Morning, May 1, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

 “His cheeks are like a bed of balsam, Banks of sweet-scented herbs.” — Song of Solomon 5:13

Look, the flowery month is come! March winds and April showers have done their work, and the earth is all decorated with beauty. Come my soul, put on your holiday attire and go forth to gather garlands of heavenly thoughts. You know where to take yourself, for to you “the beds of spices” are well known, and you have so often smelled the perfume of “the sweet flowers,” that you will go at once to your beloved and find all loveliness, all joy in him. That cheek once so rudely stricken with a rod, often flowing with tears of sympathy and then defiled with spittle—that cheek as it smiles with mercy is as fragrant aroma to my heart. You did not hide your face from shame and spitting, O Lord Jesus, and therefore I will find my dearest delight in praising you. Those cheeks were furrowed by the plow of grief, and made crimson with red lines of blood from your thorn-crowned temples; such marks of unbounded love cannot fail to charm my soul far more than “pillars of perfume.” If I may not see the whole of his face I would behold his cheeks, for the least glimpse of him is extraordinarily refreshing to my spiritual senses and yields a variety of delights. In Jesus I find not only fragrance, but a bed of spices; not one flower, but all types of sweet flowers. He is to me my rose and my lily, my heart’s ease and my cluster of sweet spice. When he is with me it is May all the year round, and my soul goes forth to wash her happy face in the morning dew of his grace, and to solace herself with the singing of the birds of his promises. Precious Lord Jesus, let me indeed know the blessedness which dwells in abiding, unbroken fellowship with you. I am a poor worthless one, whose cheek you have condescended to kiss! O let me kiss you in return with the kisses of my lips.

Evening, April 30, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God!” — Psalm 139:17

Divine omniscience offers no comfort to the ungodly mind, but to the child of God it overflows with assurance. God is always thinking about us, never turns aside his mind from us, has us always before his eyes; and this is precisely as we would have it, for it would be dreadful to exist for a moment beyond the observation of our heavenly Father. His thoughts are always tender, loving, wise, prudent, far-reaching, and they bring to us countless benefits: therefore, it is a special delight to remember them. The Lord always did think upon his people: he safeguarded their election and the covenant of grace by which their salvation is secured. He will always think upon them: he enables their perseverance by which they shall finally be brought safely to their final rest. In all our wanderings the watchful glance of the Eternal Watcher is evermore fixed upon us—we never roam beyond the Shepherd’s eye. In our sorrows he observes us constantly, and not a pain escapes him; in our work he marks all our weariness, and writes in his book all the struggles of his faithful ones. These thoughts of the Lord encompass us in all our paths and penetrate the innermost parts of our being. Not a nerve or tissue, valve or vessel, of our bodily composition is uncared for; all the little things of our little world are thought upon by the great God.

Dear reader, is this precious to you? Then hold to it. Never be led astray by those philosophic fools who preach an impersonal God, and talk of self-existent, self-governing matter. The Lord lives and thinks upon us; this is a truth far too precious for us to be lightly robbed of it. The notice of a dignitary is valued so highly that he who has it counts his fortune made; but what is it to be thought of by the King of kings! If the Lord thinks upon us, all is well, and we may rejoice evermore.

Morning, April 30, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“All the sons of Israel grumbled.” — Numbers 14:2

There are complainers amongst Christians now, as there were in the camp of Israel of old. There are those who, when the rod falls, cry out against the suffering dispensed to them. They ask, “Why am I afflicted? What have I done to be disciplined in this manner?” A word with you, O grumbler! Why should you complain against the divine actions of your heavenly Father? Can he treat you more harshly than you deserve? Consider what a rebel you once were, but he has pardoned you! Surely, if he in his wisdom sees fit now to chastise you, you should not complain. After all, are you afflicted as hard as your sins deserve? Consider the corruption which is in your heart, and then will you wonder that there needs so much of the rod to fetch it out? Weigh yourself, and discern how much dross is mingled with your gold; and do you think the fire too hot to purge away so much dross as you have? Does not that proud rebellious spirit of yours prove that your heart is not thoroughly sanctified? Are not those complaining words contrary to the holy submissive nature of God’s children? Is not the correction needed? But if you will grumble against the chastening, take heed, for it will go hard with complainers. God always chastises his children twice, if they do not bear the first stroke patiently. But know one thing—”He does not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men.” All his corrections are sent in love, to purify you, and to draw you nearer to himself. Surely it must help you to bear the discipline with resignation if you are able to recognize your Father’s hand. For “For those whom the Lord loves He disciplines, and He scourges every son whom He receives. It is for discipline that you endure; God deals with you as with sons.” “Nor grumble, as some of them did, and were destroyed by the destroyer.”

Evening, April 29, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“For the Lord takes pleasure in His people.” — Psalm 149:4

How comprehensive is the love of Jesus! There is no part of his people’s interests which he does not consider, and there is nothing which concerns their welfare which is not important to him. Not merely does he think of you, believer, as an immortal being, but as a mortal being too. Do not deny it or doubt it: “The very hairs of your head are all numbered.” “The steps of a man are established by the Lord, and He delights in his way.” It would be a sad thing for us if this mantle of love did not cover all our concerns, for what mischief might be fashioned in us in that part of our business which did not come under our gracious Lord’s inspection! Believer, rest assured that the heart of Jesus cares about your common affairs. The breadth of his tender love is such that you may depend on him in all matters; for in all your afflictions he is afflicted, and like as a father pities his children, so does he pity you. The most common interests of all his saints are all borne in the broad embrace of the Son of God. Oh, what a heart is his, that does not merely comprehend the individuals of his people, but comprehends also the diverse and innumerable concerns of all those persons! Do you think, O Christian, that you can measure the love of Christ? Think of what his love has brought you—justification, adoption, sanctification, eternal life! The riches of his goodness are unsearchable; you shall never be able to spell them out or even conceive of them. Oh, the breadth of the love of Christ! Shall such a love as this have half our hearts? Shall it have a cold love in return? Shall Jesus’ marvelous lovingkindness and tender care meet with only a faint response and tardy acknowledgment? O my soul, tune your harp to a glad song of thanksgiving! Go to your rest rejoicing, for you are no desolate wanderer, but a beloved child, watched over, cared for, supplied, and defended by your Lord.

Morning, April 29, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“You are my refuge in the day of disaster.” — Jeremiah 17:17

The path of the Christian is not always bright with sunshine; he has his seasons of darkness and of storm. True, it is written in God’s Word, “Her ways are pleasant ways And all her paths are peace;” and it is a great truth, that religion is calculated to give a man happiness below as well as bliss above; but experience tells us that if the “the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, that shines brighter and brighter until the full day,” yet sometimes that light is eclipsed. At certain periods clouds cover the believer’s sun, and he walks in darkness and sees no light. There are many who have rejoiced in the presence of God for a season; they have basked in the sunshine in the earlier stages of their Christian experience; they have walked along the “green pastures” by the side of the “still waters,” but suddenly they find the glorious sky is clouded; instead of the Land of Goshen they have to tread the sandy desert; in the place of sweet waters, they find troubled streams, bitter to their taste, and they say, “Surely, if I were a child of God, this would not happen.” Oh! Do not say so, you who are walking in darkness. The best of God’s saints must drink the bitter drink; the dearest of his children must bear the cross. No Christian has enjoyed perpetual prosperity; no believer can always keep from hanging his harp upon the willows. Perhaps the Lord allotted you at first a smooth and unclouded path, because you were weak and frightened. He tempered the wind to not chill the shorn lamb, but now that you are stronger in the spiritual life, you must enter upon the mature and rougher experience of God’s full-grown children. We need winds and tempests to exercise our faith, to tear off the rotten boughs of self-dependence, and to root us more firmly in Christ. The day of evil reveals to us the value of our glorious hope.

Evening, April 28, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Surely the whole house of Israel is stubborn and obstinate.” — Ezekiel 3:7

Are there no exceptions? No, not one. Even the favored nation is described this way. Are the best so bad? Then what must the worst be? Come, my heart, consider how far you have a share in this universal accusation, and while considering, be ready to take to yourself shame where you may have been guilty. The first charge is stubbornness, or hardness of forehead, a lack of holy shame, an unholy boldness in evil. Before my conversion, I could sin and feel no compunction, hear of my guilt and yet remain unhumbled, and even confess my iniquity and manifest no inward humiliation because of it. For a sinner to go to God’s house and pretend to pray to him and praise him argues presumption of the worst kind! Alas! Since the day of my new birth I have doubted my Lord to his face, complained unblushingly in his presence, worshipped before him in a careless manner, and sinned without lamenting concerning it. If my forehead were not as adamant, harder than flint, I should have far more holy fear, and a far deeper contrition of spirit. Woe is me, I am one of the stubborn house of Israel. The second charge is hardheartedness, and I must not venture to plead innocent here. Once I had nothing but a heart of stone, and although through grace I now have a new heart of flesh, much of my former obstinacy remains. I am not affected by the death of Jesus as I ought to be; neither am I moved by the ruin of my fellow men, the wickedness of the times, the discipline of my heavenly Father, and my own failures, as I should be. O that my heart would melt at the recital of my Savior’s sufferings and death. Would to God I could be rid of this heavy millstone within me, this hateful body of death. Blessed be the name of the Lord; the disease is not incurable, the Savior’s precious blood is the universal solvent, and it will successfully soften me, even me, until my heart melts as wax before the fire.

