Why does God allow the wicked to live and prosper in the world? (Jonathan Edwards, 1703–1758)

The infinitely holy and wise Creator and Governor of the world must necessarily hate wickedness. Yet we see many wicked men flourishing. They live with impunity; things seem to go well with them, and the world smiles upon them. God allows so much injustice to take place in the world. Now it seems a mystery that these things are tolerated, when he that is rightfully the Supreme Judge and Governor of the world is perfectly just. But at the final judgment all these wrongs shall be righted. Many who have not been fit to live, who have held God and religion in the greatest contempt, who have been open enemies to all that is good, have by their wickedness been the pests of mankind. Many cruel tyrants, whose barbarities have been such as would even fill one with horror to hear or read of them; yet have lived in great wealth and outward glory, have reigned over great and mighty kingdoms and empires, and have been honored as a sort of earthly gods. Now, if we look no further than the present state, these things appear strange and unaccountable. But we ought not to confine our views within such narrow limits. God sometimes allows some of the holiest of men to be in great affliction, poverty, and persecution. The wicked rule, while they are subject. The wicked are the head, and they are the tail. The wicked domineer, while they serve, and are oppressed, yes are trampled under their feet, as the mire of the streets! These things are very common, yet they seem to imply great confusion. Now, it is very mysterious, that the holy and righteous Governor of the world, whose eye beholds all the children of men, should allow it so to be, unless we look forward to the day of judgment. And then the mystery is unraveled. For although God for the present keeps silence, and seems to let them alone; yet then he will give suitable manifestations of his displeasure against their wickedness. They shall then receive just punishment. There are many things in the dealings of God towards men, which appear very mysterious, if we view them without having an eye to this last judgment, which yet, if we consider this judgment, have no difficulty in them. Though God allows things to be so for the present, yet they shall not proceed in this course always. Comparatively speaking, the present state of things is but for a moment. When all shall be settled and fixed by a divine judgment, the righteous shall be exalted, honored, and rewarded, and the wicked shall be depressed and put under their feet. However the wicked now prevail against the righteous, yet the righteous shall at last have the ascendant, shall come off conquerors, and shall see the just vengeance of God executed upon those who now hate and persecute them. Jonathan Edwards, "The Final Judgment" https://www.gracegems.org/

The Eternal Torment Of The Wicked (Robert Murray M'Cheyne, 1813-1843)

THE FIRST THING TO be enquired into in these words is, no are the persons who sing this remarkable song? There are much people in heaven: verse 1, '1 heard a great voice of much people in heaven, saying, Alleluia; salvation and glory, and honour, and power, unto the Lord our God.' They are the same people that are spoken to in the 20th verse of the chapter before: 'Rejoice over her, thou heaven, and ye holy apostles and prophets, for God hath avenged you on her.' Now, it is the same people, who, in the beginning of the 19th chapter, are described as saying, 'Alleluia, salvation, and glory, and honour, and power, unto the Lord our God'. It is 'thou heaven', that is, ye inhabitants of heaven. They are, no doubt, the same people that John had previously seen, 'a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindred, and people, and tongues, who stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands' (Revelation 7:9). And they are described in another passage in this same book, as an hundred and forty and four thousand that stand with the Lamb on Mount Zion singing the new song (Revelation 14: 1). They learned it on earth, and now they sing it in heaven; so that, dear brethren, the song we are now about to consider is the song of heaven — the song that all the holy apostles, and prophets, and saints sing. 

There is a second thing to be considered, and that is, What is the matter of this song? 'And again they said, Alleluia. And her smoke rose up for ever and ever.' The word 'Alleluia' is composed of two Hebrew words, which signify, 'Praise ye Jehovah'. Now it is often taken to express joy. It is so in the Psalms, so no doubt it is in heaven. 'They have got songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: sorrow and weeping are for ever fled away' (Isaiah 3 5: 10 ). It seems as if they would never weary singing it, for, 'again, they said, Alleluia'. It has another meaning, it is that of admiring praise, 'Praise ye the Lord'. It is when a person has got some glorious view of Christ — some new discovery of the character of God. Every new discovery of God's majesty bursting in on the soul, calls forth another song of praise - 'Alleluia, praise ye the Lord.'

There is a third thing to be considered, and that is, What is the occasion of this song of the redeemed? It is because 'her smoke rose up for ever and ever'. Observe, at the 20th verse of the preceding chapter, it is said, 'Rejoice over her, thou heaven, and ye holy apostles and prophets; for God hath avenged you on her.' And accordingly, 'thou heaven', and 'ye holy apostles and prophets', are described as singing 'Alleluia'. And why? Just because Antichrist is overthrown. You will observe, brethren, if you compare the preceding chapter with this when you go home, that it is the destruction of Babylon that they rejoice over. But see how the world mourned for Babylon when she fell. 'The kings and the merchants, and the ship-masters stood afar off, and would not come near for fear of her torment, but cried, alas! alas! that great city of Babylon, that mighty city, for in one hour is this judgment come' (Revelation 18:9- 10). Oh! brethren, observe, when Antichrist is destroyed, then the inhabitants of heaven will begin to sing and clap their hands, 'For true and righteous are his judgments; for he hath judged the great whore, which did corrupt the earth with her fornication, and hath avenged the blood of his servants at her hand' (Revelation 19:2). And when they see her smoke ascend to heaven, they will sing, 'Alleluia, for God hath avenged you on her.'

From this very solemn passage I draw this doctrine: That the eternal torment of the wicked will be matter of eternal song with the redeemed.

I tried to show you last Sabbath that it was perfectly consistent with the character of God to punish sinners in an eternal hell, and now, this evening, I desire to show you, by the teaching of the Holy Spirit — for oh! brethren, it is an awful truth — that the torment of the wicked will be matter of eternal song to the redeemed.

The eternal torment of the wicked will be matter of no grief to the redeemed. 
However much the people of God weep over the wicked now, yet it can be shown that in heaven the torment of the wicked will be no matter of grief to the redeemed. This will appear evident if you consider the day of judgment:

When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory; and before him shall be gathered all nations; and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats .... And these shall go away into everlasting punishment; but the righteous into life eternal (Matthew 25:31-46). 
Now, brethren, no reflecting mind can consider this remarkable passage, who will be witness to the condemnation of the wicked without seeing the truth of what I have been saying. There can be no doubt but that ministers and people will stand together, and be witnesses to one another's acquittal or condemnation - that parents shall stand and be witnesses to the acquittal or condemnation of their children -that children shall stand and be witnesses to the acquittal or condemnation of their parents - that husbands shall stand and be witnesses to the acquittal or condemnation of their wives, and that wives shall stand and be witnesses to the acquittal or condemnation of their husbands. Then, dear brethren, it follows immediately from this, that it will be no grief to the righteous to see the wicked condemned. Their tears will be over, their sorrows will be past, and yet they will see them condemned, they will hear their agonizing cry — they will see their sad countenances, and yet they will not shed a tear.

The same thing is evident if you will consider the expression in the Bible that hell is to be within sight of heaven. And, as this idea may be new to some of you, I crave your attention, while I try to prove it. Turn to Luke 13:28:

There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth, when ye shall see Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets in the kingdom of heaven, and you yourself thrust out. 
Then look at Luke 16:22:

The rich man also died, and was buried; and in hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. 
And then look at Isaiah 66:24:

And they shall go forth and look upon the carcasses of the men that have transgressed against me; for their worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched, and they shall be an abhorring unto all flesh. 
There you are told quite plainly, 'They shall go forth and look upon the carcasses of the men that have transgressed against God, whose worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched'.

Look also at Revelation 14: 10:

The same shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is poured out, without mixture, into the cup of his indignation; and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the Lamb. 
Now, in this passage, it is quite plain, although we cannot tell how it is, that hell will be within sight of heaven, they will be tormented with fire and brimstone, in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb. But, brethren, you know quite well that if the eternal misery of the damned was to be an occasion of sorrow to the redeemed, it would not be; for we are told, in one of the Psalms, 'In thy presence is fulness of joy, and at thy right hand are pleasures for evermore' (Psalm 16:11).

And we are told in Revelation 21:4 that 'God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away'. You will observe' brethren, that there is to be no more pain, neither sorrow, nor crying, and yet they are to be within sight of the lost. Oh! brethren, how does this express the doctrine I stated, that the condemnation of the wicked will be matter of no grief to the redeemed. Yea, we shall give our vote that you be condemned; and not only so, but when you are condemned and cast into the lake of fire, we shall give our amen to it. Brethren, the redeemed will have no manner of grief at all for your torment.

The torment of the wicked will be matter of joy to the redeemed. 
It will not only be no grief, but will be matter of praise. We will sing, 'Hallelujah' when the smoke of their torment as ascends up for ever and ever. Now, simply to prove this, turn with me to Exodus 14:30, 31:

Thus the Lord saved Israel that day out of the hands of the Egyptians; and Israel saw the Egyptians dead upon the sea shore. And Israel saw that great work which the Lord did upon the Egyptians; and the people feared the Lord, and believed the Lord, and his servant Moses. 

