XIII.05

Has any one money who reads these pages? Then "take heed and beware of covetousness." (Luke xii. 15.) Remember you carry weight in the race towards heaven. All men are naturally in danger of being lost for ever, but you are doubly so because of your possessions. Nothing is said to put out fire so soon as earth thrown upon it. Nothing I am sure has such a tendency to quench the fire of religion as the possession of money. It was a solemn message which Buchanan, on his death-bed, sent to his old pupil, James I.: "He was going to a place where few kings and great men would come." It is possible, no doubt, for you to be saved as well as others. With God nothing is impossible. Abraham, Job, and David were all rich, and yet saved. But oh, take heed to yourself! Money is a good servant, but a bad master. Let that saying of our Lord's sink down into your heart: "How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God." (Mark x. 23.) Well said an old divine: "The surface above gold mines is generally very barren." Well might old Latimer begin one of his sermons before Edward VI by quoting three times over our Lord's words: "Take heed and beware of covetousness," and then saying, "What if I should say nothing else these three or four hours?" There are few prayers in our Litany more wise and more necessary than that petition, "In all time of our wealth, good Lord deliver us."

Has any one little or no money who reads these pages? Then do not envy those who are richer than yourself. Pray for them. Pity them. Be charitable to their faults. Remember that high places are giddy places, and be not too hasty in your condemnation of their conduct. Perhaps if you had their difficulties you would do no better yourself. Beware of the "love of money." It is the "root of all evil." (1 Tim. vi. 10.) A man may love money over-much without having any at all. Beware of the love of self. It may be found in a cottage as well as in a palace. And beware of thinking that poverty alone will save you. If you would sit with Lazarus in glory, you must not only have fellowship with him in suffering, but in grace.

Does any reader desire to know the remedy against that love of self which ruined the rich man's soul, and cleaves to us all by nature, like our skin? I tell him plainly there is only one remedy, and I ask Him to mark well what that remedy is. It is not the fear of hell. It is not the hope of heaven. It is not any sense of duty. Oh, no! The disease of selfishness is far too deeply rooted to yield to such secondary motives as these. Nothing will ever cure it but an experimental knowledge of Christ's redeeming love. You must know the misery and guilt of your own estate by nature. You must experience the power of Christ's atoning blood sprinkled upon your conscience, and making you whole. You must taste the sweetness of peace with God through the mediation of Jesus, and feel the love of a reconciled Father shed abroad in your heart by the Holy Ghost.

Then, and not till then, the mainspring of selfishness will be broken. Then, knowing the immensity of your debt to Christ, you will feel that nothing is too great and too costly to give to Him. Feeling that you have been loved much when you deserved nothing, you will heartily love in return, and cry, "What shall I render unto the Lord for all His benefits?" (Ps. cxvi. 12.) Feeling that you have freely received countless mercies, you will think it a privilege to do anything to please Him to whom you owe all. Feeling that you have been "bought with a price," and are no longer your own, you will labour to glorify God with body and spirit, which are His. (1 Cor. vi. 20.)

Yes: I repeat it this day. I know no effectual remedy for the love of self, but a believing apprehension of the love of Christ. Other remedies may palliate the disease: this alone will heal it. Other antidotes may hide its deformity: this alone will work a perfect cure.

An easy, good-natured temper may cover over selfishness in one man. A love of praise may conceal it in a second. A self-righteous asceticism and an affected spirit of self-denial may keep it out of sight in a third. But nothing will ever cut up selfishness by the roots but the love of Christ revealed in the mind by the Holy Ghost, and felt in the heart by simple faith. Once let a man see the full meaning of the words, "Christ loved me and gave Himself for me," and then he will delight to give himself to Christ, and all that he has to His service. He will live to Him, not in order that he may be secure, but because he is secure already. He will work for Him, not that he may have life and peace, but because life and peace are his own already.