Morning, April 28, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Remember the word to Your servant, in which You have made me hope.” — Psalm 119:49

Whatever your special need may be, you may readily find some promise in the Bible suited to it. Are you faint and weak because your way is rough, and you are exhausted? Here is the promise: “He gives strength to the weary.” When you read such a promise, take it back to the great Promiser, and ask him to fulfil his own word. Are you seeking after Christ, and thirsting for closer communion with him? This promise shines like a star upon you: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.” Take that promise to the throne continually; do not request anything else, but go to God over and over again with this: “Lord, You have said it, do as You have said.” Are you distressed because of sin, and burdened with the heavy load of your iniquities? Listen to these words: “I, even I, am the one who wipes out your transgressions for My own sake, And I will not remember your sins.” You have no merit of your own to ask why he should pardon you, but appeal to his written declarations and he will perform them. Are you troubled for fear that you should not be able to hold on to the end, that after having thought yourself a child of God, you should prove a castaway? If that is your state, take this word of grace to the throne and appeal it: “For the mountains may be removed and the hills may shake, But My lovingkindness will not be removed from you.” If you have lost the sweet sense of the Savior’s presence, and are seeking him with a sorrowful heart, remember the promises: “Return to me, and I will return to you;” “For a brief moment I forsook you, but with great compassion I will gather you.” Indulge your faith in God’s own word, and whatever your fears or needs, return to the Bank of Faith with your Father’s promissory note, saying, “Remember the word to Your servant, in which You have made me hope.”

Evening, April 27, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“The Lord is King forever and ever.” — Psalm 10:16

Jesus Christ is no authoritarian claimant of divine right, but he is really and truly the Lord’s anointed! “It has pleased the Father that in him should all fulness dwell.” God has given to him all power and all authority. As the Son of man, he is to his church now head over all things, and he reigns over heaven, and earth, and hell, with the keys of life and death at his belt. Certain princes have delighted to call themselves kings by the popular will, and certainly our Lord Jesus Christ is such in his church. If it could be put to the vote whether he should be King in the church, every believing heart would crown him. O that we could crown him more gloriously than we do! We would count no expense to be wasted that could glorify Christ. Suffering would be pleasure, and loss would be gain, if thereby we could surround his head with brighter crowns, and make him more glorious in the eyes of men and angels. Yes, he shall reign. Long live the King! All hail to you, King Jesus! Go forth, you virgin souls who love your Lord, bow at his feet, strew his way with the lilies of your love, and the roses of your gratitude: “Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown him Lord of all.” Moreover, our Lord Jesus is King in Zion by right of conquest: he has taken by storm and carried the hearts of his people and has slain their enemies who held them in cruel bondage. In the Red Sea of his own blood, our Redeemer has drowned the Pharaoh of our sins: shall he not be King in Jeshurun? He has delivered us from the iron yoke and heavy curse of the law: shall not the Liberator be crowned? We are his portion, whom he has taken out of the hand of the Amorite with his sword and with his bow: who shall snatch his conquest from his hand? All hail, King Jesus! We gladly own your gentle authority! Rule in our hearts forever, you lovely Prince of Peace.

Morning, April 27, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“God, our God, blesses us.” — Psalm 67:6

It is strange how little use we make of the spiritual blessings which God gives us, but it is stranger still how little use we make of God himself. Though he is “our own God,” we offer ourselves only a little to him, and ask only a little of him. How seldom do we ask counsel at the hands of the Lord! How often do we go about our business, without seeking his guidance! In our troubles how constantly do we strive to bear our burdens ourselves, instead of casting them on the Lord, that he may sustain us! This is not because we may not, for the Lord seems to say, “I am yours, soul, come and make use of me as you will; you may freely come to my store, and the more often the more welcome.” It is our own fault if we do not freely join in the riches of our God. Then, since you have such a friend, and he invites you, draw from him daily. Never feel want while you have a God to go to; never fear or faint while you have God to help you; go to your treasure and take whatever you need—there is all that you can want. Learn the divine skill of making God all things to you. He can supply you with all, or, better still, he can instead be to you all. Let me urge you, then, to make use of your God. Make use of him in prayer. Go to him often, because he is your God. O, will you fail to use so great a privilege? Fly to him, tell him all your wants. Use him constantly by faith at all times. If some dark circumstance has beclouded you, use your God as a “sun;” if some strong enemy has beset you, find in Jehovah a “shield,” for he is a sun and shield to his people. If you have lost your way in the mazes of life, use him as a “guide,” for he will direct you. Whatever you are, and wherever you are, remember God is just what you wanted, and just where you wanted, and that he can do all you want.

Evening, April 26, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Blessed is the one who stays awake.” — Revelation 16:15

“We die daily,” said the apostle. This was the life of the early Christians; they went everywhere with their lives in their hands. We are not called to pass through the same fearful persecutions in this day; if we were, the Lord would give us grace to bear the test; but the tests of Christian life, at the present moment, though not so terrible outwardly, are yet more likely to overcome us than even those of that turbulent age. We must bear the sneer of the world—but that is little to bear; its flatteries, its soft words, its smooth speeches, its fawning, its hypocrisy, are far worse. Our danger is that we grow rich and become proud, that we give ourselves up to the fashions of this present evil world and lose our faith. Or if wealth is not the trial, worldly concerns are quite as mischievous. If we cannot be torn in pieces by the roaring lion, we may be hugged to death by the seemingly friendly bear; the devil cares little which it is, so long as he destroys our love to Christ, and our confidence in him. I fear that the Christian church is far more likely to lose her integrity in these soft and silken days than in those rougher times. We must be awake now, for we traverse the enchanted, seductive ground, and are most likely — to our own undoing — to fall asleep, unless our faith in Jesus is a reality, and our love to Jesus a fervent flame. Many in these days of easy profession are likely to prove to be tares, and not wheat; hypocrites with pleasing masks on their faces, but not the true-born children of the living God. Christian, do not think that these are times in which you can dispense with watchfulness or with holy ardor; you need these things more than ever, and may God the eternal Spirit display his omnipotence in you, that you may be able to say, in all these softer things, as well as in the rougher, “We are more than conquerors through him that loved us.”

Morning, April 26, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Do this in remembrance of me.” — 1 Corinthians 11:24

It seems then, that Christians may forget Christ! There could be no need for this loving exhortation, if there were not a fearful supposition that our memories might prove treacherous. Nor is this a empty supposition: it is, alas, too well confirmed in our experience, not as a possibility, but as a lamentable fact! It appears almost impossible that those who have been redeemed by the blood of the dying Lamb, and loved with an everlasting love by the eternal Son of God, should forget that gracious Savior; but, if startling to the ear, it is, alas, too apparent to the eye to allow us to deny the crime! Forget him who never forgot us? Forget him who poured his blood forth for our sins? Forget him who loved us even to the death? Can it be possible? Yes, it is not only possible, but conscience confesses that it is too sadly a fault with all of us, that we suffer him to be as a nomadic man tarrying only for a night. He, whom we should make the abiding tenant of our memories, is but a visitor therein. The cross where one would think that memory would linger, and inattention would be an unknown intruder, is desecrated by the feet of forgetfulness. Does not your conscience say that this is true? Do you not find yourselves forgetful of Jesus? Some beautiful creature steals away your heart, and you are unmindful of him upon whom your affection ought to be set. Some earthly business captures your attention when you should fix your eye steadily upon the cross. It is the incessant turmoil of the world, the constant attraction of earthly things which takes away the soul from Christ. While memory too well preserves a poisonous weed, it suffers the rose of Sharon to wither. Let us charge ourselves to bind a heavenly forget-me-not about our hearts for Jesus our Beloved, and, whatever else we let slip, let us hold fast to him.

Evening, April 25, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him.” — Revelation 3:20

What is your desire this evening? Is it set upon heavenly things? Do you long to enjoy the preeminent doctrine of eternal love? Do you desire liberty in exercising very close communion with God? Do you aspire to know the height, and depth, and length, and breadth of Christ’s love? Then you must draw near to Jesus; you must get a clear sight of him in his preciousness and completeness; you must view him in his work, in his offices, in his person. He who understands Christ, receives an anointing from the Holy One, by which he knows all things. Christ is the great master key of all the chambers of God; there is no treasure house of God which will not open and yield up all its wealth to the soul that lives near to Jesus. Are you saying, “O that he would dwell in my heart?” “I would that he would make my heart his dwelling place forever?” Open the door, beloved, and he will come into your souls. He has long been knocking, and all along with this intent, that he may dine with you, and you with him. He dines with you because you find his house or his heart, and you dine with him because he brings the provision. He could not dine with you if it were not in your heart, you finding the house; nor could you dine with him, for you have a bare cupboard, if he did not bring provision with him. Fling wide, then, the portals of your soul. He will come with that love which you long to feel; he will come with that joy into which you cannot work your poor depressed spirit; he will bring the peace which you now do not have; he will come with his flasks of wine and sweet apples of love, and cheer you till you have no other sickness but that of “love overpowering, love divine.” Only open the door to him, drive out his enemies, give him the keys of your heart, and he will dwell there forever. Oh, wondrous love, that brings such a guest to dwell in such a heart!

Morning, April 25, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come along.” — Song of Solomon 2:10

Lo, I hear the voice of my Beloved! He speaks to me! Fair weather is smiling upon the face of the earth, and he would not have me spiritually asleep while nature is awaking all around me from her winter’s rest. He bids me “Arise,” and well he may; for I have been lying long enough among the vessels of worldliness. He is risen, I am risen in him, why then should I cleave to the dust? From lower loves, desires, pursuits, and aspirations, I would rise towards him. He calls me by the sweet title of “My darling,” and counts me fair; this is a good argument for my rising. If he has therefore exalted me, and thinks me so comely, how can I linger in the tents of Kedar and find congenial associates among the sons of men? He bids me “Come away.” Further and further from everything selfish, groveling, worldly, sinful, he calls me; yes, from the outwardly religious world which does not know him, and has no sympathy with the mystery of the higher life, he calls me. “Come away” has no harsh sound in it to my ear, for what is there to hold me in this wilderness of vanity and sin? O my Lord, I would that I could come away, but I am taken among the thorns, and cannot escape from them as I want. I would, if it were possible, have neither eyes, nor ears, nor heart for sin. You call me to yourself by saying “Come away,” and this is a melodious call indeed. To come to you is to come home from exile, to come to land out of the raging storm, to come to rest after long labor, to come to the goal of my desires and the summit of my wishes. But Lord, how can a stone rise, how can a lump of clay come away from the horrible pit? O raise me, draw me. Your grace can do it. Send forth your Holy Spirit to kindle sacred flames of love in my heart, and I will continue to rise until I leave life and time behind me, and indeed come away.

