived at home, when, in response to his anxious father’s question, “Are ye a’ right noo, Robbie?” he exclaimed, “Aye, feyther, I’m a’right noo, for my sins are gone an’ my soul is saved!” The shocked father cried out aghast, “Jamie, gang for the meenister. Tell him Robbie’s had a relapse, and to come at once.”

When the minister reached the house, Robbie greeted him somewhat sternly, “Meenister, Meenister,” he exclaimed, “why did ye set me trying to fiddle my sins awa’? Why did ye no tell me o’ the bluid o’ Jesus that cleanses frae a’ sin. What the fiddlin could no’ do, the Lord Jesus has done for me.”

The embarrassed minister soon realized a work of God had taken place in the soul of the young man. Though he did not fathom it all, he understood enough to know it was what the Bible calls being “born again,” and so he assured the father he need not worry about his son’s mentality. As the time went on, all knew that Robbie had indeed passed from death unto life and many were won to Christ through his testimony.

It is to be feared there are many in our days who are as unable to help a troubled soul as was Robbie’s pastor. Yet every one who professes to be a minister of God should be an expert at dealing with anxious men and women and showing them the only way of life and peace — through the gospel of His grace.

I remember hearing a few years ago a story about a young man away off in Russia. He was a wild, reckless dissipated youth. His father, thinking that if he could get him away from his associates, a reform would be worked, procured a commission in the army for him. And this is a mistake a great many Christian people fall into in dealing with their sons. It is not a change of place they require, it is a change of heart, A change of place will not take them away from the tempter. Well, off to the army this young man went, and, instead of reforming, he gambled and borrowed, and took to drinking as vigorously as ever. At length he had borrowed all the money he could, and, as we say he "had come to the end of his rope." A certain sum of money had to be paid the next day, and he did not see how it could be done without selling his commission, and if he did that he would be compelled to leave the army and go home to his father disgraced. The laws were very rigid in Russia upon the matter of debt, and if he couldn't pay he knew he would have to go to prison.

That night as he sat in his barracks, heart-broken at the prospect before him, he thought he would take up a paper and figure up his debts, and see how he stood. And here, let me say, it would be well if the sinner would pause occasionally, and try and figure up his sins, and see where he stood with God. Well, this young man put down one debt after another, until they made a long column. The total completely disheartened him; and he just put at the bottom of his figures, "Who is to pay this"? He laid his head upon his desk wearied, and fell asleep. That night the Czar, according to his custom, was walking through the barracks while the soldiers slept, and happened to come to that spot where the young soldier slept. He saw upon the desk the column of debts, and when he came to the bottom saw the question: "Who's to pay them?" and wrote underneath the name "Nicholas." When the young man awoke he took up the paper and found written at the bottom the signature of the Czar of all the Russias. What did it mean? Had an angel dropped down and canceled the debt? It was too good to be true. He couldn't believe it. But by and by the money came from the Emperor himself. This story may be true or not. I don't care whether it is or not; but there is one thing I do know is true, and that is that the great Emperor of heaven is here, and if you put down all your sins and multiply them by ten thousand, He will pay it and shelter you underneath the blood of Jesus Christ, which cleanseth us from all sin.

I remember while preaching in Glasgow, an incident occurred which I will relate. I had been preaching there several weeks, and the night was my last one, and I pleaded with them as I had never pleaded there before. I urged the people to meet me in that land. It is a very solemn thing to stand before a vast audience for the last time and think you may never have another chance of asking them to come to Christ. I told them I would not have another opportunity, and urged them to accept, and just asked them to meet me at that marriage supper. At the conclusion I soon saw a tall young lady coming into the inquiry room. She had scarcely come in when another tall young lady came in, and she went up to the first and put her arms around her and wept. Pretty soon another young lady came and went up to the first two and just put her arms around both of them. They were three sisters and I found that although they had been sitting in different parts of the building, the sure arrow of conviction went down to their souls, and brought them to the inquiry room. Another young lady came down from the gallery and said: "Mr. Moody, I want to become a Christian." I asked a young Christian to talk to her, and when she went home that night about 10 o'clock--her mother was sitting up for her--she said: "Mother, I have accepted the invitation to be present at the marriage supper of the Lamb." Her mother and father laid awake that night talking about the salvation of their child. That was Friday night, and next day (Saturday) she was unwell, and before long her sickness developed into scarlet fever, and a few days after I got this letter:

