Huwebes, Setyembre 26, 2024

For Whom Did Christ Die? (C. H. Spurgeon, 1834 -1892)

 

Romans 5:6

“For when we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly.”


In this verse the human race is described as a sick man, whose disease 
is so far advanced that he is altogether without strength: no power 
remains in his system to throw off his mortal malady, nor does he 
desire to do so; he could not save himself from his disease if he would, 
and would not if he could. I have no doubt that the apostle had in his 
eye the description of the helpless infant given by the prophet Ezekiel; 
it was an infant--an infant newly born--an infant deserted by its 
mother before the necessary offices of tenderness had been performed; 
left unwashed, unclothed, unfed, a prey to certain death under the most 
painful circumstances, forlorn, abandoned, hopeless. Our race is like 
the nation of Israel, its whole head is sick, and its whole heart faint. 
Such, unconverted men, are you! Only there is this darker shade in 
your picture, that your condition is not only your calamity, but your 
fault. In other diseases men are grieved at their sickness, but this is the 
worst feature in your case, that you love the evil which is destroying 
you. In addition to the pity which your case demands, no little blame 
must be measured out to you: you are without will for that which is 
good, your "cannot" means "will not," your inability is not physical but 
moral, not that of the blind who cannot see for want of eyes, but of the 
willingly ignorant who refuse to look.

While man is in this condition Jesus interposes for his salvation. 
"When we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the 
ungodly"; "while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us," according to 
"his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in 
trespasses and sins." The pith of my sermon will be an endeavour to 
declare that the reason of Christ's dying for us did not lie in our 
excellence; but where sin abounded grace did much more abound, for 
the persons for whom Jesus died were viewed by him as the reverse of 
good, and he came into the world to save those who are guilty before 
God, or, in the words of our text, "Christ died for the ungodly."

Now to our business. We shall dwell first upon the fact--"Christ died 
for the ungodly"; then we shall consider the fair inferences therefrom; 
and, thirdly, proceed to think and speak of the proclamation of this 
simple but wondrous truth.

First, here is THE FACT--"Christ died for the ungodly." Never did the 
human ear listen to a more astounding and yet cheering truth. Angels 
desire to look into it, and if men were wise they would ponder it night 
and day. Jesus, the Son of God, himself God over all, the infinitely 
glorious One, Creator of heaven and earth, out of love to me stooped to 
become a man and die. Christ, the thrice holy God, the pure-hearted 
man, in whom there was no sin and could be none, espoused the cause 
of the wicked. Jesus, whose doctrine makes deadly war on sin, whose 
Spirit is the destroyer of evil, whose whole self abhors iniquity, whose 
second advent will prove his indignation against transgression, yet 
undertook the cause of the impious, and even unto death pursued their 
salvation. The Christ of God, though he had no part or lot in the fall 
and the sin which has arisen out of it, has died to redeem us from its 
penalty, and, like the psalmist, he can cry, "Then I restored that which 
I took not away." Let all holy beings judge whether this is not the 
miracle of miracles!

Christ, the name given to our Lord, is an expressive word; it means 
"Anointed One," and indicates that he was sent upon a divine errand, 
commissioned by supreme authority. The Lord Jehovah said of old, "I 
have laid help upon one that is mighty, I have exalted one chosen out 
of the people"; and again, "I have given him as a covenant to the 
people, a leader and commander to the people." Jesus was both set 
apart to this work, and qualified for it by the anointing of the Holy 
Ghost. He is no unauthorised saviour, no amateur deliverer, but an 
ambassador clothed with unbounded power from the great King, a 
Redeemer with full credentials from the Father. It is this ordained and 
appointed Saviour who has "died for the ungodly." Remember this, ye 
ungodly! Consider well who it was that came to lay down his life for 
such as you are.