Evening, April 24, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“The flowers have already appeared in the land; the time has arrived for pruning the vines, and the voice of the turtledove has been heard in our land.”— Song of Solomon 2:12

Sweet is the season of spring: the long and dreary winter helps us to appreciate its genial warmth, and its promise of summer enhances its present delights. After periods of depression of spirit, it is delightful to behold again the light of the Sun of Righteousness; then our slumbering graces rise from their lethargy, like the crocus and the daffodil from their beds of earth; then is our heart made merry with delightful notes of gratitude, far more melodious than the warbling of birds—and the comforting assurance of peace, infinitely more delightful than the turtledove’s note, is heard within the soul. Now is the time for the soul to seek communion with her Beloved; now must she rise from her native sordidness and come away from her old associations. If we do not hoist the sail when the breeze is favorable, we shall be worthy of blame; times of refreshing ought not to pass over us leaving us unchanged. When Jesus himself visits us in tenderness, and implores us to arise, can we be so dishonorable as to refuse his request? He has himself risen that he may draw us after him: he now by his Holy Spirit has revived us, that we may, in newness of life, ascend into the heavenlies, and hold communion with himself. Let our wintry state suffice us for coldness and indifference; when the Lord creates a spring within, let our sap flow with vigor, and our branch blossom with high resolve. O Lord, if it is not springtime in my chilly heart, I pray you make it so, for I am completely weary of living at a distance from you. Oh! The long and dreary winter, when will you bring it to an end? Come, Holy Spirit, and renew my soul! Enliven me! Restore me, and have mercy on me! This very night I would earnestly implore the Lord to take pity upon his servant, and send me a happy revival of spiritual life!

Morning, April 24, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Now because of all this we are making an agreement [covenant, KJV] in writing.” — Nehemiah 9:38

There are many occasions in our experience when we may very correctly, and with benefit, renew our covenant with God. After recovery from sickness when, like Hezekiah, we have had a new term of years added to our life, we may rightly do it. After any deliverance from trouble, when our joy breaks forth anew, let us again visit the foot of the cross, and renew our dedication. Especially, let us do this after any sin which has grieved the Holy Spirit, or brought dishonor upon the cause of God; let us then look to that blood which can make us whiter than snow, and again offer ourselves to the Lord. We should not only let our troubles confirm our dedication to God, but our prosperity should do the same. If we ever meet with occasions in which God has “crowned us with loving kindness and compassion,” then, surely, if he has crowned us, we ought also to crown our God; let us bring forth anew all the jewels of the divine regalia which have been stored in the jewel-closet of our heart, and let our God sit upon the throne of our love, arrayed in royal apparel.

If we would learn to profit by our prosperity, we should not need so much adversity. If we would gather from a kiss all the good it might confer upon us, we should not so often suffer under the rod. Have we lately received some unexpected blessing? Has the Lord set us in a place of comfort? Can we sing of multiplied mercies? Then this is the day to put our hand upon the horns of the altar, and say, “Bind me here, my God; bind me here with cords, even forever.” Since we need the fulfilment of new promises from God, let us offer renewed prayers that our old vows may not be dishonored. Let us this morning make with him a unquestionable covenant, because of the sufferings of Jesus which for the last month we have been considering with gratitude.

Evening, April 23, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“I saw … a Lamb standing, as if slain.” — Revelation 5:6

Why should our exalted Lord appear with his wounds in glory? The wounds of Jesus are his glories, his jewels, his sacred ornaments. To the eye of the believer, Jesus is beyond fair because he is “white and ruddy:” white with innocence, and ruddy with his own blood. We see him as the lily of matchless purity, and as the rose made crimson with his own gore. Christ is lovely upon Olivet and Tabor, and by the sea, but oh! There never was such a matchless Christ as he that did hang upon the cross. There we beheld all his beauties in perfection, all his attributes developed, all his love drawn out, all his character expressed. Beloved, the wounds of Jesus are far more fair in our eyes than all the splendor and pomp of kings. The thorny crown is more splendid than an imperial diadem. It is true that now he no longer bears the scepter of reed, but there was a glory in it that never flashed from scepter of gold. Jesus wears the appearance of a slain Lamb as his court dress in which he courted our souls, and redeemed them by his complete atonement. Nor are these only the ornaments of Christ: they are the trophies of his love and of his victory. He has divided the spoil with the strong. He has redeemed for himself a great multitude whom no man can number, and these scars are the memorials of the fight. Ah! If Christ thus loves to retain the thought of his sufferings for his people, how precious should his wounds be to us!

“Behold how every wound of his

A precious balm distils,

Which heals the scars that sin had made,

And cures all mortal ills.

“Those wounds are mouths that preach his grace;

The ensigns of his love;

The seals of our expected bliss

In paradise above.”

Morning, April 23, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who loved us.” — Romans 8:37

We go to Christ for forgiveness, and then too often look to the law for power to fight our sins. Paul therefore rebukes us, “You foolish Galatians, who has bewitched you? This is the only thing I want to find out from you: did you receive the Spirit by the works of the Law, or by hearing with faith? Are you so foolish? Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh?” Take your sins to Christ’s cross, for your old self can only be crucified there; we are crucified with him. The only weapon to fight sin with is the spear which pierced the side of Jesus. To give an illustration—you want to overcome an angry temper; how do you go to work on it? It is very possible you have never tried the right way of going to Jesus with it. How did I get salvation? I came to Jesus just as I was, and I trusted him to save me. I must kill my angry temper in the same way. It is the only way in which I can ever kill it. I must go to the cross with it, and say to Jesus, “Lord, I trust you to deliver me from it.” This is the only way to give it a deathblow. Are you covetous? Do you feel the world entangle you? You may struggle against this evil as long as you please, but if it is your besetting sin, you will never be delivered from it in any way but by the blood of Jesus. Take it to Christ. Tell him, “Lord, I have trusted you, and your name is Jesus, for you save your people from their sins: Lord, this is one of my sins; save me from it!” Regulations are nothing without Christ as a means of killing sin. Your prayers, and your repentances, and your tears—the whole of them put together—are worth nothing apart from him. “None but Jesus can do helpless sinners good;” or helpless saints either. You must be conquerors through him who has loved you, if conquerors at all. Our laurel trees must grow among his olives in Gethsemane.

Evening, April 22, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“You will not be afraid of the terror by night.” — Psalm 91:5

What is this terror? It may be the cry of “fire!” or the noise of thieves, or imaginary appearances, or the shriek of sudden sickness or death. We live in a world of death and sorrow; we may therefore look for troubles as often at night as beneath the glare of the sweltering sun. Nor should this alarm us, for whatever the terror may be, the promise is that the believer shall not be afraid. Why should he? Let us put it more personal, why should we? God our Father is here and will be here all through the lonely hours; he is an almighty Watcher, a sleepless Guardian, a faithful Friend. Nothing can happen without his direction, for even hell itself is under his control. Darkness is not dark to him. He has promised to be a wall of fire around his people—and who can break through such a barrier? Unbelievers may well be afraid, for they have an angry God above them, a guilty conscience within them, and a yawning hell beneath them; but we who rest in Jesus are saved from all these through rich mercy. If we give way to foolish fear we shall dishonor our profession, and lead others to doubt the reality of godliness. We ought to be afraid of being afraid, lest we should vex the Holy Spirit by foolish distrust. Down, then, you dismal premonitions and groundless anxieties, God has not forgotten to be gracious, nor shut up his tender mercies; it may be night in the soul, but there is no need of terror, for the God of love does not change. Children of light may have to walk in darkness, but they are not abandoned there; no, they are now enabled to prove their adoption by trusting in their heavenly Father as hypocrites cannot do.

“Though the night be dark and dreary,

Darkness cannot hide from thee;

Thou art he, who, never weary,

Watchest where thy people be.”

Morning, April 22, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“He is the one whom God exalted to His right hand as a Prince and a Savior.” — Acts 5:31

Jesus, our Lord, once crucified, dead and buried, now sits upon the throne of glory. The highest place that heaven affords is his by undisputed right. It is gratifying to remember that the exaltation of Christ in heaven is a representative exaltation. He is exalted at the Father’s right hand, and though as Jehovah he had distinguished glories, in which finite creatures cannot share, yet as the Mediator, the honors which Jesus wears in heaven are the heritage of all the saints. It is wonderful to reflect how close is Christ’s union with his people. We are actually one with him; we are members of his body; and his exaltation is our exaltation. He will have us to sit upon his throne, even as he has overcome, and is set down with his Father on his throne; he has a crown, and he gives us crowns too; he has a throne, but he is not content with having a throne to himself, on his right hand there must be his queen, arrayed in “gold of Ophir.” He cannot be glorified without his bride. Look up, believer, to Jesus now; let the eye of your faith behold him with many crowns upon his head; and remember that you will one day be like him, when you shall see him as he is; you shall not be so great as he is, you shall not be so divine, but still you shall, in a measure, share the same honors, and enjoy the same happiness and the same dignity which he possesses. Be content to live unknown for a little while, and to walk your weary way through the fields of poverty, or up the hills of affliction; for by and by you shall reign with Christ, for he has “made us a kingdom of priests to God, and we shall reign forever and ever.” Oh, such a wonderful thought for the children of God! We have Christ for our glorious representative in heaven’s courts now, and soon he will come and receive us to himself, to be with him there, to behold his glory, and to share his joy.

