134 Sermon Illustrations on Conviction of Sin

A few years since, writes the Rev. Jacob Abbot, when spending a Sabbath in a beautiful country town, I was sent for to visit a sick man who was apparently drawing near the grave. I was told, as I walked with the neighbor who came for me toward the house of the patient, that he was in a melancholy state of mind. "He has been," said he, "a firm believer and supporter of the truths of religion for many years. He has been very much interested in maintaining religious worship, and all benevolent institutions; he has loved the Sabbath school, and given his family every religious privilege; but he says he has never really given his heart to God; he has been devoted to the world, and even now, he says, it will not relinquish its hold." "Do you think," said I, "that he must die?" "Yes," replied he, "he must die, and he is fully aware of it. He says that he can see his guilt and danger, but that his hard heart will not feel." This is the exact remark which is made in thousands and thousands of similar cases, and in almost precisely the same language. The eyes are opened, but the heart remains unchanged. We, at length, approached the house: it was in the midst of a delightful village, and in one of those calm still summer afternoons, when all nature seems to speak from every tree, leaf, and flower, of the goodness of God; and to breathe the spirit of repose and peace. I wondered that a man could lie on his bed with the windows all around him opening upon such a scene as this, and yet not feel. As I entered the sick room, the pale and emaciated patient turned towards me an anxious and agitated look, which showed too plainly what was passing within. It was a case of consumption. His sickness had been long and lingering. His strength was now almost gone; he lay gasping for the breath which his wasted lungs could not receive. His eye moved with a quick and anxious glance around the room, saying, by its expression of bright intelligence, that the mind retained its undiminished power. I tried to bring to his case those truths which I thought calculated to influence him, and lead him to the Savior: but he knew all that I could tell him; and I learned from his replies, given in panting whispers, that religious truth had been trying its whole strength upon him all his life; and that, in presenting it to him again now, I was only attempting once more an experiment, which had been repeated in vain almost every day, for forty years. I saw the utter hopelessness of effort, and stood by his bedside in silent despair. He died that night. Reader, if your heart is cold and hard towards God, abandon all hope that the alarm and anxiety of a death-bed will change it. Seek forgiveness now.

A young woman became acquainted with religion in a pious family, but left the situation in which she enjoyed religious privileges, for one much superior as it respects this world; but alas! the master of the house was a lover of pleasure more than a lover of God. Here religious duties were not only neglected, but even ridiculed. She met with no little persecution from her fellow servants this induced her to neglect private prayer and other means of grace. At length she was seldom seen at public worship. A Christian friend perceived her declension by her backwardness to discourse on religious subjects, which she had formerly appeared to love. But she did not return back to the world without considerable checks of conscience. She knew that she was doing wrong, but became hardened by the deceitfulness of sin.

About the twentieth year of her age, she broke a blood-vessel. An apothecary was sent for immediately, but no relief could be afforded. On the day after the circumstance took place, she was visited by the person who had observed her decline in religion, who says: "On asking her how she was, she said, 'Very bad, very bad.' On being asked as to her eternal welfare, she exclaimed, 'That is what I want; my life I care not for, if my sins were pardoned.' When I spoke of the power and willingness of Christ to save lost sinners, she answered, there was no pardon for her. I enlarged on the precious promises of the gospel, but all seemed to aggravate the feelings of her guilty conscience. She burst into tears, and said, 'Oh that I had repented when the Spirit of God was striving with me! but now I am undone.' I again visited her late in the evening of the same day. She was much weaker from the loss of blood, and her countenance bespoke the dreadful horror of her mind, which no doubt hastened her speedy dissolution. On asking her how she felt, she answered, 'Miserable! miserable!' I repeated some encouraging passages of Scripture, but alas! all in vain; her soul labored under the greatest agonies: she exclaimed, 'Oh! how I have been deceived! When I was in health, I delayed repentance from time to time. Oh that I had my time to live over again! Oh that I had obeyed the gospel! but now I must burn in hell for ever. Oh I cannot bear it! I cannot bear it!'