The text says Christ died. He did a great deal besides dying, but the 
crowning act of his career of love for the ungodly, and that which 
rendered all the rest available to them, was his death for them. He 
actually gave up the ghost, not in fiction, but in fact. He laid down his 
life for us, breathing out his soul, even as other men do when they 
expire. That it might be indisputably clear that he was really dead, his 
heart was pierced with the soldier's spear, and forthwith came there 
out blood and water. The Roman governor would not have allowed the 
body to be removed from the cross had he not been duly certified that 
Jesus was indeed dead. His relatives and friends who wrapped him in 
linen and laid him in Joseph's tomb, were sorrowfully sure that all that 
lay before them was a corpse. The Christ really died, and in saying 
that, we mean that he suffered all the pangs incident to death; only he 
endured much more and worse, for his was a death of peculiar pain 
and shame, and was not only attended by the forsaking of man, but by 
the departure of his God. That cry, "My God, my God! why hast thou 
forsaken me?" was the innermost blackness of the thick darkness of 
death.

Our Lord's death was penal, inflicted upon him by divine justice; and 
rightly so, for on him lay our iniquities, and therefore on him must lay 
the suffering. "It pleased the Father to bruise him; he hath put him to 
grief." He died under circumstances which made his death most 
terrible. Condemned to a felon's gibbet, he was crucified amid a mob 
of jesters, with few sympathising eyes to gaze upon him; he bore the 
gaze of malice and the glance of scorn; he was hooted and jeered by a 
ribald throng, who were cruelly inventive in their taunts and 
blasphemies. There he hung, bleeding from many wounds, exposed to 
the sun, burning with fever, and devoured with thirst, under every 
circumstance of contumely, pain, and utter wretchedness; his death 
was of all deaths the most deadly death, and emphatically "Christ 
died."

But the pith of the text comes here, that "Christ died for the ungodly"; 
not for the righteous, not for the reverent and devout, but for the 
ungodly. Look at the original word, and you will find that it has the 
meaning of "impious, irreligious, and wicked." Our translation is by 
no means too strong, but scarcely expressive enough. To be ungodly, 
or godless, is to be in a dreadful state, but as use has softened the 
expression, perhaps you will see the sense more clearly if I read it, 
"Christ died for the impious," for those who have no reverence for 
God. Christ died for the godless, who, having cast off God, cast off 
with him all love for that which is right. I do not know a word that 
could more fitly describe the most irreligious of mankind than the 
original word in this place, and I believe it is used on purpose by the 
Spirit of God to convey to us the truth, which we are always slow to 
receive, that Christ did not die because men were good, or would be 
good, but died for them as ungodly--or, in other words, "he came to 
seek and to save that which was lost."

Observe, then, that when the Son of God determined to die for men, he 
viewed them as ungodly, and far from God by wicked works. In 
casting his eye over our race he did not say, "Here and there I see 
spirits of nobler mould, pure, truthful, truth-seeking, brave, 
disinterested, and just; and therefore, because of these choice ones, I 
will die for this fallen race." No; but looking on them all, he whose 
judgment is infallible returned this verdict, "They are all gone out of 
the way; they are together become unprofitable; there is none that 
doeth good, no, not one." Putting them down at that estimate, and 
nothing better, Christ died for them. He did not please himself with 
some rosy dream of a superior race yet to come, when the age of iron 
should give place to the age of gold,--some halcyon period of human 
development, in which civilisation would banish crime, and wisdom 
would conduct man back to God. Full well he knew that, left to itself, 
the world would grow worse and worse, and that by its very wisdom it 
would darken its own eyes. It was not because a golden age would 
come by natural progress, but just because such a thing was 
impossible, unless he died to procure it, that Jesus died for a race 
which, apart from him, could only develop into deeper damnation. 
Jesus viewed us as we really were, not as our pride fancies us to be; he 
saw us to be without God, enemies of our own Creator, dead in 
trespasses and sins, corrupt, and set on mischief, and even in our 
occasional cry for good, searching for it with blinded judgment and 
prejudiced heart, so that we put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter. He 
saw that in us was no good thing, but every possible evil, so that we 
were lost,--utterly, helplessly, hopelessly lost apart from him: yet 
viewing us as in that graceless and Godless plight and condition, he 
died for us.