Evening, April 21, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Who is at the right hand of God.” — Romans 8:34

He who was once despised and rejected of men, now occupies the honorable position of a beloved and honored Son. The right hand of God is the place of majesty and favor. Our Lord Jesus is his people’s representative. When he died for them, they had rest; he rose again for them, they had liberty; when he sat down at his Father’s right hand, they had favor, and honor, and dignity. The raising and elevation of Christ is the elevation, the acceptance, enshrinement, and the glorifying of all his people, for he is their head and representative. This position sitting at the right hand of God, then, is to be viewed as the acceptance of the person of the Guarantee, the reception of the Representative, and therefore, the acceptance of our souls. O saint, see in this your sure freedom from condemnation. “Who is he that condemns?” Who shall condemn the men who are in Jesus at the right hand of God?

The right hand is the place of power. Christ at the right hand of God has all power in heaven and in earth. Who shall fight against the people who have such power vested in their Captain? O my soul, what can destroy you if Omnipotence is your helper? If the aegis of the Almighty covers you, what sword can strike you? Rest secure. If Jesus is your all-prevailing King, and has crushed your enemies beneath his feet; if sin, death, and hell are all vanquished by him, and you are represented in him, by no possibility can you be destroyed.

“Jesu’s tremendous name

Puts all our foes to flight:

Jesus, the meek, the angry Lamb,

A Lion is in fight.

“By all hell’s host withstood;

We all hell’s host o’erthrow;

And conquering them, through Jesu’s blood

We still to conquer go.”

Morning, April 21, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“I know that my Redeemer lives.” — Job 19:25

The center of Job’s comfort lies in that little word “My”—”My Redeemer,” and in the fact that the Redeemer lives. Oh, to get hold of a living Christ! We must get an investment in him before we can enjoy him. What is gold in the mine to me? Men were beggars in Peru and begged their bread in California. It is gold in my pocket which will satisfy my necessities, by purchasing the bread I need. So a Redeemer who does not redeem me, an avenger who will never stand up for my blood, of what do those avail me? Do not contently rest until by faith you can say “Yes, I cast myself upon my living Lord; and he is mine.” It may be that you hold him with a frail hand; you halfway think it presumption to say, “He lives as my Redeemer;” yet, remember if you have but faith as a grain of mustard seed, that little faith entitles you to say it. But there is also another word here, expressive of Job’s strong confidence, “I know.” To say, “I hope so, I trust so” is comfortable; and there are thousands in the fold of Jesus who hardly ever get much further. But to reach the essence of comfort you must say, “I know.” “Ifs,” “maybes,” and “buts” are sure murderers of peace and comfort. Doubts are dreary things in times of sorrow. Like wasps they sting the soul! If I have any suspicion that Christ is not mine, then there is vinegar mingled with the gall of death; but if I know that Jesus lives for me, then darkness is not dark: even the night is light all about me. Surely if Job, in those ages before the coming and advent of Christ, could say, “I know,” we should not speak any less positively. God forbid, however, that our positiveness should be based on presumption. Let us see that we have the correct evidence, lest we build upon an ungrounded hope; and then let us not be satisfied with the mere foundation, for it is from the higher rooms that we get the widest view. A living Redeemer, truly mine, is joy unspeakable.

Evening, April 20, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Fight the Lord’s battles.” — 1 Samuel 18:17

The ordained host of God’s elect is still warring on earth, Jesus Christ being the Captain of their salvation. He has said, “Lo! I am with you always, even to the end of the world.” Hark to the shouts of war! Now let the people of God stand fast in their ranks, and let no man’s heart fail him. It is true that just now in the West the battle is turned against us, and unless the Lord Jesus shall lift his sword, we do not know what may become of the church of God in our lands; but let us be of good courage, and play the man. There never was a day when Christianity seemed to tremble more in the scales than now that a fierce effort is making to restore the Christ-less religions to their ancient seats. We greatly need a bold voice and a strong hand to preach and publish the tried and true gospel for which martyrs bled and believers died. The Savior is, by his Spirit, still on earth; let this cheer us. He is ever in the midst of the fight, and therefore the battle is not in doubt. And as the conflict rages, what a sweet satisfaction it is to know that the Lord Jesus, in his office as our great Intercessor, is powerfully entreating for his people! O anxious onlooker, look not so much at the battle below, for there you shall be enshrouded in smoke, and stunned by garments rolled in blood; but lift your eyes to the heavens where the Savior lives and pleads, for while he intercedes, the cause of God is safe. Let us fight as if it all depended upon us, but let us look up and know that all depends upon him.

Now, by the lilies of Christian purity, and by the roses of the Savior’s atonement, by the bucks and by the does of the field, we charge you who are lovers of Jesus, to do valiantly in the Holy War, for truth and righteousness, for the kingdom and crown jewels of your Master. Onward! “For the battle is not yours but God’s.”

Morning, April 20, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“That through death He might render powerless him who had the power of death.” — Hebrews 2:14

O child of God, death has lost its sting, because the devil’s power over it is destroyed. Therefore, cease to fear dying. Ask grace from God the Holy Spirit, that by an intimate knowledge and a firm belief of your Redeemer’s death, you may be strengthened for that dread hour. Living near the cross of Calvary you can think of death with pleasure, and welcome it when it comes with intense delight. It is sweet to die in the Lord: it is a covenant blessing to sleep in Jesus. Death is no longer banishment, it is a return from exile, a going home to the many mansions where the loved ones already dwell. The distance between glorified spirits in heaven and militant saints on earth seems great; but it is not so. We are not far from home—a moment will bring us there. The sail is spread; the soul is launched upon the deep. How long will its voyage be? How many wearying winds must beat upon the sail before it shall be lowered in the port of peace? How long shall that soul be tossed upon the waves before it comes to that sea which knows no storm? Listen to the answer: “Absent from the body, present with the Lord.” That ship has just departed, but it is already at its haven. It did only spread its sail and it was there. Like that ship of old, upon the Lake of Galilee:  a storm had tossed it, but Jesus said, “Peace, be still,” and immediately it came to land. Do not think that a long period intervenes between the instant of death and the eternity of glory. When the eyes close on earth they open in heaven. The horses of fire are only an instant on the road. Then, O child of God, what is there for you to fear in death, seeing that through the death of your Lord its curse and sting are destroyed? And now death is but a Jacob’s ladder whose foot is in the dark grave, but its top reaches to glory everlasting.

Evening, April 19, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“The Amen.” — Revelation 3:14

The word Amen solemnly confirms that which preceded before; and Jesus is the great Confirmer; unchangeable, forever is “the Amen” in all his promises. Sinner, I would comfort you with this reflection. Jesus Christ said, “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” If you come to him, he will say “Amen” in your soul; his promise shall be true to you. He said in the days of his flesh, “The bruised reed I will not break.” O you poor, broken, bruised heart, if you come to him, he will say “Amen” to you, and that shall be true in your soul as it has been in hundreds of cases in previous years. Christian, is not this very comforting to you also, that there is not a single word which has gone out of the Savior’s lips which he has ever retracted? The words of Jesus shall stand when heaven and earth shall pass away. If you get ahold of even half a promise, you shall find it true. Beware of him who John Bunyan called “Clip-promise,” who will destroy much of the comfort of God’s word.

Jesus is Yes and Amen in all his offices. He was a Priest to pardon and cleanse once, he is Amen as Priest still. He was a King to rule and reign for his people, and to defend them with his mighty arm, he is an Amen King, the same still. He was a Prophet of old, to foretell good things to come; his lips are most sweet, and drop with honey still—he is an Amen Prophet. He is Amen as to the merit of his blood; he is Amen as to his righteousness. That sacred robe shall remain most fair and glorious when nature shall decay. He is Amen in every single title which he bears; your Husband, never seeking a divorce; your Friend, sticking closer than a brother; your Shepherd, with you in death’s dark valley; your Help and your Deliverer; your Castle and your High Tower; the Horn of your strength, your confidence, your joy, your all in all, and your Yes and Amen in all.

Morning, April 19, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.” — Matthew 27:51

No minor miracle was performed in the rending of so strong and thick a veil; but it was not intended merely as a display of power—many lessons were taught us here. The old law of ordinances was put away, and like a worn-out garment, ripped apart and laid aside. When Jesus died, the sacrifices were all finished, because all fulfilled in him, and therefore the place of their presentation was marked with an evident token of decay. That tear also revealed all the hidden things of the old dispensation: the mercy seat could now be seen, and the glory of God gleamed forth above it. By the death of our Lord Jesus we have a clear revelation of God, for he was “not as Moses, who put a veil over his face.” Life and immortality are now brought to light, and things which have been hidden since the foundation of the world are made apparent in him. The annual ceremony of atonement was thus abolished. The atoning blood which was once every year sprinkled within the veil, was now offered once for all by the great High Priest, and therefore the place of the symbolical rite was broken up. No blood of bulls or of lambs is needed now, for Jesus has entered within the veil with his own blood. From now access to God is now permitted, and is the privilege of every believer in Christ Jesus. There is no small space laid open through which we may peer at the mercy seat, but the tear reaches from the top to the bottom. We may come with boldness to the throne of the heavenly grace. Shall we err if we say that the opening of the Holy of Holies in this marvelous manner by our Lord’s expiring cry was the type of the opening of the gates of paradise to all the believers by virtue of the Passion? Our bleeding Lord has the key of heaven; he opens and no man shuts; let us enter in with him into the heavenly places, and sit with him there till our common enemies shall be made his footstool.

