Evening and Morning
By Charles Haddon Spurgeon
October 13
Morning
"Godly
sorrow worketh repentance."—2 Corinthians 7:10.
Genuine, spiritual mourning
for sin is the work of the Spirit of God. Repentance is too choice a
flower to grow in nature's garden. Pearls grow naturally in oysters, but
penitence never shows itself in sinners except divine grace works it in them.
If thou hast one particle of real hatred for sin, God must have given it thee,
for human nature's thorns never produced a single fig. "That which is born
of the flesh is flesh."
True repentance has a
distinct reference to the Saviour. When we repent
of sin, we must have one eye upon sin and another upon the cross, or it will be
better still if we fix both our eyes upon Christ and see our transgressions
only, in the light of His love.
True sorrow for sin is eminently
practical. No man may say he hates sin, if he lives in it. Repentance makes
us see the evil of sin, not merely as a theory, but experimentally—as a
burnt child dreads fire. We shall be as much afraid of it, as a man who has
lately been stopped and robbed is afraid of the thief upon the highway; and we
shall shun it—shun it in everything—not in great things only, but
in little things, as men shun little vipers as well as great snakes. True
mourning for sin will make us very jealous over our tongue, lest it should say
a wrong word; we shall be very watchful over our daily actions, lest in
anything we offend, and each night we shall close the day with painful
confessions of shortcoming, and each morning awaken with anxious prayers, that
this day God would hold us up that we may not sin against Him.
Sincere repentance is continual.
Believers repent until their dying day. This dropping well is not intermittent.
Every other sorrow yields to time, but this dear sorrow grows with our growth,
and it is so sweet a bitter, that we thank God we are permitted to enjoy and to
suffer it until we enter our eternal rest.
Evening
"Love is
strong as death."—Song of Solomon 8:6.
Whose love can
this be which is as mighty as the conqueror of
monarchs, the destroyer of the human race? Would it not sound like satire if it
were applied to my poor, weak, and scarcely living love to Jesus my Lord? I do
love Him, and perhaps by His grace, I could even die for Him, but as for my
love in itself, it can scarcely endure a scoffing jest, much less a cruel
death. Surely it is my Beloved's love which is here
spoken of—the love of Jesus, the matchless lover of souls. His love was
indeed stronger than the most terrible death, for it endured the trial of the
cross triumphantly. It was a lingering death, but love survived the torment; a
shameful death, but love despised the shame; a penal death, but love bore our
iniquities; a forsaken, lonely death, from which the eternal Father hid His
face, but love endured the curse, and gloried over all. Never
such love, never such death. It was a desperate duel, but love bore the
palm. What then, my heart? Hast thou no emotions excited within thee at the
contemplation of such heavenly affection? Yes, my Lord, I long, I pant to feel
Thy love flaming like a furnace within me. Come Thou Thyself and excite the ardour of my spirit.
"For
every drop of crimson blood
Thus shed to
make me live,
O wherefore,
wherefore have not I
A thousand
lives to give?"
Why should I despair of
loving Jesus with a love as strong as death? He deserves it: I desire it. The
martyrs felt such love, and they were but flesh and blood, then why not I? They mourned their
weakness, and yet out of weakness were made strong. Grace gave them all their
unflinching constancy—there is the same grace for me. Jesus, lover of my
soul, shed abroad such love, even Thy love in my heart, this evening.