I would have you remember that the view under which Jesus beheld us 
was not only the true one, but, for us, the kindly one; because had it 
been written that Christ died for the better sort, then each troubled 
spirit would have inferred "he died not for me." Had the merit of his 
death been the perquisite of honesty, where would have been the dying 
thief? If of chastity, where the woman that loved much? If of 
courageous fidelity, how would it have fared with the apostles, for they 
all forsook him and fled? There are times when the bravest man 
trembles lest he should be found a coward, the most disinterested frets 
about the selfishness of his heart, and the most pure is staggered by his 
own impurity; where, then, would have been hope for one of us, if the 
gospel had been only another form of law, and the benefits of the cross 
had been reserved as the rewards of virtue? The gospel does not come 
to us as a premium for virtue, but it presents us with forgiveness for 
sin. It is not a reward for health, but a medicine for sickness. 
Therefore, to meet all cases, it puts us down at our worst, and, like the 
good Samaritan with the wounded traveller, it comes to us where we 
are. "Christ died for the impious" is a great net which takes in even the 
leviathan sinner; and of all the creeping sinners innumerable which 
swarm the sea of sin, there is not one kind which this great net does 
not encompass.

Let us note well that in this condition lay the need of our race that 
Christ should die. I do not see how it could have been written "Christ 
died for the good." To what end for the good? Why need they his 
death? If men are perfect, does God need to be reconciled to them? 
Was he ever opposed to holy beings? Impossible! On the other hand, 
were the good ever the enemies of God? If such there be are they not of 
necessity his friends? If man be by nature just with God, to what end 
should the Saviour die? "The just for the unjust" I can understand; but 
the "just dying for the just" were a double injustice--an injustice that 
the just should be punished at all, and another injustice that the just 
should be punished for them. Oh no! If Christ died, it must be because 
there was a penalty to be paid for sin committed, hence he must have 
died for those who had committed the sin. If Christ died, it must have 
been because "a fountain filled with blood" was necessary for the 
cleansing away of heinous stains; hence, it must have been for those 
who are defiled. Suppose there should be found anywhere in this world 
an unfallen man--perfectly innocent of all actual sin, and free from any 
tendency to it, there would be a superfluity of cruelty in the crucifixion 
of the innocent Christ for such an individual. What need has he that 
Christ should die for him, when he has in his own innocence the right 
to live? If there be found beneath the copes of heaven an individual 
who, notwithstanding some former slips and flaws, can yet, by future 
diligence, completely justify himself before God, then it is clear that 
there is no need for Christ to die for him. I would not insult him by 
telling him that Christ died for him, for he would reply to me, "Why 
should he? Cannot I make myself just without him?" In the very nature 
of things it must be so, that if Christ Jesus dies he must die for the 
ungodly. Such agonies as his would not have been endured had there 
not been a cause, and what cause could there have been but sin?

Some have said that Jesus died as our example; but that is not 
altogether true. Christ's death is not absolutely an example for men, it 
was a march into a region of which he said, "Ye cannot follow me 
now." His life was our example, but not his death in all respects, for 
we are by no means bound to surrender ourselves voluntarily to our 
enemies as he did, but when persecuted in one city we are bidden to 
flee to another. To be willing to die for the truth is a most Christly 
thing, and in that Jesus is our example; but into the winepress which 
he trod it is not ours to enter, the voluntary element which was 
peculiar to his death renders it inimitable. He said, "I lay down my life 
of myself; no man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself." One 
word of his would have delivered him from his foes; he had but to say 
"Begone!" and the Roman guards must have fled like chaff before the 
wind. He died because he willed to do so; of his own accord he yielded 
up his spirit to the Father. It must have been as an atonement for the 
guilty; it could not have been as an example, for no man is bound 
voluntarily to die. Both the dictates of nature, and the command of the 
law, require us to preserve our lives. "Thou shalt not kill" means 
"Thou shalt not voluntarily give up thine own life any more than take 
the life of another." Jesus stood in a special position, and therefore he 
died; but his example would have been complete enough without his 
death, had it not been for the peculiar office which he had undertaken. 
We may fairly conclude that Christ died for men who needed such a 
death; and, as the good did not need it for an example--and in fact it is 
not an example to them--he must have died for the ungodly.

