10 Sermon Illustrations on Sin And Punishment

There is a danger that there may be a dimming of the light within us. It is worth our while to note some of the things that bring this sad eclipse of the soul. Anything that corrupts, degrades, or debauches the soul; anything that mars its innocence, or robs it of its purity, will at the same time dull the keenness of its perception as to what is right and what is wrong. Innocence is often compared to cleanness or whiteness, while guilt is described by the words dark, black, mire, and dirt. Conscience is like a glass through which the light streams. But if we rub coal dust or smut of any sort over the glass, the light will shine through it but dimly. And if we cover the glass with a sufficient coat of filth, it will not shine through at all. So sin makes foul the glass of the soul. Where the light shines clearly and the man has no doubt at all about what is right, if he yields to temptation and sinful thoughts make conquest of him, it will be as though tar stained the glass in his window. If he continues to sin and impure thoughts come to get possession of his soul, the light from heaven will finally be shut out entirely.

An anecdote is told of a man who rarely failed to go to bed intoxicated, and disturbed his wife the whole night. Upon his being charged by a friend, that he never went to bed sober, he indignantly denied it, and gave the incidents of one particular night in proof. "Pretty soon after I got into bed, my wife said, 'Why, husband, what is the matter with you? You act strangely.'—'Nothing the matter,' said I. 'I'm sure there is,' said she: 'you don't act natural at all. She's not I get up and get something for you?' And she got up, lighted a candle, and came to the bedside to look at me, shading the light with her hand. 'I knew there was something strange about you,' said she: 'why, you are sober!' Now, this is a fact; and my wife will swear to it: so don't you slander me any more by saying I haven't been to bed sober in six months, because I have."

DRUNKARDS, Influence of Wilson, in his "American Ornithology," says that crows have been employed to catch crows by the following stratagem. A live crow is pinned by the wings down to the ground, on his back, by means of sharp forked sticks. Thus situated, his cries are loud and incessant, especially if any other crows are in view. These, sweeping down about him, are instantly grappled and held fast by the prostrate prisoner with the same irresistible impulse that urges a drowning man to grasp at every thing within his reach. The game being disengaged from his clutches, the trap is again ready, and, by pinning down each captive successively, in a short time there will probably be a large flock screaming in the air in concert with the prisoners below. Does not that cunning fowler, the Devil, use this artifice full well? The brawling drunkard, the blaspheming infidel, fast bound himself, is clamoring to others, whom he will soon hold fast in his evil power; these again becoming snares for others. What a grip does one sinner give another! and how ready a tempted one is to become a templer!

— Spurgeon

I had a widow's son committed to my care. He was heir to a great estate. He went through the different stages, and finally left with a good moral character and bright prospects. But, during the course of his education, he had heard the sentiment advanced, which I then supposed correct, that the use of wines was not only admissible, but a real auxiliary to the temperance cause. After he had left college, for a few years he continued to be respectful to me. At length he became reserved. One night, he rushed unceremoniously into my room; and his appearance told the dreadful secret. He said he came to talk with me. He had been told during his senior year that it was safe to drink wine; and by that idea he had been ruined. I asked him if his mother knew this. He said no: he had carefully concealed it from her. I asked him if he was such a slave, that he could not abandon the habit. "Talk not to me of slavery," said he, "I am ruined; and before I go to bed I shall quarrel with the bar-keeper of the Tontine for brandy or gin to sate my burning thirst. In one month, this young man was in his grave. It went to my heart. Wine is the cause of ruin to a great proportion of the young men of our country.

— Prof. Goodrich

A writer in the London New Monthly Magazine, who resided some time in Paris, relates the following account of a fact which passed under his own observation.

"Though I never in my life won or lost five pounds at play, I was a frequent visitor at Frascati I went as a looker-on, and to confess the truth, for the purpose of indulging in the excitement occasioned by watching the various chances and changes of the game, and their effects upon those who were more seriously interested in them. Upon one occasion, I absolutely grew giddy from anxiety, whilst watching the countenance of an officer of the Garde Royale, who stood opposite me, and waiting the turn of a card which was to decide whether he should, at once, return a beggar to his home, or his certain fate be deferred till a few hours, or a few nights later. It appeared to be his last stake. The perspiration was falling from his brow, not in drops, but in a stream. He won; and a friend who accompanied him dragged him out of the room. Some nights afterwards I saw this person again. He was losing considerably, yet he endured his losses with apparent calmness. Once when a large stake was swept from him, he just muttered between his teeth, whilst his lips were curled with a bitter smile, "C'est bien; tres bien." After this, he silently watched the game through five or six deals, but did not play. I concluded he had lost all. Suddenly and fiercely he turned to the dealer, and in a tone of voice almost amounting to a scream, he exclaimed, "C'est mon sang que vous voulez—le voila." He at the same time drew from his pockets two notes of five hundred francs each, and, dashing them down on the table, he rushed into a corner of the room, hid his face, covered his ears with his hands, as if dreading to hear the an-

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