Then sang Moses and the children of Israel this song unto the Lord, and spake, saying, I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea (Exodus 15: 1). 
Brethren, this is a very full passage, and it has a deeper meaning than you would think. When Israel stood upon the shore, and saw the dead bodies of the Egyptians washed upon it, they burst forth in a song of praise to God. And in like manner, when the redeemed will stand upon the sea of glass, they will sing the same song — the song of Moses, the servant of God, and of the Lamb. And what occasioned the song of Moses? It was because the Egyptians were drowned in the Red Sea. So, in like manner, it will be with the redeemed when they see the wicked cast upon the shores of the burning lake. They will sing the song of Moses the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb (Revelation 15:3).

See also Psalm 91:7, 8:

A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee; only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked. 
Here it is as plain as words can make it: 'Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold, and see the reward of the wicked'. See Revelation 16:4:

And the third angel poured out his vial upon the rivers and fountains of waters; and they became blood. And I heard the angel of waters say, Thou art righteous, O Lord, which art, and was, and shall be, because thou hast judged thus. 
Here you will observe that the holy angels praise God for pouring out his vial upon the wicked. The same thing is taught in the 18th chapter, 20th verse: 'Rejoice over her, thou heaven, and ye holy apostles and prophets; for God hath avenged you on her.' Compare this with the text: 'And again they said Alleluia, and her smoke rose up for ever and ever.' My dear brethren, from all these passages it is put beyond a doubt, that the condemnation of the wicked will be matter of joy to the redeemed, and not only at the first, but throughout eternity; for, 'Again, they said Alleluia, and her smoke rose up for ever and ever'.

The reason why the redeemed will rejoice at the condemnation of the wicked. And I would show you first what it is not, and then what it is. 

It is not because they love to see human pain. I showed you last Sabbath, that God has no pleasure in the pain of his creatures; yea, he has no pleasure even in the pain of a worm. And so it is with the redeemed. It is not because of the pain the wicked are enduring that the redeemed rejoice. You remember when Paul stood bound before Agrippa, he said, 'I would to God that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost, and altogether, such as I am, except these bonds' (Acts 26:29). 1 would not reckon that man my friend, who would take pleasure in the pain of a worm. Then this is not the reason why the redeemed will rejoice at the condemnation of the wicked. 

It is not because they will see the destruction of their enemies. It is not because they will then see vengeance executed on their enemies. This is a devilish feeling; this is not the reason. The character of the redeemed is that they forgive their enemies. You remember the parable that our Lord told about the man who owed his master an hundred talents, and when he was unable to pay, frankly forgave him all. This is not the reason, then, why we will rejoice when we see the torment of the damned. 
What is the reason, then, why the redeemed rejoice at the condemnation of the wicked? And, in one, word, it is because the redeemed will have no mind but God's. They will have no joy but what the Lord has. I showed you last Sabbath that God must rain snares, fire, and brimstone, upon the wicked; not because he loves pain, but because 'The righteous Lord loveth righteousness' (Psalm 11:7). Now, the redeemed will be of the same mind with God when they get to heaven. And God must change his nature before he can quench the fire of hell. So must it be with the redeemed — they enter into God's mind. O brethren, it is a solemn truth, and I know hardly how to speak of it; but as sure as there is a God in heaven, and as sure as there is a hell for the wicked, so surely will the redeemed rejoice over the eternal damnation of the wicked. And this is the reason: we will enter into the same mind with God. 'True and righteous are his judgments.' And when we see their torment we will rejoice and sing, Hallelujah.

From this awful subject I would have you to learn a little improvement.

Learn, how little comfort you will have in hell. O brethren, you will have little pity shown you in hell: Satan cannot pity you, your companions in hell will not pity you, you will only torment one another — there will be none in hell to pity you. But oh! more than this, there will be none in heaven to pity you. God will not pity; his righteous nature demands that he rain snares, fire and brimstone upon you. If he would cease to do this he would cease to be a righteous God. Now, he would far rather that you would all come to Christ and be saved; but if you go to hell he will have no pity on you.

Christ will have no pity on you. He knocked at your door, but you would not open. He stood till his head was filled with dew, and his locks with the drops of the night. Yet, brethren, it is true, he will pity you no more. He will 'laugh at your calamities and mock when your fear cometh' (Proverbs 1: 26).

Oh! brethren, not only will God and Christ have no pity, but your redeemed brothers and sisters will have no pity. Now they weep over you; but when that day comes, they will pity you no more. Not a tear will be shed; but on the contrary they will sing, 'Alleluia', for the smoke of your torment will ascend for ever and ever. Oh! brethren, this is no fancy, you will see it, and some of you will feel it too. Oh, consider! Some of you have godly parents, a godly father or mother; consider what it will be when their loved voice which you have so often heard at evening tide, address the throne of grace on your behalf — when that very voice shall say, 'Alleluia' — when the smoke of your torments will ascend up for ever and ever. Consider you that have sat under a godly ministry, that very minister will give the word that you should be condemned. Oh! the very voice you have heard in this place, beseeching you, and if spared will beseech you in accents of love to my dying breath — that very voice will sing, 'Alleluia', when the smoke of your torments shall ascend up for ever and ever.

Consider, I beseech you, what a precious time you have got. It is the duty of all God's children to seek your conversion; nay, God himself beseeches you to be reconciled. Jesus, who died for sinners, is waiting to wash you in his blood. The Holy Spirit is waiting to lead you to Jesus, and to sanctify you. The angels are waiting to rejoice over you, and ministers are beseeching you. Oh! what a time is this: this is the day of grace. But in a little while the redeemed will let go your hand; in a little while God will give over calling upon you to repent. Soon Jesus will laugh at your calamity; soon the Spirit will cease to strive with you, and angels will let go their hold of you. Oh! brethren, do think then —'Come now and let us reason together, saith the Lord' (Isaiah 1: 18). Oh! consider; for, if you do not, we shall sing 'Alleluia', when we see the smoke of your torment rise up for ever and ever.

May the Lord bless his own Word. Amen.

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The Deceitfulness of the Heart (David Black, 1762-1806)

Jeremiah 17:9

“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” 