The sum of our text is this--all the benefits resulting from the 
Redeemer's passion, and from all the works that followed upon it, are 
for those who by nature are ungodly. His gospel is that sinners 
believing in him are saved. His sacrifice has put away sin from all who 
trust him, and, therefore, it was offered for those who had sin upon 
them before. "He rose again for our justification," but certainly not for 
the justification of those who can be justified by their own works. He 
ascended on high, and we are told that he "received gifts for men, yea, 
for the rebellious also." He lives to intercede, and Isaiah tells us that 
"He made intercession for the transgressors." The aim of his death, 
resurrection, ascension, and eternal life, is towards the sinful sons of 
men. His death has brought pardon, but it cannot be pardon for those 
who have no sin--pardon is only for the guilty. He is exalted on high 
"to give repentance," but surely not to give repentance to those who 
have never sinned, and have nothing to repent of. Repentance and 
remission both imply previous guilt in those who receive them: unless, 
then, these gifts of the exalted Saviour are mere shams and 
superfluities, they must be meant for the really guilty. From his side 
there flowed out water as well as blood--the water is intended to 
cleanse polluted nature, then certainly not the nature of the sinless, but 
the nature of the impure; and so both blood and water flowed for 
sinners who need the double purification. To-day the Holy Spirit 
regenerates men as the result of the Redeemer's death; and who can be 
regenerated but those who need a new heart and a right spirit? To 
regenerate the already pure and innocent were ridiculous; regeneration 
is a work which creates life where there was formerly death, gives a 
heart of flesh to those whose hearts were originally stone, and implants 
the love of holiness where sin once had sole dominion. Conversion is 
also another gift, which comes through his death, but does he turn 
those whose faces are already in the right direction? It cannot be. He 
converts the sinner from the error of his ways, he turns the disobedient 
into the right way, he leads back the stray sheep to the fold. Adoption 
is another gift which comes to us by the cross. Does the Lord adopt 
those who are already his sons by nature? If children already, what 
room is there for adoption? No; but the grand act of divine love is that 
which takes those who are "children of wrath even as others," and by 
sovereign grace puts them among the children, and makes them "heirs 
of God, joint heirs with Jesus Christ."

To-day I see the Good Shepherd in all the energy of his mighty love, 
going forth into the dreadful wilderness. For whom is he gone forth? 
For the ninety and nine who feed at home? No, but into the desert his 
love sends him, over hill and dale, to seek the one lost sheep which 
has gone astray. Behold, I see him arousing his church, like a good 
housewife, to cleanse her house. With the besom of the law she 
sweeps, and with the candle of the word she searches, and what for? 
For those bright new coined pieces fresh from the mint, which glitter 
safely in her purse? Assuredly not, but for that lost piece which has 
rolled away into the dust, and lies hidden in the dark corner. And lo! 
grandest of all visions! I see the Eternal Father, himself, in the infinity 
of his love, going forth in haste to meet a returning child. And whom 
does he go to meet? The elder brother returning from the field, 
bringing his sheaves with him? An Esau, who has brought him 
savoury meat such as his soul loveth? A Joseph whose godly life has 
made him lord over all Egypt? Nay, the Father leaves his home to 
meet a returning prodigal, who has companied with harlots, and 
grovelled among swine, who comes back to him in disgraceful rags, 
and disgusting filthiness! It is on a sinner's neck that the Father weeps; 
it is on a guilty cheek that he sets his kisses; it is for an unworthy one 
that the fatted calf is killed, and the best robe is worn, and the house is 
made merry with music and with dancing. Yes, tell it, and let it ring 
round earth and heaven, Christ died for the ungodly. Mercy seeks the 
guilty, grace has to do with the impious, the irreligious and the 
wicked. The physician has not come to heal the healthy, but to heal the 
sick. The great philanthropist has not come to bless the rich and the 
great, but the captive and the prisoner. He puts down the mighty from 
their seats, for he is a stern leveller, but he has come to lift the beggar 
from the dunghill, and to set him among princes, even the princes of 
his people. Sing ye, then, with the holy Virgin, and let your song be 
loud and sweet,--"He hath filled the hungry with good things, but the 
rich he hath sent empty away." "This is a faithful saying, and worthy 
of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save 
sinners." "He is able to save to the uttermost them that come unto God 
by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them." O ye 
guilty ones, believe in him and live.

