10 Sermon Illustrations on Spiritual Discernment

A little girl baked a cake without benefit of a cookbook or her mother's advice. She knew nothing about proportions of flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, and milk, and never thought of eggs or shortening. When the cake came out of the oven, it was well rounded and nicely browned. She exhibited it to her family with pride as "a cake I made my very own self," but when she took her first bite of it she found it bitter with too much baking powder, and hard as a rock. That's how our own concoctions turn out in the spiritual realm, when we blithely assume we "know that recipe" without reference to the cook or the cookbook. You must first know God in Christ through receiving Him as Savior and Lord, before you can have the spiritual discernment that will enable you to understand the doctrine revealed in His Word. No Other Way Once we have discovered any of the laws that govern the universe, we proclaim them with absolute certainty, and admit to no rival laws and theories. In school we don't find one teacher saying that two and two are four, and another that two and two are five. Once a physical law has been defined and established, we don't hold that any man's contrary claim is equally valid. The truth of physical phenomena render its laws exclusive. Yet the human mind often refuses to grant that this holds true regarding the laws of the spiritual realm. They prefer to accept the glib assumption that all roads in the religious world lead to God and heaven. The argument goes something like this: "There's only one God, and every religion is based on serving and following and worshiping that one God, by whatever name they call Him. After all, we're all children of one Heavenly Father." Strangely enough, even some who profess to follow the teachings of Jesus blandly ignore His unequivocal statement, "I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me" (John 14:6). Such words are totally unacceptable to non-Christians, and even some nominal Christians unthinkingly say that all religions are equally good and lead to God.

After Mr. Haynes was dismissed from his charge in Rutland, which he had held more than twenty years, he was employed about two years as a stated supply to the Congregational church in Manchester. In this town was a Universalist society, which was supplied with only occasional preaching; but, as in most other cases, its adherents were very fond of discussing their sentiments with other denominations. One of these took frequent occasion to dispute with Mr. Haynes: and though he generally, not to say always, came off second best, he seemed determined to renew the controversy on every convenient occasion.

At the close of one of these interviews, apparently under the full conviction of his own inferiority, he said: "Mr. Haynes, you are a learned man, and I cannot argue with you; but I expect one of our ministers here before long, and I intend to bring him to see you; he will be able to defend our doctrine." Mr. Haynes replied, in his usual good-natured way: "O, well: bring him along; I shall be pleased to talk with him."

Some weeks afterwards, the Universalist minister arrived; and the parishioner embraced the first leisure hour to take him up to the village to see Mr. Haynes. On their way, they were met by one of the brethren of their own faith, who, after learning whither they were bound, advised them to turn back; "for," said he, "he is an old fox, and you can't get to the windward of him." They, however, persisted in their purpose, and soon arrived at the parsonage.

Mr. Haynes was called from his study, to receive the visitors, without knowing or receiving the least intimation who they were. As he entered the room, the parishioner, after exchanging compliments, said: "Mr. Haynes, this is Mr. —, my minister, whom I promised to bring to see you." "How'd do, how'd do?" said Mr. Haynes, taking the minister familiarly by the hand; "well, you are the man, then, who preaches that men may swear, and lie, and get drunk, and commit adultery, and all other abominations, and yet go to heaven after all:—ain't you?" "No, no," said the Universalist minister, "I don't preach any such thing." "Well," said Father Haynes, "you believe so, don't you?"

This was a blow that completely annihilated all desire for theological discussion, and well nigh took away the power of utterance from both the minister and layman. After a few remarks on the state of the weather, and the pleasant situation of the village, the minister said to his attendant: "Is it not time for us to be going?" and both withdrew, apparently satisfied to dispense with all further intercourse.

What is true in music, according to R. H. Haweis, is equally true of all intuitive processes:

To accompany well you must not only be a good musician, but you must be mesmeric, sympathetic, intuitive. You must know what I want before I tell you; you must feel which way my spirit sets, for the motions of the soul are swift as an angel’s flight. I can not pause in those quick and subtle transitions of emotion, fancy, passion, to tell you a secret; if it is not yours already, you are unworthy of it. Your finishing lessons in music can do nothing for you. Your case is hopeless. You have not enough music in you to know that you are a failure.

In an article on apparitions written by Andrew Lang, in the second volume of the “Encyclopedia Britannica,” ninth edition, he says:

“The writer once met, as he believed, a well-known and learned member of an English university who was really dying at a place more than a hundred miles distant from that in which he was seen.”

To determine whether or not it was a case of mistaken identity is very important, but no opportunity is given in the passage quoted. If it was a subjective impression, the coincidence would be curious and nothing else; and not more so than many coincidences in trifles, and many other circumstances absolutely disconnected, and many subjective impressions without any coincidences. Mr. Lang refers to the superstitious horror shown by a dog at the moment of a supposed apparition to his master. That the dog exhibited horror when his owner thought he saw an apparition may be readily believed. Any one familiar with dogs knows that nothing will terrify them more than a great appearance of alarm on the part of their masters without any visible cause. Of the same nature is the remark concerning the mysterious disturbances at the house of the Wesleys. “The mastiff was more afraid than any of the children.” The volatile imagination of children have never shown any great horror of the mysteries; they were sustained, too, by confidence in their parents. But the dog heard mysterious noises, which naturally greatly agitated him. Many persons fancy that mysterious noises that will appear to respond to questions, to make raps or answer raps, conclusively prove that they are directed by intelligence. Sometimes they may, and the intelligence is quite likely to be of human origin; but the noises of atmospheric, chemical, or electrical origin may furnish astonishing coincidences, just as the fissures in the rocks are extremely difficult to be distinguished from hieroglyphics. Some years ago an alphabet based on the spiritualistic alphabet was applied to the successive gusts of wind of a stormy autumn day, and the coincidences were astonishing. Whole sentences of a very significant character at times appeared to respond to the arbitrary standard. And in any case the conclusion that a noise, the cause of which is not yet understood, must be supernatural is a process of reasoning _ab ignorantia_.--J. M. BUCKLEY, _Century_.

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_The Chautauquan_ gives an account of Greek coins from which is taken the following extract:

In spite of the guarantee that might be afforded by the mark of a state or a prince, we find the Greeks applying certain tests to determine the genuineness of the currency offered to them. Plating was easily detected by jabbing the suspected coin with some sharp instrument. At other times the touch-stone was used. One which was known as the “Lydian stone” was supposed to reveal a proportion of foreign metal as small as a barley corn in a stater. Another test, in the case of silver, was to polish the coin, and then breathe on it. If the moisture quickly disappeared the metal was pure. Yet another way to detect alloy was to heat the coin, or coins, on red-hot iron. If the metal was unalloyed it remained bright; if mixt with other substances, it turned black or red according as it was more or less impure. (Text.)