True and faithful is the testimony of God. Men may amuse themselves and their fellow creatures with empty, high sounding descriptions of the dignity of human nature, and the all-sufficient powers of man; but every humble, every truly enlightened mind, will see and acknowledge the justness of the declaration in the text, that the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. This is a truth which, like many others in the word of God, can only be learned from experience. As long as we assent to it, merely because it is contained in the Scriptures, we are strangers to its nature, and cannot understand what it means. But, as in water face answers to face, so does the heart of man to man. Human nature in different ages and in different circumstances is still the same; and when, by means of the word, the secrets of our own hearts are made manifest, when we come to perceive the exact correspondence between the declarations of Scripture, and what passes within us, we are obliged to confess, that God is in it of a truth, since none but He who searches the hearts, and tries the thoughts of men, could know so perfectly the inward workings of our minds, and those numberless evils which are hidden from the view of all our fellow creatures. I purpose at present to speak only of the 'deceitfulness' of the heart, a subject sufficiently extensive, not merely for one, but for many discourses, and which, after all that can be said on it, must remain in a great measure unexhausted, for who can know it? The deceit that lodges in the heart is so complicated and so various, that it is impossible to trace it in all its windings. It is but comparatively a small part of it that any created mind can discover, and therefore, in the verse immediately following the text, God ascribes this knowledge to himself as his peculiar prerogative; 'I the Lord search the heart, I try the thoughts, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings.' But, by the blessing of God, it may be useful to turn our attention to this deeply interesting subject, and point out some of the plainest and most decisive evidences of the deceitfulness of the human heart, which scripture, observation, and experience afford. "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked." I. The deceitfulness of the heart is evident from men's general ignorance of their own character. There is not anything in the history of mankind more surprising, or at first view more unaccountable, than the self-partiality which prevails in the world. One would be apt to imagine, that it should not be so difficult to arrive at the knowledge of our real character, possessing, as we do, every possible advantage for attaining it. We have constant access to our own bosoms, and are more deeply interested in the discovery, than in the acquisition of any other knowledge. But we see, in fact, that of all knowledge this is the rarest and most uncommon. Nor is it difficult to account for this fact, since the heart is deceitful above all things. Self-love casts a veil over the understanding, the judgment is warped by various circumstances, and hence it is, that many seem to be almost entire strangers to their own character. They think, and reason, and judge quite differently in any thing relating to themselves, from what they do in those cases in which they have no personal interest. Accordingly, we often hear people exposing follies in others, for which they themselves are remarkable; and talking with great severity against particular vices in others, of which, if all the world is not mistaken, they themselves are notoriously guilty. It is astounding to what a pitch this self-ignorance and self-partiality may be carried! How frequently do we see men, not only altogether blind to their own character, but insensible to everything that can be said to convince them of their mistake. In vain do you tender to them instruction or reproof, for they turn away everything from themselves, and never once imagine that they are the people for whose benefit these counsels and admonitions are chiefly intended. Of this we are every day furnished with frequent instances in common life. The sacred history affords us a remarkable example in the case of David on one particular occasion: I say on one particular occasion, for the description that we have been giving by no means applies to David's general character. Few were, in general, more accustomed to self-inquiry. But when Nathan the prophet was sent to him, in consequence of his grievous fall in the matter of Uriah, such was the insensibility, and self-ignorance which sin had produced, that he perceived not the application of the parable to himself, until the prophet declared, 'You are the man!' From this and similar instances, we are led to observe that, if we trace this self-ignorance to its source, we shall find that it is in general owing, not only to that partiality and fondness which we all have for ourselves, but to the prevalence of some particular passion or interest, which perverts the judgment in every case where that particular passion or interest is concerned. And hence it happens that some men can reason and judge fairly enough, even in cases in which they themselves are interested, provided it does not strike against their favorite passion or pursuit. Thus the covetous man will easily enough perceive the evil of intemperance, and perhaps condemn himself if he has been guilty of this sin in a particular instance. But he is altogether insensible to the dominion of his predominant passion, the love of money. It has become habitual to him. His mind is accustomed to it, so that in every case, where his interest is concerned, his judgment is warped, and in these instances he plainly discovers that he is totally unacquainted with his own character. The same observation applies to other particular vices. Here then, is one striking evidence of the deceitfulness of the heart. It produces ignorance of ourselves; it keeps men strangers to their own character; and makes them fatally presume that they are in friendship with God, while they are enemies to him in their minds and by wicked works. II. The deceitfulness of the heart appears from men's general disposition on all occasions to justify their own conduct. This disposition our first parents discovered immediately upon their eating the fruit of the forbidden tree. When the Lord appeared to Adam and charged him with his guilt, he attempted to justify himself by saying, "The woman You gave to be with me, "she gave me some fruit from the tree, and I ate." And in like manner the woman replied, "It was the serpent! He deceived me, and I ate." Something also of this disposition is common to all their sinful posterity. We are all extremely partial to ourselves, and apt to view our own conduct in a different light from that in which we are accustomed to regard the conduct of our fellow creatures. When we observe improper conduct in others, the impropriety strikes us at once. Sin appears to us in its true and genuine colors, and we are ready to judge and condemn, perhaps with too much severity. But in our own case, the action is seen through a deceitful medium. The judgment is perverted by self-love, and a thousand expedients are employed, if not to vindicate, at least to apologize for our conduct. If we cannot justify the action itself, we attempt to extenuate its guilt from the peculiar circumstances of the case. We were placed in such and such a particular situation, which we could not avoid; our temptations were strong: we did not go the lengths that many others would have gone in similar circumstances; and the general propriety of our conduct is more than sufficient to overbalance any little irregularities with which we may sometimes be chargeable. Thus, on all occasions, people endeavor to justify their own conduct. They even learn to call their favorite vices by softer names. With them, intemperance is only the desire of good fellowship; lewdness is gallantry, or the love of pleasure; pride, a just sense of our own dignity; and covetousness, or the love of money, a prudent regard to our worldly interest. Strange infatuation! to think that by changing the names of vices, it is possible to change their nature; and that what is base and detestable in others, should be excusable only in ourselves! But it may be farther observed on this part of the subject, that besides these single determinate acts of wickedness, of which we have now been speaking, there are numberless cases in which the wickedness cannot be exactly defined, but consists in a certain general temper and course of action, or in the habitual neglect of some duty, whose bounds are not precisely fixed. This is the peculiar province of self-deceit, and here, most of all, men are apt to justify their conduct, however plainly and palpably wrong. Whoever considers human life will see, that a great part, perhaps the greatest part of the fellowship among mankind cannot be reduced to fixed, determined rules: yet in these cases there is a right and a wrong, and conduct that is sinful and immoral, and a conduct, on the other hand, that is virtuous and praise-worthy, though it may be difficulty, nay, perhaps impossible to ascertain the precise limits of each. To give an example: There is not a word in our language that expresses more detestable wickedness than 'oppression'. Yet the nature of this vice cannot be so exactly stated, nor the bounds of it so determinately marked, as that we shall be able to say, in all instances, where rigid right and justice ends, and oppression begins. In like manner, it is impossible to determine how much of every man's income ought to be devoted to pious and charitable purposes: the boundaries cannot be exactly marked; yet we are at no loss in the case of others to perceive the difference between a liberal and generous man, and one of a hard-hearted and stingy disposition. In these cases, there is great latitude left for every man to determine in his own favor, and consequently to deceive himself; and it is chiefly in such instances as these, that men are ready to justify their conduct, however criminal. Because they are not chargeable with single determinate acts of gross wickedness, because you cannot precisely point out to them, in so many words, wherein they have done amiss, they falsely conclude, that their conduct is unexceptionable; though, perhaps, their general temper and behavior may be uniformly wrong, inconsistent with the spirit of the gospel, and contrary to the plainest dictates of morality. I proceed to observe, III. That the deceitfulness of the heart appears from the difficulty with which men are brought to acknowledge their faults, even when conscious that they have done wrong. This necessarily follows from that disposition in human nature, to which I have already adverted, namely, the disposition on all occasions to justify our own conduct. Hence men in general are so backward to acknowledge their faults, and so displeased with those who are so faithful and friendly as to point them out. How few can bear to be told their faults! This is the sure and ready way to make most men your enemies, even though you administer the reproof in the gentlest, and most prudent manner. Instead of reflecting on their own conduct, which might convince them of the justice of what is laid to their charge, many, in these cases, set themselves immediately to discover the faults in their faithful reprovers, or in those, who, they suspect, may have informed them; and turning away their attention entirely from themselves, are only concerned to find equal, if not greater blemishes in others. Thus deceitful is the heart of man. We wish always to entertain a favorable opinion of ourselves and of our own conduct, and are displeased with those who endeavor in any instance to change this opinion, though it be done with the best, and most friendly intention. But how unreasonable and preposterous is this degree of self-love! Were we alive to our true interests, we would wish to become better acquainted with our follies and our faults, and would esteem our faithful reprovers our best friends. Instead of feeling any resentment against them, we would turn all our resentment against ourselves; and endeavor, in the strength of divine grace, to correct those evils which, were we not so blinded by self-love, we might easily discover. But through the deceitfulness of the heart, men are generally disposed to justify their own conduct, and ready to throw the blame of what is amiss on anything else, "sooner than on themselves. IV. The deceitfulness of the heart appears from the disposition which men discover to rest in mere notions and forms of religion, while they are destitute of its power. In the purest ages of the church, there have been people of this character, men who, from selfish or worldly motives have assumed a profession of religion, without understanding its nature, or feeling its power; having a name to live, but being spiritually dead. It is not easy for people whose minds are in any degree informed, to divest themselves entirely of religious impressions. The fears that naturally accompany guilt, will at times obtrude themselves on the most giddy and thoughtless. But the pure, the spiritual, the humbling doctrines and precepts of the gospel are by no means agreeable to the natural mind; and therefore it is not surprising that people who have some apprehension of the truth of religion, but no acquaintance with its power, should eagerly grasp at something which may give them hope beyond the grave, "while at the same time it leaves them in the quiet possession of their beloved lusts! Hence it is that so many are hearers of the word only, and not doers also, deceiving their own selves. Hence it is that so many show great zeal about small and unimportant matters in religion, who are shamefully deficient in some of its plainest and most essential duties; that so many are punctual in their observance of religious institutions, who are unjust and uncharitable in their conduct towards their fellow creatures; that so many can talk fluently and correctly on religious subjects, who are visibly under the dominion of evil tempers or evil habits; that so many are scrupulously exact in what regards the externals of religion, who are at no pains to cultivate its genuine spirit, or to perform its most substantial duties. Like the Pharisees of old, who paid tithes of anise, mint, and cummin, they neglect the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith. Hypocrisy in all its forms and appearances flows from the deceitfulness of the heart; for in general men deceive themselves, before they attempt to deceive others. Few are so bold as to lay down a plan of imposing on the world, without endeavoring, in the first instance at least, to impose on their own minds. Nor is it difficult, when the mind is strongly biased by the love of any particular sin, or the pursuit of any particular interest, to persuade ourselves that our conduct is, at least, excusable, if not innocent. A dishonest mind is satisfied with the basest shifts and evasions! And people who wish to be deceived into a good opinion of their conduct, are seldom at a loss to accomplish their purpose. Balaam was a remarkable instance of this. He was a man of extensive knowledge and superior gifts. He was not a stranger to the impressions of religion, for in his calm reflecting moments, he desired to die the death of the righteous, nor could any consideration prevail with him to oppose the divine commandment, by cursing those whom God had blessed. But he loved the wages of unrighteousness. Covetousness was his ruling passion, and led him, by the advice which he gave to Balak, to contradict the whole spirit and design of the very prohibition, for the letter of which he professed so sacred a regard. It would be easy to multiply particulars on this subject, But I only add, in the last place, 5. That the deceitfulness of the heart appears in the highest degree, when men overlook the real motives of their conduct, and mistake the workings of their own corruptions, "for the fruits of the Spirit of God. That there is such deceitfulness in the world, none can doubt, who consider the dreadful enormities that have been committed under the sacred name of religion. In many cases, it must be acknowledged, these enormities have been committed by people who were conscious of the motives from which they acted, and who employed religion merely as an engine to attain the objects of their avarice or ambition. But in other cases it is no less certain, that men have concealed from themselves the motive of their conduct, and even mistaken the workings of their corruptions for the fruits of the Spirit of God. Of this we have several examples in scripture. A striking instance of it occurs in the conduct of Jehu, who, when shedding the blood of Jezreel to serve the purposes of his own ambition, said exultingly to Jehonadab, 'Come, see my zeal for the Lord!' It is not improbable, that at the time he imagined himself to be influenced by zeal for God, though there cannot be a doubt, that in what he did he was actuated chiefly by the 'love of power'. Our blessed Lord forewarns his disciples, that the time would come, when whoever killed them, would think that he did God service. In like manner as the prophet Isaiah had declared concerning the persecuted people of God in his time, "Listen to what the Lord says, you that fear him and obey him: "Because you are faithful to me, some of your own people hate you and will have nothing to do with you. They mock you and say, 'Let the Lord show his greatness and save you, so that we may see you rejoice.' But they themselves will be disgraced!" (Isaiah 66:5) We are greatly shocked when we read of the dreadful persecutions which in different ages have been carried on against the faithful servants of Christ, by the blood-thirsty votaries of Rome; yet these men pretended zeal for the glory of God! Nor is it improbable, but that many of them might so far deceive themselves, as to imagine, that they were doing God service, while shedding the blood of his saints. This is indeed the highest instance of the extreme deceitfulness and desperate wickedness of the human heart, and the most awful proof of being given up of God to a reprobate mind. But, in a lesser degree, men frequently practice this kind of deceit upon themselves, ascribing to the word and to the Spirit of God, "what is evidently the effect of their own ignorance, wickedness and depravity. On the whole, since the ways in which men deceive themselves are so various, can we be too jealous over our own hearts? 'He who trusts to his own heart', says the wise man, 'is a fool!' And the reason is obvious, because the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. Let us therefore, brethren, accustom ourselves to self-examination. Instead of indulging a censorious disposition, and looking abroad to discover the faults of our neighbors, let us descend into our own bosoms, and observe the plagues of our own hearts. Let us attend, not merely to our outward actions, but to the principles and motives from which these actions proceed. Let us consider our conduct, not in the light in which self-love and self-partiality would present it to our minds, but in the light in which any impartial spectator would view it, in the light in which God's word teaches us to consider it, and in the light in which it will be judged of at last, when God shall bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and make manifest the counsels of all hearts. We are all more or less liable to self-deceit; and those who think they have the least of it, are in general most of all under its dominion. Let us therefore distrust our own judgment, and, sensible of our own ignorance and liableness to mistake, let us pray to God for his divine teaching; saying, with Elihu in the book of job, 'That which I see not, teach me'; and with the Psalmist, 'Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my thoughts, and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."