Evening, April 18, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“For You said, ‘I will surely prosper you.’” — Genesis 32:12

When Jacob was on the other side of the brook Jabbok, and Esau was coming with armed men, he earnestly sought God’s protection, and as a chief reason he appealed, “For You said, ‘I will surely prosper you.”” Oh, the force of that plea! He was holding God to his word—”You said.” The attribute of God’s faithfulness is a splendid horn of the altar to lay hold upon; but the promise, which has in it the attribute and something more, is a yet mightier anchor—”For You said, ‘I will surely prosper you.”” And has he said anything, and he shall not do it? “Let God be true, and every man a liar.” Shall not he be true? Shall he not keep his word? Shall not every word that comes out of his lips stand fast and be fulfilled? Solomon, at the opening of the temple, used this same mighty plea. He pleaded with God to remember the word which he had spoken to his father David, and to bless that place. When a man gives a promissory note, his honor is engaged; he gives his signature, and he must discharge it when the due time comes, or else he loses credit. It shall never be said that God dishonors his bills. The credit of the Most High never was impugned, and never shall be. He is punctual to the moment: he never is before his time, but he never is behind it. Search God’s word throughout, and compare it with the experience of God’s people, and you shall find the two match from the first to the last. Many an ancient patriarch has said with Joshua, “Not one word has failed of all the good things that the Lord your God promised concerning you. All have come to pass for you; not one of them has failed.” If you have a divine promise, you need not beg its fulfillment with an “if,” you may push for it with certainty. The Lord meant to fulfil the promise, or he would not have given it. God does not give his words merely to quiet us, and to keep us hopeful for a while with the intention of putting us off at last; but when he speaks, it is because he means to do as he has said.

Morning, April 18, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“She tied the scarlet cord in the window.” — Joshua 2:21

Rahab depended for her preservation upon the promise of the spies, whom she looked upon as the representatives of the God of Israel. Her faith was simple and firm, but it was very obedient. To tie the scarlet line in the window was a very trivial act in itself, but she dared not run the risk of omitting it. Come, my soul, is there not here a lesson for you? Have you been attentive to all your Lord’s will, even though some of his commands should seem nonessential? Have you observed in his own way the two ordinances of believers’ baptism and the Lord’s Supper? These neglected, argue much unloving disobedience in your heart. Be from now on, in all things blameless, even to the tying of a thread, if that is the matter of command.

This act of Rahab sets forth a yet more solemn lesson. Have I implicitly trusted in the precious blood of Jesus? Have I tied the scarlet cord, as with a Gordian knot in my window, so that my trust can never be removed? Or can I look out towards the Dead Sea of my sins, or the Jerusalem of my hopes, without seeing the blood, and seeing all things in connection with its blessed power? The passerby can see a cord of so conspicuous a color, if it hangs from the window: it will be well for me if my life makes the effectiveness of the atonement obvious to all onlookers. What is there to be ashamed of? Let men or demons gaze if they will, the blood is my boast and my song. My soul, there is One who will see that scarlet line, even when from weakness of faith you cannot see it yourself; Jehovah, the Avenger, will see it and pass over you. Jericho’s walls fell flat: Rahab’s house was on the wall, and yet it stood unmoved; my nature is built into the wall of humanity, and yet when destruction smites the race, I shall be secure. My soul, tie the scarlet thread in the window afresh, and rest in peace.

Evening, April 17, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“We wish to see Jesus.” — John 12:21

Without relenting, the worldly one’s cry is, “Who will show us any good?” He seeks satisfaction in earthly comforts, enjoyments, and riches. But the enlivened sinner knows of only one good petition: “O that I knew where I might find Him!” When he is truly awakened to feel his guilt, even if you could pour the gold of India at his feet, he would say, “Take it away: I want to find Him.” It is a blessed thing for a man to bring his desires into a focus, so that they all center in one object. When he has fifty different desires, his heart resembles a mire of stagnant water, spread out into a marsh, breeding fog and pestilence; but when all his desires are brought into one channel, his heart becomes like a river of pure water, running swiftly to fertilize the fields. Happy is the person who has one desire, if that one desire is set on Christ, even though it may not yet have been realized. If Jesus is a soul’s desire, it is a blessed sign of divine work within. Such a man will never be content with mere regulations. He will say, “I want Christ; I must have him—mere regulations are of no use to me—I want only him; do not offer me these regulations; you offer me the empty pitcher, while I am dying of thirst; give me water, or I die. Jesus is my soul’s desire. I would see Jesus!”

Is this your condition, my reader, at this moment? Have you but one desire, and is that for Christ? Then you are not far from the kingdom of heaven. Have you only one wish in your heart, and that one wish that you may be washed from all your sins in Jesus’ blood? Can you really say, “I would give all I have to be a Christian; I would give up everything I have and hope for, if I might only feel that I have an investment in Christ?” Then, despite all your fears, be of good cheer, the Lord loves you, and you shall come out into daylight soon, and rejoice in the liberty by which Christ makes men free.

Morning, April 17, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“You have come to the sprinkled blood, which speaks better than the blood of Abel.” — Hebrews 12:24

Reader, have you come to the sprinkled blood? The question is not whether you have come to a knowledge of doctrine, or an observance of ceremonies, or to a certain form of experience, but have you come to the blood of Jesus? The blood of Jesus is the life of all essential godliness. If you have truly come to Jesus, we know how you came—the Holy Spirit kindly brought you there. You came to the sprinkled blood with no merits of your own. Guilty, lost, and helpless, you came to take that blood, and that blood alone, as your everlasting hope. You came to the cross of Christ, with a trembling and an aching heart; and oh, what a precious sound it was to you to hear the voice of the blood of Jesus! The dropping of his blood is as the music of heaven to the repentant sons of earth. We are full of sin, but the Savior calls us to lift our eyes to him, and as we gaze upon his streaming wounds, each drop of blood, as it falls, cries, “It is finished; I have made an end of sin; I have brought in everlasting righteousness.” Oh, the beautiful language of the precious blood of Jesus! If you have come to that blood once, you will come to it constantly. Your life will be “fixing your eyes on Jesus.” Your whole conduct will be epitomized in this—”To whom you are coming” —not to whom I have come, but to whom I am always coming. If you have ever come to the blood of sprinkling, you will feel your need for coming to it every day. He who does not desire to wash in it every day, has never washed in it at all. The believer forever feels it to be his joy and privilege that there is still a fountain opened. Past experiences are a questionable food for Christians; a daily coming to Christ alone can give us joy and comfort. This morning let us sprinkle our doorpost fresh with blood, and then feast upon the Lamb, assured that the destroying angel must pass us by.

Evening, April 16, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Thus his hands were steady until the sun set.” — Exodus 17:12

All depended upon the mighty prayer of Moses. The petitions of Moses distressed the enemy more than the fighting of Joshua. Yet both were needed. So, in our soul’s conflict, force and fervor, decision and devotion, valor and vehemence, must join their forces, and all will be well. You must wrestle with your sin, but the major part of the wrestling must be done alone in private with God. Our prayer, like Moses’, holds up the token of the covenant before the Lord. The rod was the symbol of God’s working with Moses, the symbol of God’s government in Israel. Learn, O petitioning saint, to hold up the promise and the oath of God before him. The Lord cannot deny his own declarations. Hold up the rod of promise, and have what you ask.

Moses grew weary, and then his friends assisted him. When at any time your prayer tires, let faith support one hand, and let holy hope uplift the other, and prayer seating itself upon the stone of Israel, the rock of our salvation, will persevere and prevail. Beware of weakness in devotion; if Moses felt it, who can escape? It is far easier to fight with sin in public, than to pray against it in private. It is remarked that Joshua never grew weary in the fighting, but Moses did grow weary in the praying; the more spiritual an exercise, the more difficult it is for flesh and blood to maintain it. Let us cry, then, for special strength, and may the Spirit of God, who helps our weaknesses, as he allowed help to Moses, enable us like him to continue with our hands steady “until the sun sets;” till the evening of life is over; till we shall come to the rising of a better sun in the land where prayer is swallowed up in praise.

Morning, April 16, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Precious blood, as of a lamb unblemished and spotless, the blood of Christ.” — 1 Peter 1:19

Standing at the foot of the cross, we see hands, and feet, and side, all exuding crimson streams of Jesus’ precious blood. It is “precious” because of its redeeming and atoning effectiveness. By it the sins of Christ’s people are atoned for; they are redeemed from under the law; they are reconciled to God, made one with him. Christ’s blood is also “precious” in its cleansing power; it “cleanses from all sin.” “Though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.” Through Jesus’ blood there is not a spot left upon any believer, no wrinkle nor any such remaining thing. O that precious blood has made us clean, removing the stains of abundant iniquity, and permitting us to stand accepted in the Beloved, despite the many ways in which we have rebelled against our God. The blood of Christ is likewise “precious” in its preserving power. We are safe from the destroying angel under the sprinkled blood. Remember it is God’s seeing the blood which is the true reason for our being spared. Here is comfort for us when the eye of faith is dim, for God’s eye is still the same. The blood of Christ is “precious” also in its sanctifying influence. The same blood which justifies by taking away sin, does in its continuing action enliven the new nature and lead it onward to subdue sin and to follow out the commands of God. There is no motive for holiness so great as that which streams from the veins of Jesus. And “precious,” unspeakably precious, is this blood, because it has an overcoming power. It is written, “They overcame through the blood of the Lamb.” How could they do otherwise? He who fights with the precious blood of Jesus, fights with a weapon which cannot know defeat. The blood of Jesus! Sin dies at its presence, death ceases to be death: heaven’s gates are opened. The blood of Jesus! We shall march on, conquering and to conquer, so long as we can trust its power!