"Mr. Moody--Dear Sir: It is now my painful duty to intimate to you that the dear girl concerning whom I wrote to you on Monday, has been taken away from us by death. Her departure, however, has been signally softened to us, for she told us yesterday she was "going home to be with Jesus," and after giving messages to many, told us to let Mr. Moody and Mr. Sankey know that she died a happy Christian."

When I was in London I went into a wax work there--Tassands--and I went into the chamber of Horror. There were wax figures of all kinds of murderers in that room. There was Booth who killed Lincoln, and many of that class: but there was one figure I got interested in, who killed his wife because he loved another woman, and the law didn't find him out. He married this woman and had a family of seven children. And twenty years passed away. Then his conscience began to trouble him. He had no rest; he would hear his murdered wife pleading continually for her life. His friends began to think that that he was going out of his mind; he became haggard and his conscience haunted him till, at last he went to the officers of the law and told them that he was guilty of murder. He wanted to die, life was so much of an agony to him. His conscience turned against him. My friends if you have done wrong, may your conscience be woke up, and may you testify against yourself. It is a great deal better to judge our own acts and confess them, than go through this world with the curse upon you.

"The conscience of a sinner is like a clock, dull, calm, and at rest, when the weights are down; but when wound up, it is full of motion." Sometimes God winds up conscience in this life, and then it works vigorously, and strikes the time of day in the sinner's ears. Shame attends his sin, and he trembles in secret. A dreadful sound is in his ears, and like the troubled sea he cannot rest. This is far better than a dead calm. Alas, in many cases the clock runs down, conscience is again still, and the man returns to his false peace. Of all states this is most dangerous. In the world to come the ceaseless activity of conscience will be the torture of hell. Rendered sensitive by the removal of hardening influences, the lost soul will find memory accusing, and conscience condemning forever, and no advocate at hand to suggest a defence. A man had better be shut up with a bear robbed of her whelps than live with an accusing conscience. No racks or fires can equal the misery of being consciously guilty, and seeing no way of escape from sin. May the Lord make our conscience to be an alarum to us here that it be not a torment to us hereafter.

Voltaire was once daring enough to versify that affecting penitential psalm, the Fifty-first. Every thing went well until he came to the tenth verse, where it is said, "Create in me a clean heart, O God!" But his pride, and infernal hatred against God and his worshippers, did not permit him, with the royal penitent, to entreat of God a pure and sincere heart: however, he strove to translate the verse poetically. But suddenly the terror of hell seized him: the pen refused to move beneath the hand of the reprobate who had indicted so many blasphemics and obscenities for the destruction of innocence and the fear of God. He sought to flee, but could not. He fell half senseless on his couch, and afterwards confessed several times to his friends that he could never think of this appalling occurrence without inward tremor and uneasiness. Dr. Van Esse.

As the anthill, when stirred, sets in motion its living insects in every direction, so the conscience of the sinner, disturbed by the Spirit or judgments of God, calls up before its vision thousands of deeds which fill the soul with agony and woe. M. Cash.

As the stag which the huntsman has hit flies through bush and brake, over stock and stone, and thereby exhausts its strength, but does not expel the deadly bullet from its body; so does experience show that they who have troubled consciences run from place to place, but, wherever they go, bear with them their dangerous wounds.

— Gotthold

Conscience is a clock, which in one man strikes aloud, and gives warning; in another, the hand points silently to the figure, but strikes not; meantime hours pass away, and death hastens, and after death comes judgment. Bp. Taylor.

The voice of an evil conscience is not one evil in particular, but a multitude of evils. It is a barking hell-bound, a monster vomiting fire, a raging fury, a tormenting devil. It is the nature and quality of a guilty conscience to flee and be terrified, even when all is well, and when prosperity abounds, and to change such prosperity into danger and death. Luther.