II. Let us now consider THE PLAIN INFERENCES FROM THIS 
FACT. Let me have your hearts as well as your ears, especially those 
of you who are not yet saved, for I desire you to be blessed by the 
truths uttered; and oh, may the Spirit of God cause it to be so. It is 
clear that those of you who are ungodly--and if you are unconverted 
you are that--are in great danger. Jesus would not interpose his life 
and bear the bloody sweat and crown of thorns, and nails, and spear, 
and scorn unmitigated, and death itself, if there were not solemn need 
and imminent peril. There is danger, solemn danger, for you. You are 
under the wrath of God already, and you will soon die, and then, as 
surely as you live, you will be lost, and lost forever; as certain as the 
righteous will enter into everlasting life, you will be driven into 
everlasting punishment. The cross is the danger signal to you, it warns 
you that if God spared not his only Son, he will not spare you. It is the 
lighthouse set on the rocks of sin to warn you that swift and sure 
destruction awaits you if you continue to rebel against the Lord. Hell is 
an awful place, or Jesus had not needed to suffer such infinite agonies 
to save us from it.

It is also fairly to be inferred that out of this danger only Christ can 
deliver the ungodly, and he only through his death. If a less price than 
that of the life of the Son of God could have redeemed men, he would 
have been spared. When a country is at war, and you see a mother give 
up her only boy to fight her country's battles--her only well-beloved, 
blameless son--you know that the battle must be raging very fiercely, 
and that the country is in stern danger: for, if she could find a 
substitute for him, though she gave all her wealth, she would lavish it 
freely to spare her darling. If she were certain that in his heart a bullet 
would find its target, she must have strong love for her country, and 
her country must be in dire necessity ere she would bid him go. If, 
then, "God spared not his Son, but freely delivered him up for us all," 
there must have been a dread necessity for it. It must have stood thus: 
die he, or the sinner must, or justice must; and since justice could not, 
and the Father desired that the sinner should not, then Christ must; 
and so he did. Oh, miracle of love! I tell you, sinners, you cannot help 
yourselves, nor can all the priests of Rome or Oxford help you, let 
them perform their antics as they may; Jesus alone can save, and that 
only by his death. There on the bloody tree hangs all man's hope; if 
you enter heaven it must be by force of the incarnate God's bleeding 
out his life for you. You are in such peril that only the pierced hand 
can lift you out of it. Look to him, at once, I pray you, ere the proud 
waters go over your soul.

Then let it be noticed--and this is the point I want constantly to keep 
before your view--that Jesus died out of pure pity. He must have died 
out of the most gratuitous benevolence to the undeserving, because the 
character of those for whom he died could not have attracted him, but 
must have been repulsive to his holy soul. The impious, the godless--
can Christ love these for their character? No, he loved them 
notwithstanding their offences, loved them as creatures fallen and 
miserable, loved them according to the multitude of his loving-
kindnesses and tender mercies, from pity, and not from admiration. 
Viewing them as ungodly, yet he loved them. This is extraordinary 
love! I do not wonder that some persons are loved by others, for they 
wear a potent charm in their countenances, their ways are winsome, 
and their characters charm you into affection; "but God commendeth 
his love towards us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for 
us." He looked at us, and there was not a solitary beauty spot upon us: 
we were covered with "wounds, and bruises, and putrefying sores," 
distortions, defilements, and pollutions; and yet, for all that, Jesus 
loved us. He loved us because he would love us; because his heart was 
full of pity, and he could not let us perish. Pity moved him to seek the 
most needy objects that his love might display its utmost ability in 
lifting men from the lowest degradation, and putting them in the 
highest position of holiness and honour.

