Rev. J. C. RYLE D.D. 1816–1900AD |
J. C. Ryle wrote well over two hundred evangelical tracts, of which more than two million were circulated, and many were translated into foreign languages. Throughout his ministry he remained one of the strongest defenders of the evangelical reformed faith within the Church of England. His faithful witness to the Gospel of Christ needs to be heard more than ever today. The following tract is a classic of Gospel Truth that readers came to expect from all his writings. All his tracts are pure gold. Some of them, as they were republished by Drummond’s Tract Depot, Stirling, Scotland late in the 19th century, have come into my possession, and I offer them word for word as published while J. C. Ryle was Bishop of Liverpool. |
“CHRIST AND THE TWO THIEVES”
“And one of the malefactors which were hanged railed on him, saying, If thou be Christ, save thyself and us. “But the other answering rebuked him, saying, Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation?” “And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward of our deeds but this man hath done nothing amiss. “And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom. “And Jesus said unto him, Verify I say unto thee, To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise.” LUKE xxiii. 39–43.
READER, you know these verses, I suppose. It would
be strange indeed if you did not. Few passages in the New Testament are more
familiar to men’s ears. And it is right and good that these verses should be
well known. They have comforted many troubled minds. They have brought peace
to many uneasy consciences. They have been a healing balm to many wounded
hearts. They have been a medicine to many sin-sick souls. They have smoothed
down not a few dying pillows. Wherever the Gospel of Christ is preached,
they will always be honoured, loved, and had in remembrance. Reader, I wish to speak to you about these verses.
Listen to me while I try to unfold the leading lessons which they are meant
to teach. I cannot see the state of your heart before God, but I can see
truths in this passage which no man can ever know too well. I. First of all, you are
meant to learn from these verses, Christ’s
power and willingness to save sinners. This is the main doctrine to be gathered from the
history of the penitent thief. It teaches you that which ought to be music
in the ears of all who hear it,—it teaches you that Jesus Christ is mighty
to save. I ask you if any man’s case could look more hopeless
and desperate, than that of this penitent thief once did? He was a
wicked man,—a
malefactor,—a thief, if not a murderer. We know this, for such only were
crucified. He was suffering a just punishment for breaking the laws. And as
he had lived wicked, so he seemed determined to die wicked,—for when he
first was crucified, he railed on our Lord. And he was a
dying man. He
hung there, nailed to a cross, from which he was never to come down alive.
He had no longer power to stir hand or foot. His hours were numbered. The
grave was ready for him. There was but a step between him and death. If ever there was a soul hovering on the brink of
hell, it was the soul of this thief. If ever there was a case that seemed
lost, gone, and past recovery, it was his. If ever there was a child of Adam
whom the devil made sure of as his own, it was this man. But see now what happened. He ceased to rail and
blaspheme, as he had done at the first. He began to speak in another manner
altogether. He turned to our blessed Lord in prayer. He prayed Jesus to
“remember him when He came into His kingdom.” He asked that his soul might
be cared for, his sins pardoned, and himself thought of in another world.
Truly this was a wonderful change. And then mark what kind of answer he received. Some
would have said he was too wicked a man to be saved. But it was not so. Some
would have fancied it was too late: the door was shut, and there was no room
for mercy. But it proved not too late at all. The Lord Jesus returned him an
immediate answer,—spoke kindly to him,—assured him he should be with Him
that day in Paradise: pardoned him completely,—cleansed him thoroughly from
his sins,—received him graciously,—justified him freely,—raised him from the
gates of hell,—gave him a title to glory. Of all the multitude of saved
souls, none ever received so glorious an assurance of his own salvation, as
did this penitent thief. Go over the whole list, from Genesis to Revelation,
and you will find none who had such words spoken to them as these: “To-day
shalt thou be with Me in Paradise.” Reader, the Lord Jesus never gave so complete a
proof of His power and will to save, as He did upon this occasion. In the
day when He seemed most weak, He showed that He was a strong deliverer. In
the hour when His body was racked with pain, He showed that he could feel
tenderly for others. At the time when He Himself was dying, He conferred on
a sinner eternal life. Now, have I not a right to say, Christ is able to
save to the uttermost all them that come unto God by Him? Behold the proof
of it. If ever sinner was too far gone to be saved, it was this thief. Yet
he was plucked as a brand from the fire. Have I not a right to say, Christ will receive any
poor sinner who comes to Him with the prayer of faith, and cast out none?