(David Black, 1762-1806, was pastor in Edinburgh, Scotland, from 1794 until his death. With regard to his sermon delivery, it was said that "His manner was solemn and affectionate, earnest and persuasive. When expostulating with sinners, or unfolding to Christians the consolations of the gospel, there was often an animation in his address — a sacred fervor — a divine unction, which powerfully impressed the auditory. He evidently felt the truths he was delivering, and spoke as one standing in the presence of God, animated with a pure zeal for the glory of the Redeemer, and the salvation of immortal souls.")   https://www.gracegems.org/

The Heart Deceitful ( Robert Murray M'Cheyne, 1813-1843)

Jeremiah 17:9

“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” 

Jeremiah 17:10

“I the LORD search the heart, I try the reins, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings.” 

I. The state of the natural heart. (Verse 9.)

This is a faithful description of the natural heart of man: The heart of unfallen Adam was very different. "God made man upright." His mind was clear and heavenly. It was riveted upon divine things. He saw their glory without any cloud or dimness. His heart was right with God. His affections flowed sweetly and fully towards God. He loved as God loved-hated as God hated. There was no deceit about his heart then. It was transparent as crystal. He had nothing to conceal. There was no wickedness in his heart-no spring of hatred, or lust, or pride. He knew his own heart. He could see clearly into its deepest recesses; for it was just a reflection of the heart of God. When Adam sinned, his heart was changed. When he lost the favour of God, he lost the image of God. Just as Nebuchadnezzar suddenly got a beast's heart, so Adam suddenly got a heart in the image of the devil. And this is the description ever since: "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked." (Verse 9.)

1. It is "deceitful above all things." Deceit is one of the prime elements of the natural heart. It is more full of deceit than any other object. We sometimes call the sea deceitful the sea appears perfectly calm, or there is a gentle ripple on the waters, and the wind blows favourably; during the night a storm may come on, and the treacherous waves are now like mountain billows, covering the ship. But the heart is deceitful above all things - more treacherous than the treacherous sea. The clouds are often very deceitful. Sometimes, in a time of drought, they promise rain; but they turn out to be clouds without rain, and the farmer is disappointed. Sometimes the clouds appear calm and settled; but, before the morning, torrents of rain are falling. But the heart is deceitful above all things. Many animals are deceitful. The Serpent is more subtle than any beast of the field; sometimes it will appear quite harmless, but suddenly it will put out its deadly sting, and give a mortal wound. But the natural heart is more deceitful than a serpent - above all things. It is deceitful in two ways-in deceiving others and in deceiving itself.

(1) In deceiving others. Every natural man is a hypocrite. He is different in reality from what he appears to be. I undertake to say, that there is not a natural man present here to-day in his true colours. If every natural man here were to throw off his disguise, and appear as he really is, this church would look more like the gate of hell than the gate of heaven. If every unclean man were to lay bare his heart, and show his abominable, filthy desires and thoughts; if every dishonest man were now to open his heart, and let us see all his frauds, all his covetous, base desires; if every proud, self-conceited one were now to show us what is going on below his coat, or below that silk gown-to let us see the paltry schemes of vanity and desire of praise; if every unbeliever among you were openly to reveal his hatred of Christ and of the blessed Gospel-O what a hell would this place appear!

Why is it not so? Because natural men are deceitful-because you draw a cloak over your heart, and put on a smooth face, and make the outside of a saint cover the heart of a friend. Oh! your heart is deceitful above all things. Every natural man is a flatterer. He does not tell other men what he thinks of them. There is no plain, honest dealing between natural men in this world. Those of you who know anything of this world, know how hollow most of its friendships are. Just imagine for a moment that every natural man were to speak the truth when he meets his friends; suppose he were to tell them all the bitter slanders which he tells of them a hundred times behind their back; suppose he were to unbosom himself, and tell all his low, mean ideas of them how worldly and selfish they are in his eyes; - alas! what a world of quarrels this would be. Ah, no! natural man, you dare not be honest-you dare not speak the truth one to another; your heart is so vile that you must draw a cloak over it; and your thoughts of others so abominable that you dare not speak them out: "The heart is deceitful above all things."

(2) It shows itself in another way-in self-deceit. Ever since my coming among you I have laboured with all my might to separate between the precious and the vile. I have given you many marks, by which you might know whether or not you have undergone a true conversion, or whether it has only been a deceit of Satan-whether your peace was the peace of God or the peace of the devil-whether you were on the narrow way that leads to life, or on the broad way that leads to destruction. I have done my best to give you the plainest Scripture marks by which you might know your real case; and yet I would not be in the least surprised, if the most of you were found at the last to have deceived yourselves. Often a man is deeply concerned about his soul; he weeps and prays, and joins himself to others who are inquiring. He now changes his way of life, and changes his notions; he talks of his experience, and enlargement in prayer; perhaps he condemns others very bitterly; and yet he has no true change of life-he walks after the flesh still, not after the Spirit. Now, others think this man a true Christian, and he believes it himself; yea, he thinks he is a very eminent Christian; when, all the time, he has not the Spirit of Christ, and is none of his. Ah! "the heart is deceitful above all things."

2. "Desperately wicked." This word is borrowed from the book of the physician. When the physician is called to see a patient, past recovery, he shakes his head and says: This is a desperate case. This is the very word used here. "The heart is desperately wicked" - past cure by human medicine. Learn that you need conversion, or a new heart. When we speak of the necessity of a change to some people, they begin to be affected by it, and so they put away some evil habits, as drinking or swearing, or lying; they put these away, and promise never to go back to them; and now they think the work is done, and they are in a fair way for heaven. Alas, foolish man! it is not your drinking, or your swearing, or your lying that are desperately wicked-but your heart. You have only been cutting off the streams-the source remains polluted-the heart is as wicked as ever. It is the heart that is incurable. It is a new heart you need. Nothing less will answer your need.

Learn that you must go to Christ for this. When the woman had spent her all upon physicians, and was nothing better, but rather worse, she heard of Jesus. Ah! said she, if I may but "touch the hem of his garment I shall be made whole." Jesus said to her: "Daughter, be of good comfort, thy faith hath made thee whole." Come, then, incurable, to Christ. The leprosy was always regarded as incurable. Accordingly, the leper came to Jesus, and worshipping, said: "Lord, if thou wilt thou canst make me clean." Jesus said, "I will, be thou clean"; and immediately his leprosy was cleaned. Some of you feel that your heart is desperately wicked; well, kneel to the Lord Jesus, and say: "Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean." You are a leper-incurable; Jesus is able-he is also willing to make you clean.