Evening, April 15, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Carry them forever.” — Psalm 28:9

God’s people need to be carried (lifted up, KJV). They are weighed down by nature. They have no wings, or, if they have, they are like doves which hide among the pots; they need divine grace to make them mount on wings covered with silver, and with feathers of yellow gold. By nature, sparks fly upward, but the sinful souls of men fall downward. O Lord, “lift them up forever!” David himself said, “To you, O God, do I lift up my soul,” and he here feels the necessity that other men’s souls should be lifted up as well as his own. When you ask this blessing for yourself, do not forget to seek it for others also. There are three ways in which God’s people require to be lifted up. They require to be promoted in character. Lift them up, O Lord; do not suffer your people to be like the world’s people! The world lies in the power of the wicked one; lift them out of it! The world’s people are looking after silver and gold, seeking their own pleasures, and the gratification of their desires; but, Lord, lift your people up above all this; keep them from being “muck-rakers,” as John Bunyan calls the man who was always scraping after gold! Set their hearts upon their risen Lord and the heavenly heritage! Moreover, believers need to be prospered in conflict. In the battle, if they seem to fall, O Lord, be pleased to give them the victory. If the foot of the adversary is upon their necks for a moment, help them to grasp the sword of the Spirit, and eventually win the battle. Lord, lift up your children’s spirits in the day of conflict; do not let them sit in the dust, mourning forever. Do not allow the adversary to sorely vex them, and worry them; but if they have been, like Hannah, persecuted, let them sing of the mercy of a delivering God.

We may also ask our Lord to lift them up at their last day! Lift them up by taking them home, lift their bodies from the tomb, and raise their souls to your eternal kingdom in glory.

Morning, April 15, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” — Psalm 22:1

We behold here the Savior in the depth of his sorrows. No other place shows so well the sorrows of Christ as Calvary, and no other moment at Calvary is so full of agony as that in which his cry rends the air—”My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” At this moment physical weakness was united with acute mental torture from the shame and humiliation through which he had to pass; and to make his grief culminate with emphasis, he suffered spiritual agony surpassing all expression, resulting from the departure of his Father’s presence. This was the black midnight of his horror; it was then that he descended into the abyss of suffering. No man can enter into the full meaning of these words. Some of us think at times that we could cry, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” There are seasons when the brightness of our Father’s smile is eclipsed by clouds and darkness; but let us remember that God never does really forsake us. It only seem like He is forsaking us, but in Christ’s case it was a real forsaking. We grieve at a little withdrawal of our Father’s love; but the real turning away of God’s face from his Son, who shall calculate how deep the agony which it caused him?

In our case, our cry is often dictated by unbelief: in his case, it was the utterance of a dreadful fact, for God had really turned away from him for a season. O you poor, distressed soul, who once lived in the sunshine of God’s face, but are now in darkness, remember that he has not really forsaken you. God in the clouds is as much our God as when he shines forth in all the luster of his grace; but since even the thought that he has forsaken us gives us agony, what must the anguish of the Savior have been when he exclaimed, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”

Evening, April 14, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Say to the righteous that it will go well with them.” — Isaiah 3:10

It will go well with the righteous always. If it had said, “Say to the righteous, that it is well with him in his prosperity,” we must have been thankful for so great a favor, for prosperity is an hour of peril, and it is a gift from heaven to be secured from its snares: or if it had been written, “It is well with him when under persecution,” we must have been thankful for so sustaining an assurance, for persecution is hard to bear; but when no time is mentioned, all time is included. God’s “wills” must be understood always in their largest sense. From the beginning of the year to the end of the year, from the first gathering of evening shadows until the daystar shines, in all conditions and under all circumstances, it will go well with the righteous. It is so well with him that we could not imagine it to be better, for he is well fed, he feeds upon the flesh and blood of Jesus; he is well clothed, he wears the imputed righteousness of Christ; he is well housed, he dwells in God; he is well married, his soul is knit in bonds of marriage union to Christ; he is well provided for, for the Lord is his Shepherd; he is well bequeathed, for heaven is his inheritance. It is well with the righteous—well established upon divine authority; the mouth of God speaks the comforting assurance. O beloved, if God declares that all is well, ten thousand devils may declare it to be ill, but we laugh them all to scorn. Blessed be God for a faith which enables us to believe God when the creatures contradict him. It is, says the Word, at all times well with you, you righteous one; then, beloved, if you can not see it, let God’s word stand you instead of sight; yes, believe it on divine authority more confidently than if your eyes and your feelings told it to you. Whom God blesses is blessed indeed, and what his lips declares as truth is most sure and steadfast.

Morning, April 14, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“All who see me sneer at me; they separate with the lip [make faces], they wag the head.” — Psalm 22:7

Mockery was a significant ingredient in our Lord’s woe. Judas mocked him in the garden; the chief priests and scribes laughed him to scorn; Herod considered him to be nothing; the servants and the soldiers jeered at him, and brutally insulted him; Pilate and his guards ridiculed his royalty; and on the tree all sorts of horrid jests and hideous taunts were hurled at him. Ridicule is always hard to bear, but when we are in intense pain it is so heartless, so cruel, that it cuts us to the quick. Imagine the Savior crucified, racked with anguish far beyond all mortal estimate, and then picture that motley crowd, all wagging their heads or thrusting out the lip in bitterest contempt of one poor suffering victim! Certainly there must have been something more in the crucified One than they could perceive, or else such a great and mingled crowd would not unanimously have honored him with such contempt. Was it perhaps evil confessing, in the very moment of its greatest apparent triumph, that even after all, it could do no more than mock at that victorious goodness which was then reigning on the cross? O Jesus, “despised and rejected of men,” how could you die for men who treated you so harshly? In this is love amazing, love divine, yes, love beyond degree. We, too, have despised you in the days before our rebirth, and even since our new birth we have set the world on high in our hearts, and yet you bleed to heal our wounds, and die to give us life. O that we could set you on a glorious high throne in all men’s hearts! We would ring out your praises over land and sea till men should as universally adore as once they did unanimously reject.

“Thy creatures wrong thee, O thou sovereign Good!

Thou art not loved, because not understood:

This grieves me most, that vain pursuits beguile

Ungrateful men, regardless of thy smile.”

Evening, April 13, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“He shall lay his hand on the head of the burnt offering, that it may be accepted for him to make atonement on his behalf.” — Leviticus 1:4

The act of the Lord “being made sin for us” is set forth here by the very significant transfer of sin to the bull, which was made by the elders of the people. The laying of the hand was not a mere touch of contact, for in some other places of Scripture the original word has the meaning of leaning heavily, as in the expression, “Your wrath has rested upon me, and You have afflicted me with all Your waves” (Psalm 88:7). Surely this is the very essence and nature of faith, which does not only bring us into contact with the great Substitute, but teaches us to lean upon him with all the burden of our guilt. Jehovah made all the offenses of his covenant people to rest upon the head of the Substitute, but each one of the chosen is brought personally to ratify this solemn covenant act, when by grace he is enabled by faith to lay his hand upon the head of the “Lamb slain from before the foundation of the world.” Believer, do you remember that joyous day when you first realized pardon through Jesus the sin-bearer? Can you not make a glad confession, and join with the writer in saying, “My soul recalls her day of deliverance with delight. Laden with guilt and full of fears, I saw my Savior as my Substitute, and I laid my hand upon him; oh, how timidly at first! But courage grew and confidence was confirmed until I leaned my soul entirely upon him; and now it is my unceasing joy to know that my sins are no longer imputed to me, but laid on him, and like the debts of the wounded traveler, Jesus, like the good Samaritan, has said of all my future sinfulness, Set that to my account.'” Blessed discovery! Eternal comfort of a grateful heart!

“My numerous sins transferr’d to him,

Shall never more be found,

Lost in his blood’s atoning stream,

Where every crime is drown’d!”

Morning, April 13, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“My beloved is to me a pouch of myrrh.” — Song of Solomon 1:13

Myrrh may well be chosen as the symbol of Jesus on account of its preciousness, its perfume, its pleasantness, its healing, preserving, disinfecting qualities, and its connection with sacrifice. But why is he compared to “a pouch of myrrh?” First, for quantity. He is not a drop of it, he is a chest full. He is not a sprig or flower of it, but a whole bundle. There is enough in Christ for all my necessities; let me be quick to avail myself of him. Our well-beloved is compared to a “pouch” again, for variety: for there is in Christ not only the one required thing, but in “Him all the fullness of Deity dwells in bodily form;” everything necessary is in him. Take Jesus in his different qualities, and you will see a marvelous variety—Prophet, Priest, King, Husband, Friend, Shepherd. Consider him in his life, death, resurrection, ascension, second return; view him in his virtue, gentleness, courage, self-denial, love, faithfulness, truth, righteousness—everywhere he is a priceless bundle. He is a “pouch of myrrh” for preservation—not loose myrrh to be dropped on the floor or trodden on, but myrrh tied up, myrrh to be stored in a chest. We must value him as our best treasure; we must prize his words and his orders; and we must keep our thoughts of him and knowledge of him as under lock and key, lest the devil should steal anything from us. Moreover, Jesus is a “bundle of myrrh” for uniqueness; the symbol suggests the idea of distinguishing, discriminating grace. From before the foundation of the world, he was set apart for his people; and he gives forth his perfume only to those who understand how to enter into communion with him, to have close dealings with him. Oh! We are blessed people whom the Lord has admitted into his confidences, and for whom he sets himself apart. Oh!

Choice and happy who are therefore made to say, “My beloved is to me a pouch of myrrh.”

Evening, April 12, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“The king’s garden.” — Nehemiah 3:15

Mention of the king’s garden by Nehemiah brings to mind the paradise which the King of kings prepared for Adam. Sin has utterly ruined that fair abode of all delight and has driven forth the children of men to till the ground, which yields thorns and briers to them. My soul, remember the fall, for it was your fall. Weep much because the Lord of love was so shamefully ill-treated by the head of the human race, of which you are a member, equally as guilty as any. Behold how dragons and demons dwell on this fair earth, which once was a garden of delight.