Behold the proof of it. If ever there was one that seemed too bad to be
received, this was the man. Yet the door of mercy was wide open even for
him. Have I not a right to say, by grace ye may be saved
through faith, not of works: fear not, only believe? Behold the proof of it.
This thief was never baptized. He belonged to no visible Church. He never
received the Lord’s Supper. He never did any work for Christ. He never gave
money to Christ’s cause. But he had faith, and so he was saved. Have I not a right to say, the youngest faith will
save a man’s soul, if it only be true? Behold the proof of it. This man’s
faith was only one day old, but it led him to Christ, and preserved him from
hell. Why then should any man or woman despair with such a
passage as this in the Bible? Jesus is a physician who can cure hopeless
cases. He can quicken dead souls, and call the things which be not as though
they were. Never should any man or
woman despair! Jesus is still the same now that He was eighteen hundred
years ago. The keys of death and hell are in His hand. When He opens none
can shut.[1] What though your sins be more in number than the
hairs of your head? What though your evil habits have grown with your
growth, and strengthened with your strength? What though you have hitherto
hated good, and loved evil, all the days of your life? These things are sad
indeed; but there is hope, even for you. Christ can heal you. Christ can
raise you from your low estate. Heaven is not shut against you. Christ is
able to admit you, if you will humbly commit your soul into His hands. Reader,
are your sins forgiven?
If not, I set before you this day a full and free
salvation. I invite you to follow the steps of the penitent thief: come to
Christ, and live. I tell you that Jesus is very pitiful, and of tender
mercy. I tell you He can do everything that your soul requires. Though your
sins be as scarlet, He will make them white as snow; though they be red like
crimson, they shall be as wool. Why should you not be saved as well as
another? Come unto Christ, and live. Reader,
are you a true believer?
If you are, you ought to glory in Christ. Glory
not in your own faith, your own feelings, your own knowledge, your own
prayers, your own amendment, your own diligence. Glory in nothing but
Christ. Alas, the best of us knows but little of that merciful and mighty
Saviour! We do not exalt Him and glory in Him enough. Let us pray that we
may see more of the fulness there is in Him. Reader,
do you ever try to do good to others?
If you do, remember to tell them about Christ.
Tell the young, tell the poor, tell the aged, tell the ignorant, tell the
sick, tell the dying,—tell them all about Christ. Tell them of His power,
and tell them of His love. Tell them of His doings, and tell them of His
feelings. Tell them what He has done for the chief of sinners. Tell them
what He is willing to do to the last day of time. Tell it them over and over
again. Never be tired of speaking of Christ. Say to them, broadly and fully,
freely and unconditionally, unreservedly and undoubtingly, “Come unto Christ
as the penitent thief did: come unto Christ, and you shall be saved.” II. The second lesson you
are meant to learn from this passage is this,—if
some are saved in the very hour of death, others
are not. This is a truth that never ought to he passed over,
and I dare not leave it unnoticed. It is a truth that stands out plainly in
the sad end of the other malefactor, and is only too often forgotten. What became of the other thief who was crucified?