3. Unsearchably Wicked: "Who can know it? " No man ever yet knew the badness of his own heart. We are sailing over a sea the depths of which we have never fathomed.

(1) Unawakened persons have no idea of what is in their hearts. When Elish; told Hazael what a horrible murderer he would be, Hazael said: "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing? "The seeds of it were all in his heart at that moment; but he did not know his own heart. If I had told some of you, when you were little children playing beside your mother's knee, the sins that you were afterwards to commit, you would have said: "Am I a dog, that I should do this thing? and yet you see you have done them. If I could show each of you the sins that you are yet to commit, you would be shocked and horrified. This shows how ignorant you are of your own heart. I suppose that the most of you think it is quite impossible you should ever be guilty of murder, or adultery, or apostasy, or the sin against the Holy Ghost; this arises from ignorance of your own black heart: "Who can know it? "

(2) Some awakened persons have an awful sight given them of the wickedness of their own hearts. They see all the sins of their past life, as it were, concentrated there. They see that their past sins all come out of their heart-and that the same may come out again. And yet the most awakened sinner does not see the ten thousandth part of the wickedness of his heart. You are like a person looking down into a dark pit-you can only see a few yards down the sides of the pit; so you can only see a little way down into your heart. It is a pit of corruption which is bottomless: "Who can know it?"

(3) Some children of God have amazing discoveries given them of the wickedness of their own hearts. Sometimes it is given them to see that the germs of every sin are lodging there. Sometimes they see that there never was a sin committed, in heaven, in earth, or in hell, but it has something corresponding to it in their own heart. Sometimes they see that if there were not another fountain of sin, from which the face of creation might be defaced, their own heart is a fountain inexhaustible - enough to corrupt every creature, and to defile every fair spot in the universe. And yet even they do not know their own hearts. You are like a traveller looking down into the crater of a volcano; but the smoke will not suffer you to look far. You see only a few yards into the smoldering volcano of your own heart.

Learn to be humbled far more than you have ever been. None of you have ever been sufficiently humbled under a sense of sin; for this reason, that none of you have ever seen fully the plague of your own heart. There are chambers in your heart you have never yet seen into-there are eaves in that ocean you have never fathomed there are fountains of bitterness you have never tasted. When you have felt the wickedness of your heart to the uttermost, then lie down under this awful truth, that you have only seen a few yards into a pit that is bottomless-that you carry about with you a slumbering volcano-a heart whose wickedness you do not and cannot know.

II. The witness of the heart.

1. "I, the Lord." We have seen that we do not know one another's hearts; for "the heart is deceitful." Man looketh on the outward appearance. We have seen that no man knows his own heart-that the most know nothing of what is there; and those who know most, see but a short way down. But here is an unerring witness. He that made man knows what is in man.

2. Observe what a strict witness he is: "I, the Lord, search the heart, I try the reins." It is not said, I know the heart-but, I search it. The heart of man is not one of the many objects upon which God turns his all-seeing eye, but it is one which he singles out for investigation: "I search the heart." As the astronomer directs his telescope upon the very star he wishes to examine, and arranges all his lenses, that he may most perfectly look at it; so doth God's calm eye pore upon the naked breast of every man. As the refiner of silver keeps his eye upon the refining pot, watching every change in the boiling metal; so doth God's eye watch every change in the bosom of man. Oh! natural man, can you bear this? How vain are all your pretences and coverings! God sees you as you are. You may deceive your neighbour, or your neighbor, or yourself - but you cannot deceive God.

3. Observe, he is a constant witness. He does not say, I have searched, or I will do it-but, I search - I do it now, and always. Not a moment of our life but his pure, calm, searching eye has been gazing on the inmost recesses of our hearts. From childhood to old age his eye rests on us. The darkness hideth not from him. The darkness and the light are both alike to him.

4. Observe his end in searching: "Even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings." (Verse 10.) In order to know the true value of an action, you must search the heart. Many a deed that is applauded by men, is abominable in the sight of God, who searches the heart. To give an alms to a poor man, may be an action either worthy of an eternal reward, or worthy of an eternal punishment. If it be done out of love to Christ-because the poor man is a disciple of Christ-it will in no wise lose its reward; Christ will say: "Inasmuch as ye did it to the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto me." If it be done out of pride or self-righteousness, Christ will cast it from him; he will say, "Depart, ye cursed-ye did it not unto me." The reason, then, why Christ searches the heart is, that he may judge uprightly in the judgment. Oh, sirs! how can you bear this, you that are Christless? How can you bear that eye on your heart all your days, and to be judged according to what his pure eye sees in you? Oh! do you not see it is a gone case with you? "Enter not into judgment with thy servant; for in thy sight shall no flesh living be justified." Oh! if your heart be desperately wicked, and his pure eye ever poring on it, what can you expect, but that he should cast you into hell? Oh! flee to the Lord Jesus Christ for shelter-for blood to blot out past sins, and righteousness to cover you.

Learn the amazing love of Christ.

He was the only one that knew the wickedness of the beings for whom he died. He that searches the hearts of sinners died for them. His eye alone had searched their hearts; ay, was searching at the time he came. He knew what was in men; yet he did not abhor them on that account-he died for them. It was not for any goodness in man that he died for man. He saw none. It was not that he saw little sin in the heart of man. He is the only being in the universe that saw all the sin that is in the unfathomable heart of man. He saw to the bottom of the volcano and yet he came and died for man. Here in is love! When publicans and sinners came to him on earth, he knew what was in their hearts. His eye had rested on their bosoms all their life-he had seen all the lusts and passions that had ever rankled there; yet in no wise did he cast them out. So with you. His eye hath seen all your sin & the vilest, darkest, blackest hours you have lived, his pure eye was resting on you; yet he died for such, and invites you to come to him; and will in no wise cast you out.

https://www.monergism.com/

Deceitful & desperately wicked! (William S. Plumer, 1802-1880)

Jeremiah 17:9

“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” 

The heart is DECEITFUL. Man is the only creature on earth that seems to practice self-deception. That we should sometimes deceive others, is proof of our depravity; but that we should spend our lives in self-deception, is truly astonishing! Men of the fewest virtues, commonly have the highest thoughts of themselves. How strange and yet how common, that he whose heart has deceived him a thousand times -- should yet confide in it as if it had always been honest!

The human heart deceives every being but one. It would deceive Him -- if He were not omniscient. None but God knows all the depths of iniquity and duplicity within us.

Though the language of the Bible is strong, it is just. God declares, and every Christian knows by sad experience -- that his heart is deceitful above all things. A perfect knowledge of the treachery of our hearts, is possessed by none but God.

The heart is also VILE. It is "desperately wicked." It loves vanity, and folly and sin. It hates holiness, and truth and Divine restraints. It is... a sink of iniquity, a pool of pestilential waters, a cage of unclean birds, and a sepulchre full of dead men's bones! It is torn by wild, fierce, unhallowed passions. It rejects good -- and chooses evil. It is wholly corrupt. It is full of evil. There is no soundness in it.

Matthew 15:19

“For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies:”

Proverbs 28:26

“He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool: but whoso walketh wisely, he shall be delivered.” 

William S. Plumer, "The Grace of Christ, or Sinners Saved by Unmerited Kindness"

https://www.gracegems.org/

The Wicked Man's Life, Funeral, and Epitaph (Charles H. Spurgeon, 1858)

Ecclesiastes 8:10

“And so I saw the wicked buried, who had come and gone from the place of the holy, and they were forgotten in the city where they had so done: this is also vanity.” 