"In this manner she continued breathing out most horrible expressions.

"I reminded her that Jesus Christ would in no wise cast out those sinners who come to him, and that his blood cleanseth from all sin. She said, 'The blood of Christ will be the greatest torment I shall have in hell; tell me no more about it.' I then left her with feelings not to be described. She died next morning at six o'clock. I inquired of the woman who attended her, if she continued in the same state to the last. She said, that she was much worse after I left her, and that they durst not stay in the room with her. She was heard to exclaim several times, about an hour before her end, 'Eternity! eternity! Oh! to burn throughout eternity!'"

Lydia Sturtevant, was the daughter of pious parents in one of the New England States. She possessed a cultivated mind, buoyancy of spirits, and beauty of person—the ornament of her circle, the admiration of all who knew her.

During the summer of 1824, she had deep religious impressions, and felt that it was unsafe to neglect religion longer. She deliberated, she reasoned, she prayed, and finally made up her mind to the *resolution that she would repent and accept the offer of salvation before the close of that day*. But the day had its cares and pleasures, its company and business, and the night found her as thoughtless, almost, as she had been for months.

The next morning she had renewed convictions, saw her guilt more clearly, and in great agony of soul, resolved again, “to begin religion before the close of that day.” With this new resolution her anxiety somewhat abated, and though she thought often during the day, of the vow she had made, night came again and nothing decisive had been done. The next morning her impressions were again renewed, and she again renewed her resolution; it was dissipated again; and thus she went on resolving and breaking her resolves till she relapsed into her former unconcern. She was not absolutely indifferent; she still expected and resolved to become a Christian, but her resolutions looked forward to a *more distant period*, and she returned to the world with the same interest as before. Some three or four months after this, she was taken sick. It was her last sickness—she was sick only five days—though none thought that she would die till eight hours before she died. About daybreak on the morning of that day, she was informed that her disease would probably prove fatal. The intelligence was awfully surprising. *The fatal resolution*, as she called it, which she had formed about the same hour of the day, a few months before, was brought, by the opening twilight, afresh to her mind; and her soul was filled with horror at her situation. She saw herself on the brink of eternity—a hardened sinner—her Saviour slighted—the Spirit grieved and gone!

What could she do? The blood was beginning to stagnate, the lungs to falter! Feeble and faint, she raised her haggard eyes and summoned every energy to pray. O, what agony did that prayer express! She called, she begged for mercy, till she sunk into a swoon. As consciousness returned, she began to pray again; then again fainted. On reviving she called on her friends to pray for her; and accordingly all knelt while one engaged in prayer. As they rose Rev. Mr. Phelps, the minister present, began to repeat some promises of Scripture which he thought appropriate to her case. She interrupted him, saying it was too late, and that there was no pardon for her. With her dying breath she charged him to warn the youth of his congregation not to neglect religion as she had done, or "still their convictions by a mere resolution to repent." Death soon closed the affecting scene.

MORROW.—The Rev. G. Whitfield mentions in his journal, that during his first voyage to Georgia, the ship's cook was awfully addicted to drinking; and when reproved for this and other sins, boasted that he would be wicked till within two years of his death, and would then reform. He died of an illness, brought on by drinking, in six hours.