Go to the cross of Christ, all you that want to be delivered from the power of selfishness. Go and see what a price was paid there to provide a ransom for your soul. Go and see what an astounding sacrifice was there made, that a door to eternal life might be provided for poor sinners like you. Go and see how the Son of God gave Himself for you, and learn to think it a small thing to give yourself to Him.

The disease which ruined the rich man in the parable may be cured. But oh, remember, there is only one real remedy! If you would not live to yourself you must live to Christ. See to it that this remedy is not only known, but applied,—not only heard of, but used.

(1) And now let me conclude all by urging on every reader of these pages, the great duty of self-inquiry.

A passage of Scripture like this parable ought surely to raise in many an one great searchings of heart.—"What am I? Where am I going? What am I doing? What is likely to be my condition after death? Am I prepared to leave the world? Have I any home to look forward to in the world to come? Have I put off the old man and put on the new? Am I really one with Christ, and a pardoned soul?" Surely such questions as these may well be asked when the story of the rich man and Lazarus has been heard. Oh, that the Holy Ghost may incline many a reader's heart to ask them!

(2) In the next place, I invite all readers who desire to have their souls saved, and have no good account to give of themselves at present, to seek salvation while it can be found. I do entreat you to apply to Him by whom alone man can enter heaven and be saved,—even Jesus Christ the Lord. He has the keys of heaven. He is sealed and appointed by God the Father to be the Saviour of all that will come to Him. Go to Him in earnest and hearty prayer, and tell Him your case. Tell Him that you have heard that "He receiveth sinners," and that you come to Him as such. (Luke xv. 2.) Tell Him that you desire to be saved by Him in His own way, and ask Him to save you. Oh, that you may take this course without delay! Remember the hopeless end of the rich man. Once dead there is no more change.

(3) Last of all, I entreat all professing Christians to encourage themselves in habits of liberality towards all causes of charity and mercy. Remember that you are God's stewards, and give money liberally, freely, and without grudging, whenever you have an opportunity. You cannot keep your money for ever. You must give account one day of the manner in which it has been expended. Oh, lay it out with an eye to eternity while you can!

I do not ask rich men to leave their situations in life, give away all their property, and go into the workhouse. This would be refusing to fill the position of a steward for God. I ask no man to neglect his worldly calling, and to omit to provide for his family. Diligence in business is a positive Christian duty. Provision for those dependent on us is proper Christian prudence. But I ask all to look around continually as they journey on, and to remember the poor,—the poor in body and the poor in soul. Here we are for a few short years. How can we do most good with our money while we are here? How can we so spend it as to leave the world somewhat happier and somewhat holier when we are removed? Might we not abridge some of our luxuries? Might we not lay out less upon ourselves, and give more to Christ's cause and Christ's poor? Is there none we can do good to? Are there no sick, no poor, no needy, whose sorrows we might lessen, and whose comforts we might increase? Such questions will never fail to elicit an answer from some quarter. I am thoroughly persuaded that the income of every religious and charitable Society in England might easily be multiplied tenfold, if English Christians would give in proportion to their means.

There are none surely to whom such appeals ought to come home with such power as professing believers in the Lord Jesus. The parable of the text is a striking illustration of our position by nature, and our debt to Christ. We all lay, like Lazarus, at heaven's gate, sick unto the death, helpless, and starving. Blessed be God! we were not neglected, as he was. Jesus came forth to relieve us. Jesus gave Himself for us, that we might have hope and live. For a poor Lazarus-like world He came down from heaven, and humbled Himself to become a man. For a poor Lazarus-like world He went up and down doing good, caring for men's bodies as well as souls, until He died for us on the cross.

I believe that in giving to support works of charity and mercy, we are doing that which is according to Christ's mind,—and I ask readers of these pages to begin the habit of giving, if they never began it before; and to go on with it increasingly, if they have begun.

I believe that in offering a warning against worldliness and covetousness, I have done no more than bring forward a warning specially called for by the times, and I ask God to bless the consideration of these pages to many souls.