See in the distance another King’s garden, which the King waters with his bloody sweat—Gethsemane, whose bitter herbs are far more sweeter to renewed souls than even Eden’s luscious fruits. There the mischief of the serpent in the first garden was undone: there the curse was lifted from earth, and borne by the woman’s promised seed. My soul, think much of the agony and the passion; resort to the garden of the olive-press, and view your great Redeemer rescuing you from your lost estate. This is the garden of gardens indeed, in where the soul may see the guilt of sin and the power of love, two sights which surpass all others.

Is there no other King’s garden? Yes, my heart, you are, or should be such. How do the flowers flourish? Do any choice fruits appear? Does the King walk within, and rest in the leafy shelters of my spirit? Let me see that the plants are trimmed and watered, and the mischievous foxes hunted out. Come, Lord, and let the heavenly wind blow at your coming, that the spices of your garden may flow abroad. Nor must I forget the King’s garden of the church. O Lord, send prosperity to it. Rebuild her walls, nourish her plants, ripen her fruits, and from the huge wilderness, reclaim the barren waste, and make of it “a King’s garden.”

Morning, April 12, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“My heart is like wax; it is melted within me.” — Psalm 22:14

Our holy Lord experienced a terrible sinking and melting of soul. “The spirit of a man can endure his sickness, but as for a broken spirit who can bear it?” Deep depression of spirit is the most grievous of all trials; everything else besides is as nothing. The suffering Savior might well cry to his God, “Be not far from me,” for above all other seasons a man needs his God when his heart is melted within him because of heaviness. Believer, come near the cross this morning, and humbly adore the King of glory as having once been brought far lower, in mental distress and inward anguish, than any one among us; and mark his fitness to become a faithful High Priest, who can be touched with sympathy for our infirmities.

Especially let those of us whose sadness springs directly from the withdrawal of a present sense of our Father’s love, enter into near and intimate communion with Jesus. Let us not give way to despair, since through this dark room the Master has passed before us. Our souls may sometimes long and faint, and thirst even to the point of anguish, to behold the light of the Lord’s countenance: at such times let us stay ourselves with the sweet fact of the sympathy of our great High Priest. Our drops of sorrow may well be forgotten in the ocean of his grief; but how high ought our love rise! Come in, O strong and deep love of Jesus, like the flooding sea in spring tides; cover all my abilities, drown all my sins, wash out all my cares, lift my earth-bound soul, and float it right up to my Lord’s feet. There let me lie, a poor broken shell, washed up by his love, having no virtue or value; and only venturing to whisper to him that if he will put his ear to me, he will hear within my heart faint echoes of the vast waves of his own love which have brought me where it is my delight to lie, even at his feet forever.

Evening, April 11, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Look upon my affliction and my trouble, and forgive all my sins.” — Psalm 25:18

It is good for us when prayers about our troubles are linked with appeals concerning our sins—when, being under God’s hand, we are not wholly taken up with our pain, but remember our offenses against God. It is good, also, to take both sorrow and sin to the same place. It was to God that David carried his sorrow: it was to God that David confessed his sin. Observe, that we must take our sorrows to God. Even your little sorrows you may unburden upon God, for he counts the hairs of your head; and your great sorrows you may commit to him, for he holds the ocean in the hollow of his hand. Go to him, whatever your present trouble may be, and you shall find him able and willing to relieve you. But we must take our sins to God too. We must carry them to the cross, that the blood may fall upon them, to purge away their guilt, and to destroy their defiling power.

The special lesson of the text is this; that we are to go to the Lord with sorrows and with sins in the right spirit. Note that all David asks concerning his sorrow is, “Look upon my affliction and my trouble;” but the next petition is vastly more express, definite, decided, plain—”Forgive all my sins.” Many sufferers would have put it, “Remove my affliction and my pain, and look at my sins.” But David does not say so; he cries, “Lord, as for my affliction and my pain, I will not dictate to your wisdom. Lord, look at them, I will leave them to you; I should be glad to have my pain removed, but do as you will; but as for my sins, Lord, I know what I want with them; I must have them forgiven; I cannot endure to lie under their curse for a moment.” A Christian counts sorrow lighter in the scale than sin; he can bear that his troubles should continue, but he cannot support the burden of his transgressions.

Morning, April 11, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint.” — Psalm 22:14

Did earth or heaven ever behold a sadder spectacle of distress? In soul and body, our Lord felt himself to be weak as water poured upon the ground. The dropping of the cross in its socket had shaken him with great violence, had strained all the ligaments, abused every nerve, and more or less dislocated all his bones. Burdened with his own weight, the eminent sufferer felt the strain increasing every moment of those six long hours. His sense of faintness and general weakness were overpowering; while to his own consciousness he became nothing but a mass of misery and swooning sickness. When Daniel saw the great vision, he thus describes his sensations, ” I had no strength left, my face turned deathly pale and I was helpless;” how much more faint must have been our greater Prophet when he saw the dread vision of the wrath of God, and felt it in his own soul! To us, sensations such as our Lord endured would have been unendurable, and kind unconsciousness would have come to our rescue; but in his case, he was wounded, and felt the sword; he drained the cup and tasted every drop.

“O King of Grief! (a title strange, yet true

To thee of all kings only due)

O King of Wounds! how shall I grieve for thee,

Who in all grief preventest me!”

As we kneel before our now ascended Savior’s throne, let us carefully remember the way by which he prepared it as a throne of grace for us; let us in spirit drink of his cup, that we may be strengthened for our hour of heaviness whenever it may come. In his natural body every member suffered, and so must it be in the spiritual; but just as out of all his griefs and woes his body came forth uninjured to glory and power, even so shall his mystical body, his church, come through the furnace with not so much as the smell of fire upon it.

Evening, April 10, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“For this very night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I serve stood before me.” — Acts 27:23

A tempest and long darkness, coupled with imminent risk of shipwreck, had brought the crew of the vessel into a sad state; one man alone among them remained perfectly calm, and by his word the rest were reassured. Paul was the only man who had heart enough to say, “Keep up your courage, men, for I believe God that it will turn out exactly as I have been told.”  There were veteran Roman legionaries on board, and brave old mariners, and yet their poor Jewish prisoner had more spirit than all of them. He had a secret Friend who kept his courage up. The Lord Jesus dispatched a heavenly messenger to whisper words of consolation in the ear of his faithful servant; therefore he wore a shining countenance, and spoke like a man at ease.

If we fear and revere the Lord, we may look for timely interventions when our case is at its worst. Angels are not kept from us by storms or hindered by darkness. Seraphs do not think it humbling to visit the poorest of God’s family. If angel’s visits are few and far between at ordinary times, they shall be frequent in our nights of tempest and tossing. Friends may drop from us when we are under pressure, but our dealings with the inhabitants of the angelic world shall be more abundant; and in the strength of words of love, brought to us from the throne by the way of Jacob’s ladder, we shall be strong to do exploits. Dear reader, is this an hour of distress with you? Then ask for special help. Jesus is the angel of the covenant, and if his presence is now earnestly sought, it will not be denied. That presence will cheer the hearts of those who remember that they, like Paul, have the angel of God standing by them in a night of storm, when anchors would no longer hold, and rocks were near.

“O angel of my God, be near,

Amid the darkness hush my fear;

Loud roars the wild tempestuous sea,

Thy presence, Lord, shall comfort me.”

Morning, April 10, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“The place called the Skull (Calvary).” — Luke 23:33

The hill of comfort is the hill of Calvary; the house of consolation is built with the wood of the cross; the temple of heavenly blessing is founded upon the riven rock—riven by the spear which pierced his side. No scene in sacred history ever gladdens the soul like Calvary’s tragedy.

“Is it not strange, the darkest hour

That ever dawned on sinful earth,

Should touch the heart with softer power,

For comfort, than an angel’s mirth?

That to the Cross the mourner’s eye should turn,

Sooner than where the stars of Bethlehem burn?”

Light springs from the midday darkness of Golgotha, and every herb of the field blooms sweetly beneath the shadow of the once accursed tree. In that place of thirst, grace has dug a fountain which forever gushes with waters pure as crystal, each drop capable of alleviating the woes of mankind. You who have had your seasons of conflict, will confess that it was not at Olivet that you ever found comfort, not on the hill of Sinai, nor on Tabor; but Gethsemane, Gabbatha, and Golgotha have been a means of comfort to you. The bitter herbs of Gethsemane have often taken away the bitterness of your life; the whippings of Gabbatha have often scourged away your cares, and the cries of Calvary have put all other crying to flight. Thus, Calvary yields us comfort rare and rich. We never would have known Christ’s love in all its heights and depths if he had not died; nor could we guess the Father’s deep affection if he had not given his Son to die. The common mercies we enjoy all sing of love, just as the sea-shell, when we put it to our ears, whispers of the deep sea from where it came; but if we desire to hear the ocean itself, we must not look at everyday blessings, but at the transactions of the crucifixion. He who would know love, let him retreat to Calvary and see the Man of sorrows die.

Evening, April 9, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Your gentleness makes me great.” — Psalm 18:35

The words are capable of being translated, “your goodness has made me great.” David gratefully attributed all his greatness not to his own goodness, but the goodness of God. “Your providence,” is another reading; and providence — foreseeing care — is nothing more than goodness in action. Goodness is the bud of which providence is the flower, or goodness is the seed of which providence is the harvest. Some render it, “your help,” which is but another word for providence; providence being the firm ally of the saints, aiding them in the service of their Lord. Or again, “your humility has made me great.” “Your gracious descension” may, perhaps, serve as a comprehensive reading, combining the ideas mentioned, including that of humility. It is God’s making himself little which is the cause of our being made great. We are so little, that if God should manifest his greatness without descending to our level, we should be trampled under his feet; but God, who must stoop to view the skies, and bow to see what angels do, turns his eye yet lower, and looks to the lowly and contrite, and makes them great. There are yet other readings, as for instance, the Septuagint, which reads, “your discipline”—your fatherly correction—”has made me great;” while the Chaldean paraphrase reads, “your word has increased me.” Still the idea is the same. David assigns all his own greatness to the caring, descending goodness of his Father in heaven. May this sentiment be echoed in our hearts this evening while we cast our crowns at Jesus’ feet, and cry, “your gentleness has made me great.” How marvelous has been our experience of God’s gentleness! How gentle have been his corrections! How gentle his forbearance! How gentle his teachings! How gentle his calling! Meditate upon this theme, O believer. Let gratitude be awakened; let humility be deepened; let love be enlivened before you fall asleep tonight.