A young man under conviction for sin met a Christian whom he respected, and from whom he expected a word appropriate to his condition. Instead of that he said, "I saw you in it last week. I went to the theatre, and you ought to have gone." This remark sent the seeker into some years' longer bondage to sin, when, through mercy, he was again awakened, and this time found peace.

A case of conviction was that of one aroused during McCheyne's sermon on "Unto whom coming as unto a living stone." As he spoke of the Father taking the gem out of his bosom, and laying it down for a foundation-stone, she felt in her soul, "I know nothing of this precious stone: I am surely not converted." This led her to come to speak with him. She was not under deep conviction; but, before going away, he said, "You are a poor, vile worm: it is a wonder the earth does not open, and swallow you up." These words were blessed to produce a very awful sense of sin. She came a second time, with the arrows of the Almighty drinking up her spirit. For three months, she remained in this state, till, having once more come to him for counsel, the living voice of Jesus gave life to her soul. McCheyne's Life.

You have known the time when you dared not shut your eyes, for fear you should not open them again on earth; when you dreaded the shadows of the night, lest they should darken forever the light of the sun, and you should dwell in outer darkness through eternity. You have mourned as each day has entered, and you have wept as it has departed, because you fancied that your next step might precipitate you into your eternal doom. I have known what it is to tread the earth, and fear lest every tuft of grass should but cover a door to hell; trembling lest every particle, and every atom, and every stone, should be so at league with God against me as to destroy me.

— Spurgeon

The original picture of Bishop Asbury, taken in Baltimore, has a singular history. "It once hung over the fireplace of a planter's parlor in Maryland, and where a bed had been made for one of his men, beastly drunk. Here he was laid down, entirely insensible. Just as the day was breaking, and the rays of light were dimly falling upon the portrait, he began to awake from off his drunken stupor: his eyes first fell upon the uplifted hand of the venerable bishop, and he fearfully fancied the judgment had come, and that the divine King, with upraised arm, was about to pronounce the last sentence of condemnation upon him. The sight produced a powerful influence upon his mind, leading him to repentance, amendment, and conversion."

In the International Exhibition of 1862 were two pictures. The first was called "Waiting for the Verdict." At the door of a room where a trial was going on, there was a little gathering of people. A woman, (oh, what agony was in her look!) and a dear little child lying against her asleep; another, who looked like the grandmother, holding the youngest child; the grandfather, with one hand fallen down between his legs, the other covering his face, from which the big tears were rolling; the dog, looking up and wondering; the elder sister standing there against the door, all anxiety,—what meant it all? Before the bar in that court of justice the father was standing; and they were "waiting for the verdict." In the second picture, the same people were standing at the same place; only one is among them we did not see before. A man is sitting on the bench, his wife, with joyful look, embracing him; the dog licking his hand; the grandmother, with eyes swollen with weeping, only they are tears of joy now, holding up a dear little child for a kiss from the father, who, a few minutes before, had been standing before that bar. Why are they all so changed? Why joy where there was sorrow, happiness where there was misery? A "word only" had done it all. "Not guilty," "The Acquittal."

— Biblical Treasury

Suppose a messenger from God should take us by the hand, and lead us up the steps of a great building, and, as we entered the porch, it should begin to grow dark. Suppose that he should then open a door into a very large hall, which he called a "picture gallery." As we enter it, we find it dark as night; but, as the angel touches a spring, the light flashes in, and fills the room. We now see that the walls are hung with pictures,—so many, and so large, that they cover all the walls. On these are painted all the sins that we have ever committed. On one picture are painted all the bad words that we have ever spoken; on another all the crimes and jealousies we have ever felt; on another all the covetings of our hearts, all the wrong bargains we have ever made, all the unkindness to our parents and friends of which we have ever been guilty, all our prayerless mornings and evenings, all our neglect of God's word, all our ingratitude towards our heavenly Father, and our hard feelings towards him, all our abuse of the Sabbath and the means of grace, all our neglect of the Saviour, and our grieving away the Holy Spirit. What pictures would our sins—open sins, secret sins, heart-sins, and life-long sins— make! Who would dare look at them? What a terrible hall that would be! It would truly be a "judgment-hall." It would make us tremble.