Why did he not turn from his sin, and call upon the Lord? Why did he remain
hardened and impenitent? Why was he not saved? It is useless to try to
answer such questions. Let us be content to take the fact as we find it, and
see what it is meant to teach us. We have no right whatever to say this thief was a
worse man than his companion. There is nothing to prove it. Both plainly
were wicked men. Both were receiving the due reward of their deeds. Both
hung by the side of our Lord Jesus Christ. Both heard Him pray for His
murderers. Both saw Him suffer patiently. But while one repented, the other
remained hardened. While one began to pray, the other went on railing. While
one was converted in his last hours, the other died a bad man as he had
lived. While one was taken to paradise, the other went to his own place, the
place of the devil and his angels. Now these things are written for our warning. There is warning, as well as comfort in these
verses, and that very solemn warning too. They tell me loudly, that though some may repent and
be converted on their death-beds, it does not at all follow that all will. A
death-bed is not always a saving time. They tell me loudly that two men may have the same
opportunities of getting good for their souls,—may be placed in the same
position, see the same things, and hear the same things; and yet only one
shall take advantage of them, repent, believe, and be saved. They tell me, above all, that repentance and faith
are the gifts of God, and are not in a man’s own power; and that if any one
flatters himself he can repent at his own time, choose his own season, seek
the Lord when he pleases, and, like the penitent thief, be saved at the very
last,—he may find at length he is greatly deceived. And it is good and
profitable to bear this in mind. There is an immense amount of delusion in
the world on this very subject. I see many allowing life to slip away, all
unprepared to die. I see many allowing that they ought to repent, but always
putting off their own repentance. And I believe one grand reason is, that
most men suppose they can turn to God just when they like. They wrest the
parable of the labourer in the vineyard, which speaks of the eleventh hour,
and use it as it never was meant to be used. They dwell on the pleasant part
of the verses I am now considering, and forget the rest. They talk of the
thief that went to paradise, and was saved, and forget the one who died as
he had lived, and was lost.[2] Reader, take heed that you do not fall into this
mistake. Look at the history of men in the Bible, and see how often these
notions I have been speaking of are contradicted. Mark well how many proofs
there are that two men may have the same light offered them, and only one
use it; and that no one has a right to take liberties with God’s mercy, and
presume he will be able to repent just when he likes. Look at Saul and David. They lived about the same
time. They rose from the same rank in life. They were called to the same
position in the world. They enjoyed the ministry of the same prophet,
Samuel. They reigned the same number of years.—Yet one was saved and the
other lost. Look at Sergius Paulus and Gallio. They were both
Roman Governors. They were both wise and prudent men in their generation.
They both heard the apostle Paul preach. But one believed and was
baptized,—the other “cared for none of these things.” Look at the world around
you. See what is going on continually under your eyes. Two sisters will
often attend the same ministry, listen to the same truths, hear the same
sermons; and yet only one shall be converted unto God, while the other
remains totally unmoved. Two friends often read the same religious book. One
is so moved by it, that he gives up all for Christ; the other sees nothing
at all in it, and continues the same as before. Hundreds have read
Doddridge’s “Rise and Progress” without profit: with Wilberforce it was one
of the beginnings of spiritual life. Thousands have read Wilberforce’s
“Practical View of Christianity,” and laid it down again unaltered;—from
the time Legh Richmond read it he became another man. No man has any warrant
for saying, Salvation is in my own power. Reader, I do not pretend to explain these things. I
only put them before you as great facts. And I ask you to consider them
well. You must not misunderstand me. I do not want to
discourage you. I say these things in all affection, to give you warning of
danger. I do not say them to drive you back from heaven;—I say them rather
to draw you on, and bring you to Christ while He can be found. I want you to beware of presumption. Do not abuse
God’s mercy and compassion. Do not continue in sin, I beseech you, and think
you can repent, and believe, and be saved, just when you like, when you
please, when you will, and when you choose. I would always set before you an
open door. I would always say, “While there is life there is hope.” But if
you would be wise, put nothing off that concerns your soul. I want you to beware of letting slip good thoughts
and godly convictions, if you have them. Cherish them and nourish them, lest
you lose them for ever. Make the most of them, lest they take to themselves
wings and flee away. Have you an inclination to begin praying? Put it in
practice at once. Have you an idea of beginning really to serve Christ? Set
about it at once. Are you enjoying any spiritual light? See that you live up
to your light. Trifle not with opportunities, lest the day come when you
will want to use them, and not be able. Linger not, lest you become wise too
late. You may say, perhaps, “it is never too late to
repent.” I answer, That is right enough, but late repentance is seldom true.
