The Heart
2Ki_10:15 : ’93Is thine heart right?’94
With mettled horses at full speed, for he was celebrated for fast driving, Jehu, the warrior and king, returns from battle. But seeing Jehonadab, an acquaintance, by the wayside, he shouts ’93Whoa! whoa!’94 to the lathered span. Then leaning over to Jehonadab, Jehu salutes him in the words of the text’97words not more appropriate for that hour and that place than for this hour and place, is thine heart right? I should like to hear of your physical health. Well myself, I like to have everybody else well; and so might ask, Is your eyesight right, your hearing right, your nerves right, your lungs right, your entire body right? But I am busy taking diagnosis of the more important conditions.
I should like to hear of your financial welfare. I want everybody to have plenty of money, ample apparel, large storehouse, and comfortable residence; and I might ask, Is your business right, your income right, your worldly surroundings right? But what are these financial questions compared with the inquiry as to whether you have been able to pay your debts to God; as to whether you are insured for eternity; as to whether you are ruining yourself by the long-credit system of the soul? I have known men to have no more than one loaf of bread at a time, and yet to own a government bond of heaven worth more than the whole material universe.
The question I ask you today is not in regard to your habits. I make no inquiry about your integrity, or your chastity, or your sobriety. I do not mean to stand on the outside of the gate and ring the bell; but coming up the steps I open the door and come to the private apartment of the soul; and with the earnestness of a man that must give an account for this day’92s work, I cry out, O, man, O, woman immortal, Is thine heart right?
I will not insult you by an argument to prove that we are by nature all wrong. If there be a factory explosion, and the smoke-stack be upset, and the wheels be broken in two, and the engine unjointed, and the ponderous bars be twisted, and a man should look in and say that nothing was the matter, you would pronounce him a fool. Well, it needs no acumen to discover that our nature is all atwist and askew and unjointed. The thing does not work right. The biggest trouble we have in the world is with our souls. Men sometimes say that though their lives may not be just right, their hearts is all right. Impossible! A farmer never puts the poorest apples on top of his barrel; nor does the merchant place the meanest goods in his show-window. The best part of us is our outward life. I do not stop to discuss whether we all fell in Adam, for we have been our own Adam, and have all eaten of the forbidden fruit, and have been turned out of the paradise of holiness and peace; and though the flaming sword that stood at the gate to keep us out has changed position and comes behind to drive us in, we will not go. The Bible account of us is not exaggerated when it says that we are poor and wretched, and miserable, and blind, and naked. Poor: the wretch that stands shivering on our doorstep on a cold day is not so much in need of bread as we are of spiritual help. Blind: why, the man whose eyes perished in the powder-blast, and who for these ten years has gone feeling his way from street to street, is not in such utter darkness as we. Naked: why, there is not one rag of holiness left to hide the shame of our sin. Sick: why, the leprosy has eaten into the head, and the heart, and the hands, and the feet; and the marasmus of an everlasting wasting away has already seized on some of us.
But the meanest thing for a man to do is to discourse about an evil without pointing a way to have it remedied. I speak of the thirst of your hot tongue only that I may show you the living stream that drops crystalline and sparkling from the Rock of Ages, and pours a river of gladness at your feet. If I show you the rents in your coat, it is only because the door of God’92s wardrobe now swings open, and here is a robe, white with the fleece of the Lamb of God, and of a cut and make that an angel would not be ashamed to wear. If I snatch from you the black, mouldy bread that you are munching, it is only to give the bread made out of the finest wheat that grows on the celestial hills, and baked in the fires of the cross, and one crumb of which would be enough to make all heaven a banquet. Hear it, one and all, and tell it to your friends when you go home, that the Lord Jesus Christ can make the heart right.