IT IS QUITE CERTAIN that there are immense benefits attending our present mode of burial in extra mural cemeteries. It was high time that the dead should be removed from the midst of the living—that we should not worship in the midst of corpses, and sit in the Lord's house on the Sabbath, breathing the noxious effluvia of decaying bodies. But when we have said this, we must remember that there are some advantages which we have lost by the removal of the dead, and more especially by the wholesale mode of burial which now seems very likely to become general. We are not so often met by the array of dead. In the midst of our crowded cities we sometimes see the sable hearse bearing the relics of men to their last homes, but the funeral ceremonies are now mostly confined to those sweet sleeping places beyond our walks, where rest the bodies of those who are very dear to us. Now, I believe the sight of a funeral is a very healthful thing for the soul. Whatever harm may come to the body by walking through the vault and the catacomb, the soul can there find much food for contemplation, and much excitement for thought. In the great villages, where some of us were wont to dwell, we remember how when the funeral came now and then, the tolling of the bell preached to all the villagers a better sermon than they had heard in the church for many a day, and we recollect, how as children, we used to cluster around the grave, and look at that which was not so frequent an occurrence in the midst of a rare and spare population; and we remember the solemn thoughts which used to arise even in our young hearts when we heard the words uttered, "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." The solemn falling of the few grains of ashes upon the coffin-lid was the sowing of good seed in our hearts. And afterwards, when we have in our childish play climbed over those nettle-bound graves, and seated ourselves upon those mossgrown tombstones, we have had many a lesson preached to us by the dull cold tongue of death, more eloquent than aught we have heard from the lip of living man and more likely to abide with us in after years, but now we see little of death. We have fulfilled Abraham's wish beyond what he desired—we "bury the dead out of our sight;" it is rarely that we see them, and a stranger passing through our streets might say, "Do these live always? for I see no funerals amongst the millions of this city, I see no signs of death."
We shall this morning want you, first of all, to walk with a living man; it is said of him that he did "come and go from the place of the holy:" next, I shall want you to attend his funeral, and then, in conclusion I shall ask you to assist in writing his epitaph—"and they were forgotten in the city where they had so done: this also is vanity."
I. In the first place, HERE IS SOME GOOD COMPANY FOR YOU; some with whom you may walk to the house of God, for it is said of them, that they did come and go from the place of the holy. By this, I think we may understand the place where the righteous meet to worship God. God's house may be called "the place of the holy." Still, if we confine ourselves strictly to the Hebrew, and to the connection, it appears that by the "place of the holy" is intended the judgment-seat the place where the magistrate dispenses justice; and alas! there be some wicked who and go even to the place of judgment, to judge their fellow sinners. And we may with equal propriety consider it in a third sense to represent the pulpit which should be "the place of the holy but we have seen the wicked come and go even from the pulpit, though God had never commanded them to declare his, statutes.
In the first place we will take this as representing the house of God. What a sight it is to see the great crowds coming up to the sanctuary of the Lord. I am sure, as we saw the multitudes coming up to the house of God, there must have been a peculiar thrill of joy pass through our hearts. It reminds us of the ancient gathering in Zion's temple when thither the tribes went up, the tribes of the Lord, to worship at the sanctuary of God. Oh! it is a noble sight when with joy and gladness we see the young and the old, the gray-headed and the children, all of them pressing forward in one eager throng to worship the Lord of Hosts, and listen to the voice of his sacred oracle. But your pleasure must have a great deal of alloy if you stop for a moment and dissect the congregation. Pull the goodly mass in sunder: in a heap it sparkles like gold;, pull aside the threads, and alas! you will see that there are some not made of the precious metal, for "we have seen the wicked come and go from the place of the holy." Gathered in this throng this morning we have here men who almost profane the spot in which they are found. Last night's revel has left its impress upon their countenances. We have others who will, ere this day is closed, be cursing God in the house of Satan. There be many to be found here who have during this week been spending their time in lying, cheating, and swindling in the midst of their business. I doubt not there are some here who have taken every advantage that was possible of their fellow men, and if they have not come within the clutches of the law it certainly has not been their fault. We have too, I doubt not, in such a multitude—yea, I may speak with confidence—we have men here who have, during the past week, and at other times defiled themselves with sins that we will not mention, for it were a shame for us to speak of the things which are done of them in secret. Little do we know when we look here from this pulpit—it looks like one great field of flowers, fair to look upon—how many a root of deadly henbane and noxious nightshade groweth here, and though you all look fair and goodly, yet "I have seen the wicked come and go from the place of the holy."
Shall we just take the wicked man's arm and walk with him to the house of God? When he begins to go, if he be one who has neglected going in his childhood, which perhaps is not extremely likely, when he begins to go even in his childhood, or whenever you choose to mention, you will notice that he is not often affected by the sound of the ministry. He goes up to the chapel with flippancy and mirth. He goeth to it as he would to a theater or any other place of amusement, as a means of passing away his Sabbath and killing time. Merrily he trippeth in there, but I have seen the wicked man when he went away look far differently from what he did when he entered. His plumes had been trailed in the dust. As he walks home there is no more flippancy and lightness, for he says, "Surely the Lord God has been in that place and I have been compelled to tremble. I went to scoff but I am obliged, in coming away, to confess that there is a power in religion, and the services of God s house are not all dulness after all." Perhaps you have hoped good of this man. But, alas! he forgot it all, and cast away all his impressions. And he came again the next Sunday, and that time he felt again. Again the arrow of the Lord seemed to stick fast in his heart. But, alas! it was like the rushing of water. There was a mark for a moment, but his heart was soon healed, he felt not the blow; and as for persuading him to salvation, he we, like the deaf adder, "charm we never so wisely," he would not regard us so as to turn from his ways. And I have seen him come and go till years have rolled over his head, and he has still filled his seat, and the minister is still preaching, but in his case preaching in vain. Still are the tears of mercy flowing for him; still are the thunders of justice launched against him; but he abideth just as he was. In him there is no change except this, that now he groweth hard and callous. You do not now hear him say that he trembles under the Word—not he. He is like a horse that hath been in the battle, he feareth not the noise of the drum nor the rolling of the smoke, and careth not for the din of the cannon. He cometh up, he heareth a faithfill warning, and he saith, "What of it? this is for the wicked." He heareth an affectionate invitation, and he saith, "Go thy way, when I have a more convenient season I will send for thee." And so he comes and goes up to the house of God and back again. Like the door upon its hinges he turns into the sanctuary to-day, and out of it to-morrow. "He comes and goes from the place of the holy." It may be, however, he goes even further. Almost persuaded to be a Christian by some sermon from a Paul, he trembles at his feet. He thinks he really repents; he unites himself with the Christian church: he makes a profession of religion; but, alas! his heart has never been changed. The sow is washed, but it is the sow still. The dog has been driven from its vomit, but its doggish nature is there the same. The Ethiopian is clothed in a white garment, but he hath not changed his skin. The leopard hath been covered all over, but he hath not washed his spots away. He is the same as ever he was. He goes to the baptismal pool a black sinner, and he comes out of it the same. He goes to the table of the Lord a deceiver; he eats the bread and drinks the wine, and he returns the same. Sacrament after Sacrament passes away. The Holy Eucharist is broken in his presence, he receives it, but he comes and he goes, for he receives it not in the love of it. He is a stranger to vital godliness, and as a wicked man "he comes and he goes from the place of the holy."
But is it not a marvellous thing that men should be able to do this? I have sometimes heard a preacher so earnestly put the matter of salvation before men, that I have said, "Surely they must see this." I have heard him plead as though he pleaded for his own life, and I have said, "Surely they must feel this." And I have turned round, and I have seen the handkerchief used to brush away the tear, and I have said, "Good must follow this." You have brought your own friends under the sound of the Word, and you have prayed the whole sermon through that the arrow may reach the white and penetrate the center of the mark, and you said to yourself, "What an appropriate discourse." Still you kept on praying, and you were pleased to see that there was some emotion. You said "Oh, it will touch his heart at last." But is it not strange that, though wooed by love divine, man will not melt; though thundered at by Sinai's own terrific thunderbolts they will not tremble; yea, though Christ himself incarnate in the flesh should preach again, yet would they not regard him, and mayhap would treat him to-day as their parent did but yesterday, when they dragged him out of the city and would have cast him headlong from the summit of the mount on which the city was builded. I have seen the wicked come and go from the place of the holy till his conscience was seared, as with a hot iron. I have seen him come and go from the place of the holy till he had become harder than the nether millstone, till he was past feeling, given up "to work all manner of uncleanness with greediness."
But now we are going to change our journey. Instead of going to the house of God we will go another way. I have seen the wicked go to the place of the holy, that is to the judgment bench. We have had glaring instances even in the criminal calendar of men who have been seen sitting on a judgment bench one day, and in a short time they have been standing at the dock themselves. I have wondered what must be the peculiar feelings of a man who officiates as a judge, knowing that he who judges has been a law-breaker himself. A wicked man, a greedy, lustful, drunken man—you know such are to be discovered among petty magistrates. We have known these sit and condemn the drunkard, when, had the world known how they went to bed the night before, they would have said of them, "thou that judgest another doest the same things thyself." There have been instances known of men who have condemned a poor wretch for shooting a rabbit or stealing a few pheasants' eggs, or some enormous crime like that, and they themselves have been robbing the coffers of the bank, embezzling funds to an immense extent, and cheating everybody. How singular they must feel. One would think it must be a very strange emotion that passes over a man when he executes the law upon one which he knows ought to be executed upon himself. And yet, I have seen the wicked come and go from the holy place, until he came to think that his sins were no sins, that the poor must be severely upbraided for their iniquities, that what he called the lower classes must be kept in check, not thinking that there are none so low as those who condemn others whilst they do the same things themselves speaking about checks and barriers, when neither check nor barrier were of any use to himself, talking of curbing others and of judging righteous judgment, when had righteous judgment been carried out to the letter, he would himself have been the prisoner, and not have been honored with a commission from government. Ah! is it not a sight that we may well look at, when we see justice perverted and the law turned upside down by men who "come and go from the place of the holy."