And I say further, You cannot be certain if you put off repenting, you will
repent at all. You may say, “Why should
I be afraid?—the penitent thief was saved.” I answer, That is true, but look
again at the passage which tells you that the other thief was lost.
III. The third lesson you
are meant to learn from these verses is this,—the
Spirit always leads saved souls in one way. This is a point that deserves particular attention,
and is often overlooked. Men look at the broad fact that the penitent thief
was saved when he was dying, and they look no further. They do not consider the evidences this thief left
behind him. They do not observe the abundant proof he gave of the work of
the Spirit in his heart. And these proofs I wish to trace out. I wish to
show you that the Spirit always works in one way, and that whether He
converts a man in an hour, as He did the penitent thief,—or whether by slow
degrees, as he does others, the steps by which He leads souls to heaven are
always the same. Listen to me, reader, and I will try to make this
clear to you. I want you to shake off the common notion that there is some
easy royal road to heaven from a dying bed. I want you thoroughly to
understand that every saved soul goes through the same experience, and that
the leading principles of the penitent thief’s religion were just the same
as those of the oldest saint that ever lived. See then, for one thing,
how strong was the faith
of this man. He called Jesus, “Lord.”
He declared his belief that He would have a kingdom. He believed that He was
able to give him eternal life and glory, and in this belief prayed to Him.
He maintained His innocence of all the charges brought against Him. “This
man,” said he, “hath done nothing amiss.” Others perhaps may have
thought the
Lord innocent,—none said
so openly but this poor dying man. And when did all this
happen? It happened when the whole nation had denied Christ,—shouting,
“Crucify Him! crucify Him! We have no king but Cæsar!”—when the chief
priests and Pharisees had condemned and found Him guilty of death,—when even
His own disciples had forsaken Him and fled,—when He was hanging, faint,
bleeding and dying on the cross, numbered with transgressors, and accounted
accursed. This was the hour when the thief believed in Christ, and prayed to
Him. Surely such faith was never seen since the world began.[3] The disciples had seen mighty signs and miracles.
They had seen the dead raised with a word,—and lepers healed with a
touch,—the blind receiving sight,—the dumb made to speak,—the lame made to
walk. They had seen thousands fed with a few loaves and fishes. They had
seen their Master walking on the water as on dry land. They had all of them
heard Him speak as no man ever spake, and hold out promises of good things
yet to come. They had some of them had a foretaste of His glory in the mount
of transfiguration. Doubtless their faith was the gift of God, but still
they had much to help it. The dying thief saw none of the things I have
mentioned. He only saw our Lord in agony, and in weakness, in suffering, and
in pain. He saw Him undergoing a dishonourable punishment; deserted,
mocked, despised, blasphemed. He saw Him rejected by all the great, and
wise, and noble of His own people,—His strength dried up like a potsherd,
His life drawing nigh to the grave. (Psa. xxii. 15; lxxxviii. 3.) He saw no
sceptre, no royal crown, no outward dominion, no glory, no majesty, no
power, no signs of might. And yet the dying thief believed, and looked
forward to Christ’s kingdom. Reader, would you know if you have the Spirit? Then
mark the question I put to you this day.—Where is your faith in Christ? See, for another thing,
what a right sense of sin
the thief had. He says to his companion, “We
receive the due reward of our deeds.” He acknowledges his own ungodliness,
and the justice of his punishment. He makes no attempt to justify himself,
or excuse his wickedness. He speaks like a man humbled and self-abased by
the remembrance of past iniquities. This is what all God’s children feel.