A few years ago, (says the N. Y. Evangelist of 1831,) there lived in the vicinity of Boston a young lady of amiable character, lovely person, and agreeable deportment; her mind was awakened on the subject of religion: she felt that she was a sinner; and the fearful consequences of the judgment were full in her view. In this trying hour she was urged to repent, at once, without delay. She seemed to think that the terms were hard and peremptory, although they were according to the word of God. When she retired alone, her conscience pressed her, and she came to the conclusion that she would certainly give up her heart to Christ, in four years. This, at first, gave her some ease of mind; but she soon reflected that she might not live so long as four years, and then, if she did not repent, she might be lost for ever. She was again alarmed, and resolved to repent in three years; at this resolution she was calm for a moment, but reflecting that she might not live this period, she was again alarmed, and again resolved that in one year she would certainly attend to the concerns of the soul. This was a much shorter time; and on resolving on this period, she was composed for nearly a week; but reflecting again, a whole year seemed a considerable time, and if she should die, she would be lost for ever. Under the pressure of an awakened conscience, she resolved, most solemnly, that on the next Thursday, she would give herself to Christ.—This time was so short, and her resolution so solemn, that she seemed to think the work was done. She was after this perfectly at ease; she had made a solemn resolution, and had fixed the time when she would attend to this great concern of salvation; here she rested. But it was a fearful and awful delusion. On Friday she was taken ill, and required medical aid; but nothing seemed to arrest the progress and violence of her fever, and she died on Wednesday; and the very day she had fixed on, to attend to the interests of her soul, her body was laid in the silent tomb. She had her senses, and knew that she could not live; but she had no hope in the Savior. She said she had rejected and grieved the good Spirit, and it had gone, and would not alarm her, nor give her any hope.

When I was travelling in the State of Massachusetts, writes an American minister, twenty-six years ago, after preaching one evening in the town of —, a very serious looking young man rose, and wished to address the assembly. After obtaining leave, he spoke as follows:—"My friends, about a year ago, I set out in company with a young man, an intimate acquaintance, to seek the salvation of my soul. For several weeks we went on together, we labored together, and often renewed our engagement, never to give over seeking till we obtained the religion of Jesus. But all at once, the young man neglected to attend public worship, appeared to turn his back on all the means of grace, and grew so shy of me, that I could scarcely get an opportunity to speak with him. His strange conduct gave me much painful anxiety of mind, but still I felt resolved to obtain the salvation of my soul, or perish, making the publican's plea. After a few days, a friend informed me that my companion had received an invitation to attend a ball, and was determined to go. I went immediately to him, and, with tears in my eyes, endeavored to persuade him to change his purpose, and to go with me, on that evening, to a prayer meeting. I pleaded with him in vain. He told me, when we parted, that I must not give him up as lost, for, after he had attended that ball, he intended to make a business of seeking religion. The appointed evening came; he went to the ball, and I went to the prayer meeting. Soon after the meeting opened, it pleased God, in answer to prayer, to turn my spiritual captivity, and make my soul rejoice in his love. Soon after the ball opened, my young friend was standing at the head of the ball room, with the hand of a young lady in his hand, preparing to lead down the dance; and, while the musician was tuning his violin, without one moment's warning, the young man fell backwards dead on the floor. I was immediately sent for to assist in devising means to convey his remains to his father's house. You will be better able to judge what were the emotions of my heart, when I tell you, that that young man was my own brother."

A young merchant, in one of the large cities of America, was seized with a dangerous illness, which brought him, apparently, to the very confines of the eternal world. In this situation his past neglect of the Savior rushed with power on his conscience, and in the most solemn manner he vowed to lead a new life, if he recovered. Unexpectedly, both to himself and every one else, he gradually attained his former health. During the progress of his recovery, he regarded his vow, and professed decided attachment to the service of God. But when he returned to the business of life, he resumed his gayeties, and indulged in all the vanity of a fashionable life. A friend, who had heard and was deeply affected by his solemn vows when in trouble, reminded him of the affecting scene; he remembered it, and declared his intention of fulfilling all he had said, as soon as he had fulfilled two or three pressing engagements. Then he would give up his soul to the work; then he would seek God with all his heart. A few days after the admonition, he attended a fashionable and splendid ball: in the midst of his gayety and mirth, death suddenly entered the festive hall, and the gay and thoughtless merchant fell a corpse. Oh, immortal sinner, beware of delaying attention to the concerns of eternity!

A certain libertine, of most abandoned character, happened to stroll into a church, where he heard the fifth chapter of Genesis read, stating that such and such persons lived so long a time, and yet the conclusion was, they "died;" Seth lived 912 years, "and he died;" Enos, 905, "and he died." The frequent repetition of the words, "he died," notwithstanding the great length of years they had lived, impressed him so forcibly with the thought of death and eternity, that, through Divine grace, he became an exemplary Christian.

