Evening and Morning
By Charles Haddon Spurgeon
December 31
Morning
"In the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and
cried, saying, if any man thirst, let him come unto Me
and drink."—John 7:37.
Patience had her perfect work in the Lord Jesus, and until the
last day of the feast He pleaded with the Jews, even as on this last day of the
year He pleads with us, and waits to be gracious to us. Admirable indeed is the
longsuffering of the Saviour in bearing with some of
us year after year, notwithstanding our provocations, rebellions, and
resistance of His Holy Spirit. Wonder of wonders that we are still in the land
of mercy!
Pity expressed herself most plainly, for
Jesus cried, which implies not only the loudness of His voice, but the
tenderness of His tones. He entreats us to be reconciled. "We pray
you," says the Apostle, "as though God did beseech you by
us." What earnest, pathetic terms are these! How deep must be the love which makes the Lord weep over sinners, and like a mother
woo His children to His bosom! Surely at the call of such a cry our willing
hearts will come.
Provision is made most plenteously; all is provided that man
can need to quench his soul's thirst. To his conscience the atonement brings
peace; to his understanding the gospel brings the richest instruction; to his
heart the person of Jesus is the noblest object of affection; to the whole man
the truth as it is in Jesus supplies the purest nutriment. Thirst is terrible,
but Jesus can remove it. Though the soul were utterly famished, Jesus could
restore it.
Proclamation is made most freely, that every thirsty one is
welcome. No other distinction is made but that of thirst. Whether it be the thirst of avarice, ambition, pleasure, knowledge, or
rest, he who suffers from it is invited. The thirst may be bad in itself, and
be no sign of grace, but rather a mark of inordinate sin longing to be
gratified with deeper draughts of lust; but it is not goodness in the creature
which brings him the invitation, the Lord Jesus sends it freely, and without
respect of persons.
Personality is declared most fully. The sinner must come to
Jesus, not to works, ordinances, or doctrines, but to a personal Redeemer, who
His own self bare our sins in His own body on the tree. The bleeding, dying,
rising Saviour, is the only star of hope to a sinner.
Oh for grace to come now and drink, ere the sun sets upon the year's last day!
No waiting or preparation is so much as hinted at. Drinking represents a
reception for which no fitness is required. A fool, a thief, a harlot can
drink; and so sinfulness of character is no bar to the invitation to believe in
Jesus. We want no golden cup, no bejewelled chalice,
in which to convey the water to the thirsty; the mouth of poverty is welcome to
stoop down and quaff the flowing flood. Blistered, leprous, filthy lips may
touch the stream of divine love; they cannot pollute it, but shall themselves be purified. Jesus is the fount of hope. Dear
reader, hear the dear Redeemer's loving voice as He cries to each of us,
"IF ANY MAN THIRST,
LET HIM
COME UNTO ME
AND
DRINK."
Evening
"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not
saved."—Jeremiah 8:20.
Not saved! Dear reader, is this your mournful plight? Warned of
the judgment to come, bidden to escape for your life, and yet at this moment not
saved! You know the way of salvation, you read it in the Bible, you hear it
from the pulpit, it is explained to you by friends,
and yet you neglect it, and therefore you are not saved. You will be
without excuse when the Lord shall judge the quick and dead. The Holy Spirit
has given more or less of blessing upon the word which has been preached in
your hearing, and times of refreshing have come from the divine presence, and
yet you are without Christ. All these hopeful seasons have come and
gone—your summer and your harvest have past—and yet you are not
saved. Years have followed one another into eternity, and your last year
will soon be here: youth has gone, manhood is going, and yet you are not
saved. Let me ask you—will you ever be saved? Is there any
likelihood of it? Already the most propitious seasons have left you unsaved;
will other occasions alter your condition? Means have failed with you—the
best of means, used perseveringly and with the utmost affection—what more
can be done for you? Affliction and prosperity have alike failed to impress
you; tears and prayers and sermons have been wasted on your barren heart. Are
not the probabilities dead against your ever being saved? Is it not more than
likely that you will abide as you are till death for ever
bars the door of hope? Do you recoil from the supposition? Yet it is a most
reasonable one: he who is not washed in so many waters will in all probability
go filthy to his end. The convenient time never has come, why should it ever
come? It is logical to fear that it never will arrive, and that Felix like, you
will find no convenient season till you are in hell. O bethink you of what that
hell is, and of the dread probability that you will soon be cast into it!
Reader, suppose you should die unsaved, your doom no words can picture.
Write out your dread estate in tears and blood, talk of it with groans and
gnashing of teeth: you will be punished with everlasting destruction from the
glory of the Lord, and from the glory of His power. A brother's voice would
fain startle you into earnestness. O be wise, be wise in time, and ere another
year begins, believe in Jesus, who is able to save to
the uttermost. Consecrate these last hours to lonely thought, and if deep
repentance be bred in you, it will be well; and if it
lead to a humble faith in Jesus, it will be best of all. O see
to it that this year pass not away, and you an unforgiven
spirit. Let not the new year's midnight peals sound
upon a joyless spirit! Now, NOW, NOW believe, and live.
"ESCAPE FOR THY LIFE;
LOOK NOT BEHIND THEE,
NEITHER STAY THOU
IN ALL THE PLAIN;
ESCAPE TO THE MOUNTAIN,
LEST THOU
BE CONSUMED."