But the third case is worse still. "I have seen the wicked come and go from the place of the holy"—that is, the pulpit. If there be a place under high heaven more holy than another, it is the pulpit whence the gospel is preached. This is the Thermophylae of Christendom; here must the great battle be fought between Christ's church and the invading hosts of a wicked world. This is the last vestige of anything sacred that is left to us. We have no altars now; Christ is our altar: but we have a pulpit still left, a place which, when a man entereth, he might well put off his shoes from his feet, for the place whereon he standeth is holy. Consecrated by a Saviour's presence, established by the clearness and the force of an apostle's eloquence, maintained and upheld by the faithfulness and fervor of a succession of Evangelists who, like stars, have marked the era in which they lived, and stamped it with their names, the pulpit is handed down to those of us who occupy it now with a prestige of everything that is great and holy. Yet I have seen the wicked come and go from it. Alas! if there be a sinner that is hardened, it is the man that sins and occupies his pulpit. We have heard of such a man living in the commission of the foulest sins, and at length has been discovered; and yet such is the filthiness of mankind, that when he began to preach to the people again, they clustered round the beast for the mere sake of hearing what he would say to them. We have known cases, too, where men, when convicted to their own forehead, have unblushingly persevered in proclaiming a gospel which their lives denied. And perhaps these are the hardest of all sinners to deal with!. But if the garment be once defiled, away with all thoughts of the pulpit then. He must be clean who ministers at the altar. Every saint must be holy, but he, holiest of all, who seeks to serve his God. Yet, we must mourn to say it, the church of God every now and then has had a sun that was black instead of white, and a moon that was as a clot of blood, instead of being full of fairness and beauty. Happy the church when God gives her holy ministers; but unhappy the church where wicked men preside. I know ministers to this day, however, who know more about fishing rods than they do about chapters in the Bible; more about fox-hounds than about hunting after men's souls; who understand a great deal more of the spring and the net than they do of the net for catching souls, or earnest exhortations for men to flee from the wrath to come. We know such even now: still uproarious at a farmer's dinner, still the very loudest to give the toast and clash the glass, still mightiest among the mighty found, of the gay, the wild, and the dissolute. Pity on the church that still allows it! Happy the day when all such persons shall be purged from the pulpit; then shall it stand forth "clear as the sun, fair as the moon, and terrible as an army with banners." "I have seen the wicked come and go from the place of the holy."
II. And now WE ARE GOING TO HIS FUNERAL. I shall want you to attend it. You need not be particular about having on a hat band, or being arrayed in garments of mourning It does not signify for the wretch we are going to bury. There is no need for any very great outward signs of mourning, for he will be forgotten even in the city where he hath done this: therefore we need not particularly mourn for him. Let us first go to the funeral and look at the outward ceremonial. We will suppose one or two cases.
There is a man who has come and gone from the place of the holy. He has made a very blazing profession. He has been a county magistrate. Now, do you see what a stir is made about his poor bones? There is the hearse covered with plumes, and there follows a long string of carriages. The country people stare to see such a long train of carriages coming to follow one poor worm to its resting-place. What pomp! what grandeur! See how the place of worship is hung with black. There seems to be intense mourning made over this man. Will you just think of it for a minute, and who are they mourning for? A hypocrite! Whom is all this pomp for? For one who was a wicked man, a man who made a pretension of religion, a man who judged others, and who ought to have been condemned himself. All this pomp for putrid clay; and what is it more or better than that? When such a man dies, ought he not to be buried with the burial of an ass? Let him be drawn and dragged from the gates of the city. What has he to do with pomp? At the head of the mournful cavalcade is Beelzebub, leading the procession, and, looking back with twinkling eye, and leer of malicious joy, says, "Here is fine pomp to conduct a soul to hell with!" Ah! plumes and hearse for the man who is being conducted to his last abode in Tophet! A string of carriages to do honor to the man whom God hath cursed in life and cursed in death, for the hope of the hypocrite is evermore an accursed one. And a bell is ringing, and the clergyman is reading the funeral service, and is burying the man "in sure and certain hope." Oh! what a laugh rings up from somewhere a little lower down than the grave! "In sure and certain hope," says Satan, "ha! ha! your sure and certain hope is folly indeed. Trust to a bubble, and hope to fly to the stars; trust to the wild winds, that they shall conduct you safely to heaven, but trust to such a hope as that, and thou art a madman indeed." Oh! if we judged rightly, when a hypocrite died, we should do him no honor. If men could but see a little deeper than the skin, and read the thoughts of the heart, they would not patronize this great, black lie, and lead a long string of carriages through the streets; they would say, "No, the man was good for nothing, he was the outward skin without the life, he professed to be what he was not, he lived the scornful life of a deceiver; let him have the burial of Jeconiah; let him not have a funeral at all; let him be cast away as loathsome carrion, for that is all he is." Ah! when a godly man dies, ye may make lamentation over him, ye may well carry him with solemn pomp unto his grave, for there is an odour in his bones, there is a sweet savor about him that even God delighteth in, for "precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints." But the gilded hypocrite, the varnished deceiver, the well accoutred wolf in sheeps' clothing—away with pomp for him! Why should men bewail him? They do not do it, why should they pretend to do so, then, and give the outward semblance of a grief, where they feel none?
But possibly I may have seen the wicked man buried in a more quiet way. He is taken quietly to his tomb with as little pomp as possible, and he is with all decency and solemnity interred in the grave. And now listen to the minister. If he is a man of God, when he buries such a man as he ought to be buried, you do not hear a solitary word about the character of the deceased; you hear nothing at all about any hopes of everlasting life. He is put into his grave. The minister well remembers how he did "come and go from the place of the holy," he recollects full well how he used to sit in the gallery and listen to his discourse. And there is one who weeps; and the minister stands there and weeps too, to think how all his labor has been lost, and one of his hearers has been destroyed, and that without hope. But note how cautiously he speaks, even to the wife. He would give her all the hope he could, poor widow as she is, and he speaks very gentle. She says, "I hope my husband is in heaven." He holds his tongue; he is very silent; if he is of a sympathetic nature he will be quiet. And when he speaks about the deceased in his next Sunday's sermon, if he mentions him at all he refers to him as a doubtful case, he uses him rather as a beacon than as an example, and bids other men beware how they presume to waste their opportunities, and let the golden hours of their Sabbath-day roll by disregarded. "I have seen the wicked buried who have come and gone from the place of the holy." As for the pompous funeral, that was ludicrous. A man might almost laugh to see the folly of honoring the man who deserved to be dishonored, but as for the still and silent and truthful funeral, how sad it is! But brethren, after all, we ought to judge ourselves very much in the light of our funerals. That is the way we judge other things. Look at your fields to-morrow. There is the flaunting poppy, and there by the hedge-rows are many flowers that lift their heads to the sun. Judging them by their leaf you might prefer them to the sober coloured wheat. But wait until the funeral. Then the poppy shall be gathered and the weeds shall be bound up in a bundle to be burned—gathered into a heap in the field to be consumed, to be made into manure for the soil. But see the funeral of the wheat. What a magnificent funeral has the wheat-sheaf "Harvest home" is shouted as it is carried to the garner, for it is a precious thing. Even so let each of us so live, as considering that we must die. Oh! I would desire to live that when I leave this mortal state, men may say, "There is one gone who sought to make the world better. However rough his efforts might have been, he was an honest man; he sought to serve God, and there lies he that feared not the face of man." I would have every Christian seek to win such a funeral as this—a funeral like Stephen's: "And devout men carried him to his sepulcher, and made great lamentation over him." I remember the funeral of one pastor—I attended it. Many ministers of the gospel walked behind the coffin to attend their brother, and pay honor to him. And then came a ton of the church, every one of whom wept as if they had lost a father. And I remember the solemn sermon that was preached in the chapel all hung with black, when all of us wept because a great man had fallen that day in Israel. We felt that a prince had been taken from us and we all said, like Elijah's servant, "My father, my father, the horses of Israel and the chariots thereof." But I have seen the wicked buried that have come and gone from the place of the holy, and I saw nothing of this sort. I saw a flickering kind of sorrow, like the dying of a wick that is almost consumed. I saw that those who paid a decent respect to the corpse did it for the widow's sake, and for the sake of them that were left behind; but if they could have dealt with the corpse as their nature seemed to dictate, they ought to have dealt with the man when living, they would have said, "Let him be buried at the dead of night; let him have some unhallowed corner in the churchyard where the nettle long has grown; let the frog croak o'er his tomb; let the owl make her resting-place o'er his sepulcher, and let her hoot all night long, for hooted he well deserves to be; let no laurel and no cypress grow upon his grave, and let no rose twine itself as a sweet bower around the place where he sleeps; let no cowslip and no lily of the valley deck the grass that covereth him; there let him lie; let not the green sward grow, but let the place be accursed where sleeps the hypocrite, for he deserves it, and even so let it be." "I have seen the wicked buried who have come and gone from the place of the holy."