They are ready to allow they are poor hell-deserving sinners. They can say
with their hearts, as well as with their lips, “We have left undone the
things that we ought to have done, and we have done those things that we
ought not to have done, and there is no health in us.” Reader, would you know if you have the Spirit? Then
mark my question.—Do you feel your sin? See, for another thing,
what brotherly love
the thief showed to his companion. He tried to
stop his railing and blaspheming, and bring him to a better mind. “Dost not
thou fear God,” he says, “seeing thou art in the same condemnation?” There
is no surer mark of grace than this. Grace shakes a man out of his
selfishness, and makes him feel for the souls of others. When the Samaritan
woman was converted, she left her water-pot and ran to the city, saying,
“Come, see a man that told me all things that ever I did: is not this the
Christ?” When Saul was converted, immediately he went to the synagogue at
Damascus, and testified to his brethren of Israel, that Jesus was the
Christ. Reader, would you know if you have the Spirit? Then
where is your charity and love to souls? In one word, you see in the penitent thief a
finished work of the Holy Ghost. Every part of the believer’s character may
be traced in him. Short as his life was after conversion, he found time to
leave abundant evidence that he was a child of God. His faith, his prayer,
his humility, his brotherly love, are unmistakable witnesses of the reality
of his repentance. He was not a penitent in name only, but in deed and in
truth. Let no man therefore think, because the penitent
thief was saved, that men can be saved without leaving any evidence of the
Spirit’s work.. Let such an one consider well what evidence this man left
behind, and take care. It is mournful to hear what people sometimes say
about what they call death-bed evidences. It is perfectly fearful to observe
how little satisfies some persons, and how easily they can persuade
themselves that their friends are gone to heaven. They will tell you when
their relation is dead and gone, that “he made such a beautiful prayer one
day,—or that he talked so well,—or that he was so sorry for his old ways,
and intended to live so differently if he got better,—or that he craved
nothing in this world,—or that he liked people to read to him, and pray with
him.” And because they have this to go upon, they seem to have a comfortable
hope that he is saved. Christ may never have been named,—the way of
salvation may never have been in the least mentioned. But it matters not;
there was a little talk of religion, and so they are content. Now I have no desire to hurt the feelings of anyone
who reads this paper, but I must and will speak plainly upon this subject. Once for all, let me say, that as a general rule,
nothing is so unsatisfactory as death-bed evidences. The things that men
say, and the feelings they express when sick and frightened, are little to
be depended on. Often, too often, they are the result of fear, and do not
spring from the ground of the heart. Often, too often, they are things said
by rote; caught from the lips of ministers and anxious friends, but
evidently not felt. And nothing can prove all this more clearly, than the
well-known fact, that the great majority of persons who make promises of
amendment on a sick-bed, if they recover, go back to sin and the world. When a man has lived a life of thoughtlessness and
folly, I want something more than a few fair words and good wishes to
satisfy me about his soul, when he comes to his death-bed. It is not enough
for me that he will let me read the Bible to him, and pray by his bedside;
that he says, “he has not thought so much as he ought of religion, and he
thinks he should be a different man if he got better.” All this does not
content me,—it does not make me feel happy about his state. It is very well
as far as it goes, but it is not conversion. It is very well in its way, but
it is not faith in Christ. Until I see conversion, and faith in Christ, I
cannot and dare not feel satisfied. Others may feel satisfied if they
please, and after their friend’s death say, they hope he is gone to heaven.