"It is unphilosophical," says a modern writer, "to introduce divine agency when adequate human means are in exercise." Suppose we should, for argument's sake, grant it; there are still left multitudes of problems, that this writer and kindred errorists will not easily solve; cases where "adequate human means" were not in exercise. Were any such means employed in the following instance?

A young man who was very thoughtless and negligent of religion, and to whom no person had spoken on the subject, as he was standing engaged in an engrossing employment, became suddenly and remarkably impressed with a sense of the being and character of God. His unutterable emotions were not those of fear, but of reverence, solemnity and tenderness. His mental exclamation was, "Oh the being, the majesty, the goodness of God! And how have I neglected Him!" His frame trembled, and tears, floods of tears, gave vent to his feelings.*

Was there any adequate human means here? Do men get excited upon politics, poetry or philosophy in this way? How can any body be so wilfully blind to the operations of God's Spirit, as to say such convictions are all very natural and no special : over of God exhibited in them?

Three young men who were executed in Edinburgh, in 1812, immediately after committing the robberies for which they suffered, had gone to Glasgow; and one evening they heard the family with whom they lodged, employed in the worship of God. This struck their minds exceedingly, and suggested the question,—Whether there is a God, and a world to come? After some discussion, they came to this conclusion,—'That there is no God, and no world to come!'—a conclusion, as they themselves acknowledged, to which they came on this sole ground—and how much infidelity that abounds in the world rests on no better—that they wished it to be so.

# 214. Cure of Infidelity.

J—W— was a laborer employed on the Liverpool and Manchester railway. During part of the time in which he was thus employed, he lodged at Edge Hill, near Liverpool. There is reason to believe that he was a young man who had "no fear of God before his eyes;" that he was, in the expressive language of an inspired apostle, "without God in the world:" Eph. ii. 12. Becoming acquainted with a young woman, he succeeded in seducing her from the paths of virtue; and soon after, he removed to a new lodging, with a view to avoid the consequences of his conduct. The Almighty, in mercy to the sinner, sent affliction by illness to overtake him, and thus gave him time for repentance, and an opportunity to seek the love and favor of the Lord. But he refused the mercy and hardened his heart. In the course of the last week before he resumed his work, he called upon the person with whom he had formerly lodged, and among other things, asked whether old George (the young woman's father) ever came there to inquire after him. She replied that he did, and mentioned the time of his last inquiry. "Oh," said W—, "when he comes again, tell him that I was killed on the railway; and that I was buried in Childwall churchyard." Childwall is a village about a mile from part of the railway, and about four miles from Liverpool. Within a day or two, old George called, and the above iniquitous and awful assertion was made. Deceived by the falsehood, the poor old man went away mourning over the disgrace of his daughter, and the supposed sad end of her base seducer. But the delusion was soon to be dissipated; the lie told, with a view to evade the consequences of previous guilt, was awfully, singularly, literally realized; and the wretched man, who had so impiously trifled with death, was hurried, in a moment, before the bar of his Maker.

On the following Monday morning, May 17, 1830, the laborer returned to work, and on the same day entered upon his everlasting state. Being on the road at the time when an engine, to which several wagons employed to convey rubbish were attached, was passing, he was entangled with the apparatus, felled to the earth, and his body so dreadfully mangled, as to occasion instantaneous death. Thus the most affecting, and, to him, important part of his wicked fabrication, was made, by the mysterious providence of God, a solemn reality; and that of which he had no idea when he uttered the language above related, turned out, within a few days, to be a fact, namely, "That he was killed on the railway!"

But there was to be a further literal accomplishment of his words, which, although to him a matter of no consequence after the spirit had quitted the body, should not be passed over unobserved, as it tends to show, in a still more striking manner, that the Supreme Arbiter of life and death does indeed sometimes take men at their word, and fulfil their imprecations, their thoughtless wishes, or their blasphemous expressions, even to the very letter. J—W— had no immediate relations in the neighborhood in which he so unexpectedly expired. But, since his removal to Edge Hill, he had lodged with a family who possessed a burial-place in Childwall churchyard. Some of his fellow workmen proposed his interment at Walton, a village three miles north of Liverpool: but others, on account of the nearness of Childwall, urged his burial there; and in little more than a week after he had deliberately uttered a falsehood to deceive one he had deeply injured, his own awful words were fulfilled.