But there is a sad thing yet to come. We must look a little deeper than the mere ceremonial of the burial and we shall see that there is a great deal more in some people's coffins besides their corpses. When old Robert Flockart was buried a few weeks ago in Edinburgh, he was buried as I think a Christian minister should be, for his old Bible and hymn book were placed upon the top of the coffin. Had he been a soldier, I suppose he would have had his sword put there; but he had been a Christian soldier, and so they buried with him his Bible and hymn book as his trophies. It was well that such a trophy should be on that coffin; but there is a great deal, as I have said, inside some people's coffins. If we had eyes to see invisible things, and we could break the lid of the hypocrite's coffin, we should see a great deal there. There lie all his hopes. The wicked man may come and go from the place of the holy, but he has no hope of being saved. He thought, because he had attended the place of the holy regularly, therefore he was safe for another world. There lie his hopes, and they are to be buried with him. Of all the frightful things that a man can look upon, the face of a dead hope is the most horrible. A dead child is a pang indeed to a mother's heart; a dead wife or a dead husband, to the heart of the bereaved must be sorrowful indeed; but a coffin full of dead hopes—did you ever see such a load of misery carried to the grave as that? Wrapt in the same shroud, there lie all his dead pretensions. When he was here he made a pretension of being respectable; there lies his respect, he shall be a hissing and a reproach for ever. He made a pretension of being sanctified, but the mask is off now, and he stands in all his native blackness. He made pretensions about being God's elect, but his election is discovered now to be a rejection. He thought himself to be clothed in the Saviour's righteousness, but he finds that he justified himself: Christ had never given him his imputed righteousness. And so he sleeps. The tongue that prattled once so pleasantly concerning godliness is now silent. That hypocritical eye that once flashed with the pretended fire of joy—it is all now dark, dark. That brain that thought of inventions to deceive—the worm shall feed on it. And that heart of his that once throbbed beneath ribs that were scarcely thick enough to hide the transparency of his hypocrisy shall now be devoured by demons. There are dead pretensions inside that rotting skeleton, and dead hopes too. But there is one thing that sleeps with him in his coffin that he had set his heart upon. He had set his heart upon being known after he was gone. He thought surely after he had departed this life, he would be handed down to posterity and be remembered. Now read the text—"And they were forgotten in the city where they had so done." There is his hope of fame. Every man likes to live a little longer than his life—Englishmen especially—for there is scarcely to be found a rock in all England up which even a goat might scarcely climb where there may not be discovered the initials of the names of men, who never had any other mode of attaining to fame, and therefore thought they would inscribe their names there. Go where you will, you find men attempting to be known; and this is the reason why many people write in newspapers, else they never would be known. A hundred little inventions we all of us have for keeping our names going after we are dead. But with the wicked man it is all in vain; he shall be forgotten. He has done nothing to make anybody remember him. Ask the poor; "Do you remember So-and-so?" "Hard master, sir, very. He always cut us down to the last sixpence; and we do not wish to recollect him." Their children won't hear his name; they will forget him entirely. Ask the church, "Do you remember So-and-so? he was a member." "Well," says one, "I remember him certainly, his name was on the books, but we never had his heart. He used to come and go, but I never could talk with him. There was nothing spiritual in him. There was a great deal of sounding bell-metal and brass, but no gold. I never could discover that he had the "root of the matter in him." No one thinks of him, and he will soon be forgotten. The chapel grows old, there comes up another congregation, and somehow or other they talk about the odd deacons that used to be there, who were good and holy men and about the old lady, that used to be so eminently useful in visiting the sick, about the young man who rose out of that church, who was so useful in the cause of God; but you never hear mention made of his name; he is quite forgotten. When he died his name was struck out of the books, he was reported as being dead, and all remembrance of him died with him. I have often noticed how soon wicked things die when the man dies who originated them. Look at Voltaire's philosophy; with all the noise it made in his time—where is it now? There is just a little of it lingering, but it seems to have gone. And there was Tom Paine, who did his best to write his name in letters of damnation, and one would think he might have been remembered. But who cares for him now? Except amongst a few, here and there, his name has passed away. And all the names of error, and heresy, and schism, where do they go? You hear about St. Austin to this day, but you never hear about the heretics he attacked. Everybody knows about Athanasius, and how he stood up for the divinity of the Lord Jesus Christ; but we have almost forgotten the life of Arius, and scarcely ever think of those men who aided and abetted him in his folly. Bad men die out quickly, for the world feels it is a good thing to be rid of them; they are not worth remembering. But the death of a good man, the man who was sincerely a Christian—how different is that! And when you see the body of a saint, if he has served God with all his might, how sweet it is to look upon him—ah, and to look upon his coffin too, or upon his tomb in after years! Go into Bunhill-fields, and stand by the memorial of John Bunyan, and you will say, "Ah! there lies the head that contained the brain which thought out that wondrous dream of the Pilgrim's Progress from the City of Destruction to the Better land. There lies the finger that wrote those wondrous lines which depict the story of him who came at last to the land Beulah, and waded through the flood, and entered into the celestial city. And there are the eyelids which he once spoke of, when he said, "If I lie in prison until the moss grows on my eyelids, I will never make a promise to withhold from preaching." And there is that bold eye that penetrated the judge, when he said, "If you will let me out of prison to-day, I will preach again to-morrow, by the help of God." And there lies that loving hand that was ever ready to receive into communion all them that loved the Lord Jesus Christ: I love the hand that wrote the book, "Water Baptism no Bar to Christian Communion." I love him for that sake alone, and if he had written nothing else but that, I would say, "John Bunyan, be honored for ever." And there lies the foot that carried him up Snow Hill to go and make peace between a father and a son, in that cold day, which cost him his life. Peace to his ashes Wait, O John Bunyan, till thy Master sends his angel to blow the trumpet and methinks, when the archangel sounds it, he will almost think of thee, and this shall be a part of his joy, that honest John Bunyan, the greatest of all Englishmen, shall rise from his tomb at the blowing of that great trump. You cannot say so of the wicked. What is a wicked man's body but a rotten piece of noisomeness? Put it away, and thank God there are worms to eat such a thing up, and thank him still more, that there is a worm called Time, to eat up the evil influence and the accursed memory, which such a man leaves behind him. All this have I seen, and applied my heart unto every work that is done."
III. We are to WRITE HIS EPITAPH, and his epitaph is contained in these short words: "this also is vanity" And now in a few words I will endeavor to show that it is vanity for a man to come and go from the house of God, and yet have no true religion. If I made up my mind to hate God, to sin against him, and to be lost at last, I would do it thoroughly, out and out. If I had determined to be damned, and had calculated the chances, and made up my mind that it would be better to be cast away for ever, I know there is one thing I would not do, I would not go to the house of God. Why, if I made up my mind to be lost, what is the good of going there to be teared about it? Because, if the man is faithful, he will prick my conscience and wake me up. If I am determined and have made up my mind to be lost, let me go to hell as easily as I can, what need is there that my conscience should be pricked, and this great stone laid in my way to keep me from going there? Besides, I hold that, for a man who has no love for the house of God, regularly to attend because he thinks it is respectable, is just one of the most pitiful kinds of drudgery that can be met with. If I did not love the house of God, I would not go there. If it were not a delight to me to be found in the sanctuary of God, singing of his praise, and hearing of his word, I would stop away. To be seen going to chapel twice on the Sabbath, sitting as God's people sit, rising when they rise, and singing about what you do not feel; hearing that which pricks your conscience, and listening to the reading of promises that do not belong to you; hearing about heaven, that is not yours, being frightened with hell, which is to be yours for ever—why, the man is just a born fool that goes to the house of God, except he has got an interest in it. We may commend him for going; it is a respectable thing, perhaps, and right that it should be so but I submit it is an intolerable drudgery to go always to the house of God, if you have made up your mind to be lost. Now, on this man's tomb must be written at last—"there was a men who would not serve God, but who had not courage enough to stand out against God. There is a man so silly that he pretended to be religious, and so wicked that he was a hypocrite to his pretensions." Why, although you must deplore a wicked man's wickedness as a fearful crime, yet there is some kind of respect to be paid to the man who is downright honest in it; but not an atom of respect to the man who wants to be a cant and a hypocrite. He wishes, if he can, just to save his neck at last; just as he thinks, to do enough to let him get off free when he comes to lay a-dying; enough to keep his conscience quiet, enough to look respectable; enough as he thinks, when he dies to give him a little chance of entering heaven, though it be, as it were, neck or nothing. Ah, poor thing! Well may we write over him, "This also is vanity!" But, sir, you will be more laughed at for your pretensions than if you had made none. Having professed to be religious, and having pretended to carry it out, you shall have more scorn than if you had came out in your right colors, and have said, "Who is the Lord, that I should fear him? Who is Jehovah, that I should obey his voice?" And now, are there any here who are so wicked as to choose eternal wrath? Have I any here so besotted as to choose destruction? Yes, yes, many; for if to-day, my hearer, thou art choosing sin; if thou art choosing self-righteousness, if thou art choosing pride, or lust, or the pleasures of this world, remember, thou art choosing damnation, for the two things cannot but go together. Sin is the guilt, and hell is the bread beneath it. If you choose sin, you have virtually chosen perdition. Think of this, I beseech you.

"O Lord! do thou the sinner turn!
Now rouse him from his senseless state;
O let him not thy counsel spurn,
Nor rue his fatal choice too late."

May the Lord lead you to Jesus Christ, who is the way, the truth and the life! And when ye are buried, may ye be buried with the righteous, and may your last end be like his!

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