For my part I would rather hold my tongue, and say nothing. I would be
content with the least measure of repentance and faith in a dying man, even
though it be no bigger than a grain of mustard seed; but to be content with
anything less than repentance and faith, seems to me next door to
infidelity. Reader, what kind of evidence do you mean to leave
behind as to the state of your soul? Take example by the penitent thief, and
you will do well. When we have carried you to your narrow bed, let us
not have to hunt up stray words, and scraps of religion, in order to make
out that you were a true believer. Let us not have to say in a hesitating
way one to another, “I trust he is happy: he talked so nicely one day, and
he seemed so pleased with a chapter in the Bible on another occasion, and he
liked such a person, who is a good man.” Let us be able to speak decidedly
as to your condition. Let us have some standing proof of your penitence,
your faith, and your holiness, that none shall be able for a moment to
question your state. Depend on it, without this, those you leave behind can
feel no solid comfort about your soul. We may use the form of religion at
your burial, and express charitable hopes. We may meet you at the
church-yard gate, and say, “Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.” But
this will not alter your condition. If you die without conversion to
God,—without repentance,—and without faith, your funeral will only be the
funeral of a lost soul. IV. You are meant, in the
next place, to learn from these verses, that
believers in Christ when they die, are with the
Lord. This you may gather from our Lord’s words to the
penitent thief: “This day shalt thou be with Me in paradise.” And you have
an expression very like it in the Epistle to the Philippians, where Paul
says he has a desire to “depart and be with Christ.” (Phil. i. 23.) I shall say but little on this subject. I would
simply lay it before you, for your own private meditations. To my own mind
it is very full of comfort and peace. Believers after death are “with Christ.” That
answers many a difficult question, which otherwise might puzzle man’s busy,
restless mind. The abode of dead saints, their joys, their feelings, their
happiness, all seems met by this simple expression,—they are with Christ. I cannot enter into full explanations about the
state of departed believers. It is a high and deep subject, such as man’s
mind can neither grasp nor fathom. I know their happiness falls short of
what it will be when their bodies are raised again, and Jesus returns to
earth. Yet I know also they enjoy a blessed rest,—a rest from labour,—a rest
from sorrow,—a rest from pain,—and a rest from sin. But it does not follow
because I cannot explain these things, that I am not persuaded they are far
happier than they ever were on earth. I see their happiness in this very
passage, “They are with Christ,” and when I see that I see enough. If the sheep are with the Shepherd,—if the members
are with the Head,—if the children of Christ’s family are with Him who loved
them and carried them all the days of their pilgrimage on earth, all must be
well, all must be right. I cannot describe what
kind of place paradise is, but I ask no brighter view of it than this,—that
Christ is there.[4]
All other things in the picture which imagination draws of paradise, are
nothing in comparison of this. How He is there, and in what way He is there,
I know not. Let me only see Christ in paradise when my eyes close in death,
and that suffices me. Well does the Psalmist say, “In Thy presence is
fulness of joy.” It was a true saying of a dying girl, when her mother tried
to comfort her by describing what paradise would be: “There,” she said to
the child, “there you will have no pains, and no sickness; there you will
see your brothers and sisters, who have gone before you, and will be always
happy.” “Ah, mother,” was the reply, “but there is one thing better than
all, and that is, Christ will be there!” Reader, it may be you do not think much about your
soul. It may be you know little of Christ as your Saviour, and have never
tasted by experience that He is precious. And yet perhaps you hope to go to
paradise when you die. Surely this passage is one that should make you
think. Paradise is a place where Christ is. Then can it be a place that you
would enjoy? Reader, it may be you are a believer, and yet
tremble at the thought of the grave. It seems cold and dreary. You feel as
if all before you was dark, and gloomy, and comfortless. Fear not, but be
encouraged by this text. You are going to paradise, and Christ will be
there. V. The last thing you are
meant to learn from these verses is this,—the
eternal portion of every man’s soul is close to
him. “To-day,” says our Lord to the penitent thief,
“to-day shalt thou be with Me in paradise.” He names no distant period,—He
does not talk of his entering into a state of happiness as a thing “far
away.” He speaks of to-day: “this very day, in which thou art hanging on the
cross.” Reader, how near that seems! How awfully near that
word brings our everlasting dwelling-place. Happiness or misery,—sorrow or
joy,—the presence of Christ, or the company of devils,—all are close to us.