Morning, April 9, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“And following Him was a large crowd of the people, and of women who were mourning and lamenting Him.” — Luke 23:27

Amid the rabble which hounded the Redeemer to his doom, there were some gracious souls whose bitter anguish sought expression in wailing and lamentations—fit music to accompany that march of woe. When my soul can, in imagination, see the Savior bearing his cross to Calvary, it joins the godly women and weeps with them; for, indeed, there is true cause for grief—a cause lying deeper than those mourning women thought. They lamented innocence maltreated, goodness persecuted, love bleeding, meekness dying; but my heart has a deeper and more bitter cause to mourn. My sins were the scourges which lacerated those holy shoulders, and crowned with thorns those bleeding brows; my sins cried “Crucify him! Crucify him!” and laid the cross upon his gracious shoulders. The Savior being led forth to die is sorrow enough for one eternity, but my having been his murderer, is more, infinitely more, grief than one poor fountain of tears can express.
Why those women loved and wept it is not hard to guess: but they could not have had greater reasons for love and grief than my heart has. The widow from Nain saw her son restored—but I myself have been raised to newness of life. Peter’s mother-in-law was cured of the fever—but I have been cured of the greater disease of sin. Out of Magdalene seven devils were cast—but a whole legion out of me. Mary and Martha were favored with visits—but he dwells with me. His mother carried him unborn—but he is formed in me the hope of glory. While I am nothing behind the holy women in debt, let me not be behind them in gratitude or sorrow.

“Love and grief my heart dividing,
With my tears his feet I’ll lave–
Constant still in heart abiding,
Weep for him who died to save.”

Evening, April 8, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“I fear no evil, for You are with me.” — Psalm 23:4

Behold how the Holy Spirit can make the Christian independent of outward circumstances! What a bright light may shine within us when it is all dark outside! How firm, how happy, how calm, how peaceful we may be, when the world shakes in every direction, and the foundations of the earth are removed! Even death itself, with all its terrible effects, has no power to suspend the music of a Christian’s heart, but rather makes that music become more melodious, more clear, more heavenly, until the last kind act which death can do is to let the earthly melody melt into the heavenly chorus, the earthly joy into the eternal happiness! Let us have confidence, then, in the Holy Spirit’s power to comfort us. Dear reader, are you facing poverty? Do not fear; the divine Spirit can give you, in your lack, a greater sufficiency than the rich have in their abundance. You do not know what joys may be stored up for you in the cottage around which grace will plant the roses of content. Are you conscious of a growing failure of your bodily strength? Do you expect to suffer long nights of wasting away and days of pain? O, do not be sad! That bed may become a throne to you. You do not know that every twinge that shoots through your body may be a refining fire to consume your dross—a beam of glory to light up the secret parts of your soul. Are the eyes growing dim? Jesus will be your light. Do the ears fail you? Jesus’ name will be your soul’s best music, and his person your dear delight. Socrates used to say, “Philosophers can be happy without music;” and Christians can be happier than philosophers when all outward causes of rejoicing are withdrawn. In you, my God, my heart shall triumph, come what may of ills external! By your power, O blessed Spirit, my heart shall be more than glad, though all things should fail me here below.

Morning, April 8, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“For if they do these things when the tree is green, what will happen when it is dry?” — Luke 23:31

Among other interpretations of this interesting question, the following is full of teaching: “If the innocent substitute for sinners suffers like this, what will be done when the unrepentant sinner himself—the dry tree—shall fall into the hands of an angry God?” When God saw Jesus in the sinner’s place, he did not spare him; and when he finds the unregenerate without Christ, he will not spare them. O sinner, Jesus was led away by his enemies: so also shall you be dragged away by fiends to the place appointed for you. Jesus was deserted by God; and if he, who was only attributed to be a sinner, was deserted, how much more shall you be? “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” What an awful shriek! But what shall be your cry when you shall say, “O God! O God! why have you forsaken me?”, and the answer shall come back, “Because you neglected all my counsel and did not want my reproof;  I will also laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your dread comes.” If God spared not his own Son, how much less will he spare you! What whips of burning wire will be yours when conscience shall strike you with all its terrors. You richest, you happiest, you most self-righteous sinners—who would stand in your place when God shall say, “Awake, O sword, against the man that rejected me; strike him, and let him feel the pain forever?” Jesus was spit upon: sinner, what shame will be yours! We cannot sum up in one word all the mass of sorrows which combined upon the head of Jesus who died for us; therefore it is impossible for us to tell you what streams, what oceans of grief must roll over your spirit if you die as you now are. You may die in that state; you may die even now. By the agonies of Christ, by his wounds and by his blood, do not bring upon yourselves the wrath to come! Trust in the Son of God, and you shall never die.

Evening, April 7, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, the God of my salvation; then my tongue will joyfully sing of Your righteousness.”  Psalm 51:14

In this solemn confession, it is agreeable to observe that David plainly names his sin. He does not call it manslaughter, nor speak of it as an indiscretion by which an unfortunate accident occurred to a worthy man, but he calls it by its true name, blood guiltiness. He did not actually kill the husband of Bathsheba; but still it was planned in David’s heart that Uriah should be slain, and before the Lord he was his murderer. Learn in confession to be honest with God. Do not give fair names to foul sins; call them what you will, they will smell no sweeter. What God sees them to be, you should also labor to feel them to be; and with all openness of heart acknowledge their real character. Observe, that David was evidently oppressed with the heinousness of his sin. It is easy to use words, but it is difficult to feel their meaning. The fifty-first Psalm is the photograph of a contrite spirit. Let us seek after a like brokenness of heart; for however excellent our words may be, if our heart is not conscious of the hell-deservingness of sin, we cannot expect to find forgiveness.

Our text has in it an earnest prayer–it is addressed to the God of salvation. It is his prerogative to forgive; it is his very name and office to save those who seek his face. Better still, the text calls him the God of my salvation. Yes, blessed be his name; while I am yet going to him through Jesus’ blood, I can rejoice in the God of my salvation.

Morning, April 7, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“O sons of men, how long will my honor become a reproach?” —Psalm 4:2

An instructive writer has made a mournful list of the honors which the blinded people of Israel awarded to their long-expected King.

1. They gave him a procession of honor, in which Roman legionaries, Jewish priests, men and women, took a part, he himself bearing his cross. This is the triumph which the world awards to him who comes to overthrow man’s grimmest foes. Derisive shouts are his only acclamations, and cruel taunts his only anthems of praise.
2. They presented him with the wine of honor. Instead of a golden cup of generous wine they offered him the criminal’s stupefying death-drink, which he refused because he would prefer an untainted palate with which to taste of death; and afterwards when he cried, “I thirst,” they gave him vinegar mixed with gall, thrust to his mouth upon a sponge. Oh, what wretched, detestable inhospitality to the King’s Son!
3. He was provided with a guard of honor, who showed their esteem of him by gambling over his garments, which they had seized as their plunder. Such was the body-guard of the adored of heaven; a quartet of brutal gamblers.
4. A throne of honor was found for him upon the bloody tree; rebel lieges would yield no easier place of rest to their Lord. The cross was, in fact, the full expression of the world’s feeling towards him; “There,” they seemed to say, “you Son of God, this is the manner in which God himself should be treated, could we reach him.”
5. The title of honor was nominally “King of the Jews,” but the blinded nation distinctly repudiated that, and really called him “King of thieves,” by preferring Barabbas, and by placing Jesus in the place of highest shame between two thieves. His glory was therefore turned into shame in all things by the sons of men, but it shall yet delight the eyes of believers and angels, in a world without end.

Evening, April 6, edited from Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening

“In the name of the Lord I will surely cut them off.” — Psalm 118:12

Our Lord Jesus, by his death, did not purchase a right to a part of us only, but to the entire man. He contemplated in his passion the sanctification of us wholly, spirit, soul, and body; that in this triple kingdom he himself might reign supreme without a rival. It is the business of the newborn nature which God has given to the newly regenerated believer to assert the rights of the Lord Jesus Christ. My soul, so far as you are a child of God, you must conquer all the rest of yourself which yet remains unholy; you must subdue all your strength and passion to the silver scepter of Jesus’ gracious reign, and you must never be satisfied till he who is King by his purchase of you becomes also King by your coronation of him, and reigns by grace in you supreme. Seeing, then, that sin has no right to any part of us, we shall go about a good and lawful warfare when we seek, in the name of God, to drive it out. O my body, you are a member of Christ: shall I tolerate your subjection to the prince of darkness? O my soul, Christ has suffered for your sins, and redeemed you with his most precious blood: shall I suffer your remembrances to become a storehouse of evil, or your passions to be fire starters of iniquity? Shall I surrender my judgment to be perverted by error, or my will to be led in chains of iniquity? No, my soul, you are Christ’s, and sin has no right to you.

Be courageous concerning this, O Christian! Do not be dispirited, as though your spiritual enemies are invulnerable. You are able to overcome them—not in your own strength—the weakest of them would be too much for you in that; but you can and shall overcome them through the blood of the Lamb. Do not ask, “How shall I divest myself of them, for they are greater and mightier than I?” Instead, go to the strong for strength, wait humbly upon God, and the mighty God of Jacob will surely come to the rescue, and you shall sing of victory through his grace.