Observe another inference. If Christ died for the ungodly, this fact 
leaves the ungodly no excuse if they do not come to him, and believe 
in him unto salvation. Had it been otherwise they might have pleaded, 
"We are not fit to come." But you are ungodly, and Christ died for the 
ungodly, why not for you? I hear the reply, "But I have been so very 
vile." Yes, you have been impious, but your sin is not worse than this 
word ungodly will compass. Christ died for those who were wicked, 
thoroughly wicked. The Greek word is so expressive that it must take 
in your case, however wrongly you have acted. "But I cannot believe 
that Christ died for such as I am," says one. Then, sir, mark! I hold 
you to your words, and charge you with contradicting the Eternal God 
to his teeth, and making him a liar. Your statement gives God the lie. 
The Lord declares that "Christ died for the ungodly," and you say he 
did not, what is that but to make God a liar? How can you expect 
mercy if you persist in such proud unbelief? Believe the divine 
revelation. Close in at once with the gospel. Forsake your sins and 
believe in the Lord Jesus, and you shall surely live. The fact that 
Christ died for the ungodly renders self-righteousness a folly. Why 
need a man pretend that he is good if "Christ died for the ungodly?" 
We have an orphanage, and the qualification for our orphanage is that 
the child for whom admission is sought shall be utterly destitute. I will 
suppose a widow trying to show to me and my fellow trustees that her 
boy is a fitting object for the charity; will she tell us that her child has 
a rich uncle? Will she enlarge upon her own capacities for earning a 
living? Why, this would be to argue against herself, and she is much 
too wise for that, I warrant you, for she knows that any such 
statements would damage rather than serve her cause. So, sinner, do 
not pretend to be righteous, do not dream that you are better than 
others, for that is to argue against yourself. Prove that you are not by 
nature ungodly, and you prove yourself to be one for whom Jesus did 
not die. Jesus comes to make the ungodly godly, and the sinful holy, 
but the raw material upon which he works is described in the text not 
by its goodness but by its badness; it is for the ungodly that Jesus died. 
"Oh, but if I felt!" Felt what? Felt something which would make you 
better? Then you would not so clearly come under the description here 
given. If you are destitute of good feelings, and thoughts, and hopes, 
and emotions, you are ungodly, and "Christ died for the ungodly." 
Believe in him and you shall be saved from that ungodliness.

"Well," cries out some Pharisaic moralist, "this is dangerous doctrine." 
How so? Would it be dangerous doctrine to say that physicians 
exercise their skill to cure sick people and not healthy ones? Would 
that encourage sickness? Would that discourage health? You know 
better; you know that to inform the sick of a physician who can heal 
them is one of the best means for promoting their cure. If ungodly and 
impious men would take heart and run to the Saviour, and by him 
become cured of impiety and ungodliness, would not that be a good 
thing? Jesus has come to make the ungodly godly, the impious pious, 
the wicked obedient, and the dishonest upright. He has not come to 
save them in their sins, but from their sins; and this is the best of news 
for those who are diseased with sin. Self-righteousness is a folly, and 
despair is a crime, since Christ died for the ungodly. None are 
excluded hence but those who do themselves exclude; this great gate is 
set so wide open that the very worst of men may enter, and you, dear 
hearer, may enter now.

I think it is also very evident from our text that when they are saved, 
the converted find no ground of boasting; for when their hearts are 
renewed and made to love God they cannot say, "See how good I am," 
because they were not so by nature; they were ungodly, and, as such, 
Christ died for them. Whatever goodness there may be in them after 
conversion they ascribe it to the grace of God, since by nature they 
were alienated from God, and far removed from righteousness. If the 
truth of natural depravity be but known and felt, free grace must be 
believed in, and then all glorying is at an end.

This will also keep the saved ones from thinking lightly of sin. If God 
had forgiven sinners without an atonement they might have thought 
little of transgression, but now that pardon comes to them through the 
bitter griefs of their Redeemer they cannot but see it to be an exceeding 
great evil. When we look to Jesus dying on the cross we end our 
dalliance with sin, and utterly abhor the cause of so great suffering to 
so dear a Saviour. Every wound of Jesus is an argument against sin. 
We never know the full evil of our iniquities till we see what it cost the 
Redeemer to put them away.

Salvation by the death of Christ is the strongest conceivable promoter 
of all the things which are pure, honest, lovely, and of good report. It 
makes sin so loathsome that the saved one cannot take up even its 
name without dread. "I will take away the name of Baali out of thy 
mouth." He looks upon it as we should regard a knife rusted with gore, 
wherewith some villain had killed our mother, our wife, or child. 
Could we play with it? Could we bear it about our persons or endure it 
in our sight? No, accursed thing! stained with the heart's blood of my 
beloved, I would fain fling thee into the bottomless abyss! Sin is that 
dagger which stabbed the Saviour's heart, and henceforth it must be 
the abomination of every man who has been redeemed by the atoning 
sacrifice.