“There is but a step,” says David, “between me and death.” There is but a
step, we may say, between ourselves and either paradise or hell. We none of us realize this as we ought to do. It is
high time to shake off the dreamy state of mind in which we live on this
matter. We are apt to talk and think, even about believers, as if death was
a long journey,—as if the dying saint had embarked on a long voyage. It is
all wrong, very wrong. Their harbour and their home is close by, and they
have entered it. Some of us know by bitter experience, what a long
and weary time it is between the death of those we love, and the hour when
we bury them out of our sight. Such weeks are the slowest, saddest, heaviest
weeks in all our lives. But, blessed be God, the souls of departed saints
are free from the very moment their last breath is drawn. While we are
weeping, and the coffin preparing, and the mourning being provided, and the
last painful arrangement being made, the spirits of our beloved ones are
enjoying the presence of Christ. They are freed for ever from the burden of
the flesh. They are “where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary
are at rest.” Reader, the day that believers die they are in
paradise. Their battle is fought;—their strife is over. They have passed
through that gloomy valley we must one day tread;—they have gone over that
dark river we must one day cross. They have drank that last bitter cup which
sin has mingled for man. They have reached that place where sorrow and
sighing are no more. Surely we should not wish them back again. We should
not weep for them, but for ourselves. We are warring still, but
they are at peace. We are labouring, but they are at rest. We are watching,
but they are sleeping. We are wearing our spiritual armour, but they have
for ever put it off. We are still at sea, but they are safe in harbour. We
have tears, but they have joys. We are strangers and pilgrims, but as for
them they are at home. Surely, better are the dead in Christ than the
living. Surely, the very hour the poor saint dies, he is at once higher and
happier than the highest upon earth.[5] I fear there is a vast amount of delusion on this
point. I fear that many, who are not Roman Catholics, and profess not to
believe purgatory, have, notwithstanding, some strange ideas in their minds
about the immediate consequences of death. I fear that many have a sort of
vague notion that there is some interval or space of time between death and
their eternal state. They fancy they shall go through a kind of purifying
change, and that though they die unfit for heaven, they shall yet be found
meet for it after all. But it will not stand. There is no change after
death. There is no conversion in the grave. There is no new heart given
after the last breath is drawn. The very day we go, we launch for ever. The
day we go from this world, we begin an eternal condition. From that day
there is no spiritual alteration,—no spiritual change. As we die, so we
shall receive after death. As the tree falls so it must lie. Reader, if you are an unconverted man, this ought to
make you think. Do you know you are close to hell? This very day you might
die, and if you died out of Christ, you would open your eyes in hell, and in
torment. Reader, if you are a true Christian, you are far
nearer heaven than you think. This very day, if the Lord should take you,
you would find yourself in paradise. The good land of promise is near to
you. The eyes that you closed in weakness and pain, would open at once on a
glorious rest, such as my tongue cannot describe. And now let me say a few words in conclusion, and I
have done. This tract may fall into the hands of some
humble-hearted and contrite sinner.—Are you that man? Then here is
encouragement for you. See what the penitent thief did, and do likewise. See
how he prayed,—see how he called on the Lord Jesus Christ,—see what an
answer of peace he obtained. Brother or sister, why should not you do the
same? Why should not you also be saved? This tract may fall into the hands of some proud and
presumptuous man of the world,—Are you that man? Then take warning. See how
the impenitent thief died as he had lived, and beware lest you come to a
like end. Oh, erring brother or sister, be not too confident, lest you die
in your sins! Seek the Lord while He may be found. Turn you, turn: why will
you die? This tract may fall into the hands of some
professing believer in Christ.—Are you such an one? Then take the penitent
thief’s religion as a measure by which to prove your own. See that you know
something of true repentance and saving faith, of real humility and fervent
charity. Brother or sister, do not be satisfied with the world’s standard of
Christianity. Be of one mind with the penitent thief, and you will be wise. This tract may fall into the hands of someone who is
mourning over departed believers.—Are you such an one? Then take comfort
from this Scripture. See how your beloved ones are in the best of hands.