— Dr. Todd

If a man is a prey to a mortal disease which breaks out in blotches and sores, there is no use in merely plastering over the sores, you must go to the root of the disease, and attack it in its strongholds; else, being checked from venting itself outwardly, it will range the fiercelier within: just so it is with sin. There is little profit in telling a man who is walking after the lusts of the flesh, that such or such an act is wrong. Unless you go to the root of sin within him, from which all these wrong acts spring, even though you should persuade him to break off some bad habits and practices, you will do little real, lasting, essential good. Notwithstanding this reformation, as he will deem it, he may continue just as sinful, just as thorough a slave of sin, as ever. Nay, his case may be still more hopeless; for his having overcome a bad habit or two may beguile him into fancying that he is the master of his own heart, can sway it which way he chooses, and has only to will in order to become a paragon of virtue.

— Hare

A fashionable lady entered church in a strange place, and heard a sermon on human depravity. During the week, the preacher called upon her; when she told him she did not believe in the doctrine of his sermon. He asked the lady to test the subject by reviewing her life, alone before God, to see if all her acts had been done from right motives; which she promised to do. The next day, the preacher called again; when the lady confessed that she did not find one bright spot of conscious love to God in all her past life. A look within had convinced her of the truth of the doctrine. Feeling now the disease of sin, she went to the Great Physician, and found a cure.

An African said to a missionary, "Yesterday morning, when you preach, you show me that the law be our schoolmaster to bring us to Christ. You talk about the ten commandments. You begin at the first, and me say to myself, 'Me guilty!' the second, 'Me guilty!' the third, 'Me guilty!' the fourth, 'Me guilty!' the fifth, 'Me guilty!' Then you say the sixth, 'Thou shalt not kill.' Me say, 'Ah! me no guilty, me never kill some person.' You say, 'I suppose plenty people live here, who say, "Me no guilty of that!"' Me say again in my heart, 'Ah, me no guilty!' Then you say, 'Did you never hate any person? did you never wish that such a person, such a man, or such a woman, was dead?' Massa, you talk plenty about that; and what I feel that time I can't tell you. I talk in my heart, and say, 'Me the same person!' My heart begin to beat; me want to cry; my heart heave so much me don't know what to do. Massa, me think me kill ten people before breakfast! I never think I so bad. Afterwards you talk about the Lord Jesus, how he take off our sin. I think I stand the same like a person that have a big stone upon him head, and can't walk — want to fall down. O massa! I have trouble too much: I no sleep all night. I hope the Lord Jesus Christ will take my sins from me. Suppose he no save me, I shall go to hell forever."

It is with the children of men as with the housewife, that, having diligently swept her house, and cast the dust out of doors, can see nothing amiss, — not so much as a speck of dust in it; whereas, if the sun shine in through some cranny in the wall, she may soon see the whole house swim and swarm with innumerable atoms of dust. floating to and fro in the air, which, for dimness of light or sight, before she was not able to discern. Even so it is with many; yet a little beam of light, reflecting upon their souls from God's law, will discover to them such a mass of corruption in their hearts, and errors in their lives, that it shall make them as men amazed. Spencer.

Several of those ways by which a man's sin overtakes him, and finds him out in this world, are: first, the very confidence itself of secrecy is a direct and natural cause of the sinner's discovery; secondly, there is sometimes a strange, providential concurrence of unusual, unlikely accidents, for the bringing to light great villanies; thirdly, God sometimes makes one great sin a means to detect and lay open another; fourthly, God sometimes infatuates and strikes the sinner with frenzy, and such a distraction as makes him reveal all his hidden guilt; fifthly, God sometimes lets loose the sinner's conscience upon him, so that he can find no rest within himself till he has confessed and declared his sin; sixthly, and lastly, God sometimes smites and confounds him by some notable, immediate judgment from heaven. Dr. South.