The late Doctor Ritchie, Professor of Divinity in the University of Edinburgh, was one day preaching in Tarbolton church, where he was at that time minister, against profane swearing in common conversation, while one of his principal heritors, who was addicted to that sin, was present. This gentleman thought the sermon was designedly addressed to him, and that the eyes of the whole congregation were fixed upon him. Though he felt indignant, he kept his place till the service was concluded, and then waited on the preacher, and asked him to dine with him, as he was quite alone. The invitation being accepted, the gentleman immediately after dinner thus addressed the minister:—"Sir, you have insulted me to-day in the church. I have been three times in church lately, and on every one of them you have been holding me up to the derision of the audience; so I tell you, sir, I shall never more enter the church of Tarbolton again, unless you give me your solemn promise, that you will abstain from such topics in future, as I am resolved I shall no more furnish you with the theme of your discourse." Mr. Ritchie heard this speech to a conclusion with calmness, and then looking him steadfastly in the face, thus replied: "Very well, sir, if you took to yourself what I said today against swearing, does not your conscience bear witness to its truth? You say you will not enter the church, till I cease to reprove your sins; if such is your determination, it is impossible you can enter it again, for which of the commandments have you not broken?" On observing his firmness, and feeling that he was wrong in attempting to make the minister of the parish compromise his duty, the gentleman held out his hand to Mr. Ritchie; a mutual explanation took place; and while the minister would abate none of his faithfulness, the heritor endeavored to overcome his evil habits.

In the year 1743, the Rev. George Whitefield had resolved to come to this country, and had engaged his passage in a ship that was to sail from Portsmouth; but as the captain afterwards refused to take him, "for fear of his spoiling the sailors," he was obliged to go to Plymouth. While staying there, he frequently preached, and an attempt having recently been made to murder him in his bed, much attention was excited, and many thousands flocked to hear him. While he was one day preaching, Mr. Tanner, who was at work as a ship-builder, at a distance, heard his voice, and resolved, with five or six of his companions, to go and drive him from the place where he stood; and for this purpose they filled their pockets with stones. When, however, Mr. T. drew near, and heard Mr. Whitefield earnestly inviting sinners to Christ, he was filled with astonishment, his resolution failed him, and he went home with his mind deeply impressed. On the following evening, he again attended, and heard Mr. Whitefield on the sin of those who crucified the Redeemer. After he had expatiated on their guilt, he appeared to look intently on Mr. Tanner, as he exclaimed with energy, "Thou art the man!" These words powerfully affected Mr. T.; he felt his iniquities to be awfully great, and in the agony of his soul he cried, "God be merciful to me a sinner." The preacher then proceeded to proclaim: the free and abundant grace of Jesus, which He commanded to be preached among the very people who had murdered him; on hearing which, Mr. T. was encouraged to hope for mercy, and he surrendered himself to Christ. This sermon was made eminently useful to many other persons.