They cannot be better off. They never were so well in their lives as they
are now. They are with Jesus, whom their souls loved on earth. Oh, cease
from your selfish mourning! Rejoice rather that they are freed from trouble,
and have entered into rest. And this tract may fall into the hands of some aged
servant of Christ.—Are you such an one? Then see from these verses how near
you are to home. A few more days of labour and sorrow, and the King of kings
shall send for you; and in a moment your warfare shall be at end, and all
shall be peace.
[1] “O
Saviour, what a precedent is this of Thy free and powerful grace!
Where Thou wilt give, what unworthiness can bar us from Thy mercy?
When Thou wilt give, what time can prejudice our vocation? Who can
despair of Thy goodness, when he, that in the morning was posting to
hell, is in the evening with Thee in paradise?”—BISHOP HALL.
[2]
“He that puts off his repentance and seeking for pardon to the very
last, in reliance upon this example, does but tempt God, and turn
that to his own poison, which God intended for better ends. “The mercies of God are never recorded in
Scripture for man’s presumption, and the failings of men never for
imitation.”—LIGHTFOOT. Sermon. 1684. “Most ungrateful and foolish is the conduct
of those who take encouragement from the penitent thief to put off
repentance to a dying moment;—most ungrateful in perverting the
grace of their Redeemer into an occasion of renewing their
provocations against Him;—and most foolish to imagine that what our
Lord did in so singular circumstances, is to be drawn into an
ordinary precedent.”—DODDRIDGE.
[3] “I
know not that since the creation of the world there ever was a more
remarkable and striking example of faith.”—CALVIN'S COMMENTARY ON
THE GOSPELS. “A great faith that can see the sun under so thick a cloud; that can discover a Christ, a Saviour, under such a poor, scorned, despised, crucified Jesus, and call Him Lord. “A great faith that could see Christ’s
kingdom through His cross, and grave, and death, and when there was
so little sign of a kingdom, and pray to be remembered in that
kingdom.” LIGHTFOOT Sermon. 1684. “The penitent thief was the first confessor
of Christ’s heavenly kingdom,—the first martyr who bore testimony to
the holiness of His sufferings,—and the first apologist for His
oppressed innocence.”—QUESNEL ON THE GOSPELS. “Probably
there are few saints in glory who ever honoured Christ more
illustriously than this dying sinner.”—DODDRIDGE. “Is this the
voice of a thief or a disciple? Give me leave, O Saviour, to borrow
Thine own words, ‘Verily I have not found so great faith, no not in
Israel.’ He saw Thee hanging miserably by him, and yet styles Thee
Lord. He saw Thee dying, and yet talks of Thy kingdom. He felt
himself dying, yet talks of a future remembrance. O faith, stronger
than death, which can look beyond the cross at a crown;—beyond
dissolution at a remembrance of life and glory! Which of Thine
eleven were heard to speak so gracious a word to Thee in these Thy
last pangs? “—BISHOP HALL.
[4]
“We ought not to enter into curious and subtle arguments about the
place of paradise. Let us rest satisfied with knowing that those who
are engrafted by faith into the body of Christ are partakers of
life, and there enjoy after death a blessed and joyful rest, until
the perfect glory of the heavenly life is fully manifested by the
coming of Christ.”—CALVIN’S COMMENTARY ON THE GOSPELS.
[5]
“We give Thee hearty thanks, for that it hath pleased Thee to
deliver this our brother out of the miseries of this sinful
world.”—CHURCH OF ENGLAND BURIAL SERVICE. “I have some of the best news to impart. One
beloved by you has accomplished her warfare; has received an answer
to her prayers, and everlasting joy rests upon her head. My dear
wife, the source of my best earthly comfort for twenty years,
departed on Tuesday.”—VENN’S TO LETTER STILLINGFLEET, announcing the
death of his wife. |