To close this point. Christ's death for the ungodly is the grandest 
argument to make the ungodly love him when they are saved. To love 
Christ is the mainspring of obedience in men--how shall men be led to 
love him? If you would grow love, you must sow love. Go, then; and 
let men know the love of Christ to sinners, and they will, by grace, be 
moved to love him in return. No doubt all of us require to know the 
threatenings of the wrath of God; but that which soonest touches my 
heart is Christ's free love to an unworthy one like myself. When my 
sins seem blackest to me, and yet I know that through Christ's death I 
am forgiven, this blest assurance melts me down.

                    "If thou hadst bid thy thunders roll,
                   And lightnings flash, to blast my soul.
                         I still had stubborn been;
                       But mercy has my heart subdued,
                      A bleeding Saviour I have view'd,
                           And now I hate my sin."

I have heard of a soldier who had been put in prison for drunkenness 
and insubordination several times and he had been also flogged, but 
nothing improved him. At last he was taken in the commission of 
another offence, and brought before the commanding officer, who said 
to him, "My man, I have tried everything in the martial code with you, 
except shooting you; you have been imprisoned and whipped, but 
nothing has changed you. I am determined to try something else with 
you. You have caused us a great deal of trouble and anxiety, and you 
seem resolved to do so still; I shall, therefore, change my plans with 
you, and I shall neither fine you, flog you, nor imprison you; I will see 
what kindness will do, and therefore I fully and freely forgive you." 
The man burst into tears, for he reckoned on a round number of 
lashes, and had steeled himself to bear them, but when he found he 
was to be forgiven, and set free, he said, "Sir, you shall not have to 
find fault with me again." Mercy won his heart. Now, sinner, in that 
fashion God is dealing with you. Great sinners! Ungodly sinners! God 
says, "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are my ways your 
ways. I have threatened you, and you hardened your hearts against me. 
Therefore, come now, and let us reason together: though your sins be 
as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like 
crimson, they shall be as wool." "Well," says one, "I am afraid if you 
talk to sinners so they will go and sin more and more." Yes, there are 
brutes everywhere, who can be so unnatural as to sin because grace 
abounds, but I bless God there is such a thing as the influence of love, 
and I am rejoiced that many feel the force of it, and yield to the 
conquering arms of amazing grace. The Spirit of God wins the day by 
such arguments as these; love is the great battering-ram which opens 
gates of brass. When the Lord says, "I have blotted out thy 
transgressions like a cloud, and like a thick cloud thine iniquities," 
then the man is moved to repentance.

I can tell you hundreds and thousands of cases in which this infinite 
love has done all the good that morality itself could ask to have done; 
it has changed the heart and turned the entire current of the man's 
nature from sin to righteousness. The sinner has believed, repented, 
turned from his evil ways, and become zealous for holiness. Looking 
to Jesus he has felt his sin forgiven, and he has started up a new man, 
to lead a new life. God grant it may be so this morning, and he shall 
have all the glory of it.

III. So now we must close--and this is the last point--THE 
PROCLAMATION OF THIS FACT, that "Christ died for the 
ungodly." I would not mind if I were condemned to live fifty years 
more, and never to be allowed to speak but these five words, if I might 
be allowed to utter them in the ear of every man, and woman, and 
child who lives. "CHRIST DIED FOR THE UNGODLY" is the best 
message that even angels could bring to men. In the proclamation of 
this the whole church ought to take its share. Those of us who can 
address thousands should be diligent to cry aloud--"Christ died for the 
ungodly"; but those of you who can speak to one, or write a letter to 
one, must keep on at this--"Christ died for the ungodly." Shout it out, 
or whisper it out; print it in capitals, or write it in a lady's hand--
"Christ died for the ungodly." Speak it solemnly, it is not a thing for 
jest. Speak it joyfully; it is not a theme for sorrow, but for joy. Speak it 
firmly; it is indisputable fact. Facts of science, as they call them, are 
always questioned: this is unquestionable. Speak it earnestly; for if 
there be any truth which ought to arouse all a man's soul it is this: 
"Christ died for the ungodly." Speak it where the ungodly live, and 
that is at your own house. Speak it also down in the dark corners of the 
city, in the haunts of debauchery, in the home of the thief, in the den 
to the depraved. Tell it in the gaol; and sit down at the dying bed and 
read in a tender whisper--"Christ died for the ungodly." When you 
pass the harlot in the street, do not give a toss with that proud head of 
yours, but remember that "Christ died for the ungodly"; and when you 
recollect those that injured you, say no bitter word, but hold your 
tongue, and remember "Christ died for the ungodly." Make this 
henceforth the message of your life--"Christ died for the ungodly."