In a sea-port town on the west coast of England, notice was once given of a sermon to be preached there one Sunday evening. The preacher was a man of great celebrity; and that circumstance, together with the object of the discourse being to enforce the duty of strict observance of the Sabbath, attracted an overflowing audience. After the usual prayers and praises, the preacher read his text, and was about to proceed with his sermon, when he suddenly paused, leaning his head on the pulpit, and remained silent for a few moments. It was imagined that he had become indisposed; but he soon recovered himself, and, addressing the congregation, said that before entering upon his discourse, he begged to narrate to them a short anecdote. "It is now exactly fifteen years," said he, "since I was last within this place of worship; and the occasion was, as many here may probably remember, the very same as that which has now brought us together. Amongst those who came hither that evening, were three dissolute young men, who came not only with the intention of insulting and mocking the venerable pastor, but even with stones in their pockets to throw at him as he stood in the pulpit. Accordingly, they had not attended long to the discourse, when one of them said impatiently, "Why need we listen any longer to the blockhead?—throw!" But the second stopped him, saying, "Let us first see what he makes of this point." The curiosity of the latter was no sooner satisfied, than he, too, said. "Ay, confound him, it is only as I expected—throw now!" But here the third interposed, and said, "It would be better altogether to give up the design which has brought us here." At this remark his two associates took of fence, and left the place, while he himself remained to the end. Now mark, my brethren," continued the preacher, with much emotion, "what were afterwards the several fates of these young men? The first was hanged, many years ago, at Tyburn, for the crime of forgery; the second is now lying under the sentence of death, for murder, in the jail of this city. The third, my brethren"—and the speaker's agitation here became excessive, while he paused, and wiped the large drops from his brow—"the third, my brethren, is he who is now about to address you!—listen to him."

A candidate for admission to church membership under the Rev. Rowland Hill being required to give some account of his first impressions as to the evil of sin, and the need of the gospel, related a dream by which he had been affected and led to serious inquiry, to the hearing of sermons, &c. When he had ended, Mr. Hill said, We do not wish to despise a good man's dreams by any means; but we will tell you what we think of the dream, after we have seen how you go on when you are awake.

# 352. Overruling various Feelings, Actions, and Events.

A gay young man, traveling in a stage coach to London, forced his deistical sentiments on the company by attempting to ridicule the Scriptures; and, among other topics, made himself merry with the story of David and Goliath, strongly urging the impossibility of a youth like David being able to throw a stone with sufficient force to sink into the gian's forehead. On this he appealed to company, and particularly to a grave Quaker gentleman, who sat silent in one corner of the carriage, "Indeed, friend," replied he, "I do not think it at all improbable, if the Philistine's head was as soft as thine." This grave rebuke reduced the young man to silence.

Mr. B. had received a highly religious education, and from earliest years had been surrounded with pious connections. So great was his respect for religious ordinances, and his conviction of the importance of maintaining its forms, that for years he heartlessly officiated at the family altar. By this means, by regular attendance on the sanctuary, and by his blameless deportment, his friends were led, in the blindness of their charity, to believe him a truly pious man. Hence, without any inquiry into his inward experience, they often urged him to join the church. But some secret misgivings led him to decline; yet, as he has since remarked, that it was his prevailing opinion, that he was better than many professors of religion. Indeed, such was the influence of the opinions of his friends over him, that he gradually fell into the belief, that at some former period he had, unawares, passed from death unto life. While in this state of mind a revival commenced in the congregation of which he was a member, with great power. Striking instances of painful conviction and joyful conversion passed under his observation. The officiating clergyman appointed an evening lecture, near Mr. B.'s residence. With accustomed hospitality, Mr. B. invited the minister home with him after the lecture. After some general remarks, Mr. B. took occasion to dwell upon the inconsistencies of professors of religion. Little or no reply was made.

At length he began to expose his own views and feelings respecting what he thought true religion. But, much to his disappointment, the clergyman waived the subject with some indefinite reply. Mr. B. thought he discovered, in this unexpected silence, that his guest (as was the fact) considered his religion suspicious, which not a little disturbed his quiet. And this incident, slight as it may seem, was the means, apparently, of apprising this man of the complete deception under which he and others had labored, respecting the true state of his heart. He was now constrained to explore its dark recesses; and the more he examined, the more he was convinced, that he had for years been wrapping himself in a delusion; that the foundation of his hope was a lie. He soon became more deeply sensible to his own sins than to the sins of professors of religion, or of any other human being. At length he submitted, as he believes, to the conditions of divine grace; and continued afterwards to rejoice in the God of his salvation. "Oh! I shudder," said he, to a friend, "at the thought of my HAIR-BREADTH ESCAPE. How easy, how easy to be deceived in the belief that we are Christians, without the least spick of vital piety!"