And, oh, dear friends, you that are not saved, take care that you 
receive this message. Believe it. Go to God with this on your tongue--
"Lord save me, for Christ died for the ungodly, and I am of them." 
Fling yourself right on to this as a man commits himself to his lifebelt 
amid the surging billows. "But I do not feel," says one. Trust not your 
feelings if you do; but with no feelings and no hopes of your own, 
cling desperately to this, "Christ died for the ungodly." The 
transforming, elevating, spiritualising, moralising, sanctifying power 
of this great fact you shall soon know and be no more ungodly; but 
first, as ungodly, rest you on this, "Christ died for the ungodly." 
Accept this truth, my dear hearer, and you are saved. I do not mean 
merely that you will be pardoned, I do not mean that you will enter 
heaven, I mean much more; I mean that you will have a new heart; 
you will be saved from the love of sin, saved from drunkenness, saved 
from uncleanness, saved from blasphemy, saved from dishonesty. 
"Christ died for the ungodly"--if that be really known and trusted in, it 
will open in your soul new springs of living water which will cleanse 
the Augean stable of your nature, and make a temple of God of that 
which was before a den of thieves. Trust in the mercy of God through 
the death of Jesus Christ, and a new era in your life's history will at 
once commence.

Having put this as plainly as I know how, and having guarded my 
speech to prevent there being anything like a flowery sentence in it, 
having tried to put this as clearly as daylight itself,--that "Christ died 
for the ungodly," if your ears refuse the precious boons that come 
through the dying Christ, your blood be on your own heads, for there 
is no other way of salvation for any one among you. Whether you 
reject or accept this, I am clear. But oh! do not reject it, for it is your 
life. If the Son of God dies for sinners, and sinners reject his blood, 
they have committed the most heinous offence possible. I will not 
venture to affirm, but I do suggest that the devils in hell are not 
capable of so great a stretch of criminality as is involved in the 
rejection of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. Here lies the highest love. The 
incarnate God bleeds to death to save men, and men hate God so much 
that they will not even have him as he dies to save them. They will not 
be reconciled to their Creator, though he stoops from his loftiness to 
the depths of woe in the person of his Son on their behalf. This is 
depravity indeed, and desperateness of rebellion. God grant you may 
not be guilty of it. There can be no fiercer flame of wrath than that 
which will break forth from love that has been trampled upon, when 
men have put from them eternal life, and done despite to the Lamb of 
God. "Oh," says one, "would God I could believe!" "Sir, what difficulty 
is there in it? Is it hard to believe the truth? Darest thou belie thy God? 
Art thou steeling thy heart to such desperateness that thou wilt call thy 
God a liar?" "No; I believe Christ died for the ungodly," says one, "but 
I want to know how to get the merit of that death applied to my own 
soul." Thou mayest, then, for here it is--"He that believeth in him," 
that is, he that trusts in him, "is not condemned." Here is the gospel 
and the whole of it--"He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved: 
he that believeth not shall be damned."

I am a poor weak man like yourselves, but my gospel is not weak; and 
it would be no stronger if one of "the mailed cherubim, or sworded 
seraphim" could take the platform and stand here instead of me. He 
could tell to you no better news. God, in condescension to your 
weakness, has chosen one of your fellow mortals to bear to you this 
message of infinite affection. Do not reject it! By your souls' value, by 
their immortality, by the hope of heaven and by the dread of hell, lay 
hold upon eternal life; and by the fear that this may be your last day on 
earth, yea, and this evening your last hour, I do beseech you now, 
"steal away to Jesus." There is life in a look at the crucified one; there 
is life at this moment for you. Look to him now and live. Amen.
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