First we need a repenting heart. If for the last ten, twenty, or forty years of life we have been going on in the wrong way, it is time that we turned around and started in the opposite direction. If we offend our friends, we are glad to apologize. God is our best friend, and yet how many of us have never apologized for the wrongs we have done him! There is nothing that we so much need to get rid of as sin. It is a horrible black monster. It polluted Eden. It killed Christ. It has blasted the world. Men keep dogs in kennels, and rabbits in a warren, and cattle in a pen. What a man that would be who would shut them up in his parlor. But this foul dog of sin, and these herds of transgression, we have entertained for many a long year in our heart, which should be the cleanest, brightest room in all our nature. Out with the vile herd! Begone, ye befoulers of an immortal nature! Turn out the beasts, and let Christ come in! A heathen came to an early Christian who had the reputation of curing diseases. The Christian said, ’93You must have all your idols destroyed.’94 The heathen gave to the Christian the key to his house, that he might go in and destroy the idols. He battered to pieces all he saw, but still the man did not get well. The Christian said to him, ’93There must be some idol in your house not yet destroyed.’94 The heathen confessed that there was one idol of beaten gold that he could not bear to give up. After a while, when that was destroyed, in answer to the prayer of the Christian the sick man got well. Many a man has awakened in his dying hour to find his sins all about him. They clambered up on the right side of the bed, and on the left side, and over the headboard, and over the footboard, and horribly devoured the soul.
Repent! the voice celestial cries;
Nor longer dare delay;
The wretch that scorns the mandate, dies,
And meets a fiery day.
Again, we need a believing heart. A good many years ago aweary one went up one of the hills of Asia Minor, and with two logs on his back cried out to all the world, offering to carry their sins and sorrows. They pursued him. They slapped him in the face. They mocked him. When he groaned they laughed. They shook their fists at him. They spit on him. They hounded him as though he were a wild beast. His healing of the sick, his sight-giving to the blind, his mercy to the outcast silenced not the revenge of the world. His prayers and benedictions were lost in that whirlwind of execration. Away with him! Away with him! Ah! it was not merely the two pieces of wood that he carried: it was the transgressions of the race, the anguish of the ages, the wrath of God, the sorrows of hell, the stupendous interests of an unending eternity. No wonder his back bent. No wonder the blood started from every pore. No wonder that he crouched under a torture that made the sun faint, and the everlasting hills tremble, and the dead rush up in their winding-sheets as he cried, ’93If it be possible, let this cup pass from me.’94 But the cup did not pass. None to comfort! There he hangs! What has that hand done that it should be thus crushed in the palm? It has been healing the lame and wiping away tears. What has that foot been doing that it should be so lacerated? It has been going about doing good. Of what has the victim been guilty? Guilty of saving a world. Tell me, ye heavens and earth, was there ever such another criminal? Was there ever such a crime? On that hill of carnage, that sunless day, amid those howling rioters, may not your sins and mine have perished? I believe it.
Oh, the ransom has been paid. Those arms of Jesus were stretched out so wide that when he brought them together again they might embrace the world. Would that I might, out of the blossoms of the spring, or the flaming foliage of the autumn, make one wreath for my Lord! Would that all the triumphal arches of the world could be swung in one gateway, where the King of Glory might come in! Would that all the harps and trumpets and organs of earthly music might, in one anthem, speak his praise! But what were earthly flowers to him who walketh amid the snow of the white lilies of heaven! What were arches of earthly masonry to him who hath about his throne a rainbow spun out of everlasting sunshine! What were all earthly music to him when the hundred and forty and four thousand on one side, and the cherubim, and seraphim, and archangel stand on the other side, and all the space between is filled with the doxologies of eternal jubilee!’97the hosanna of a redeemed earth, the hallelujah of unfallen angels, song after song rising about the throne of God and of the Lamb. In that pure, high place, let him hear us. Stop! harps of heaven, that our poor cry may be heard.
Oh, my Lord Jesus! it will not hurt thee for one hour to step out from the shining throng. They will make it all up when thou goest back again. Come hither, O Blessed One, that we may kiss thy feet. Our hearts, too long withheld, we now surrender into thy keeping. When thou goest back, tell it to all the immortals that the lost are found, and let thy Father’92s house ring with the music and the dance.
They have some old wine in heaven, not used except in rare festivities. In this world, those who are accustomed to use wine on great occasions bring out the beverage and say, ’93This wine is thirty years old,’94 or ’93forty years old.’94 But the wine of heaven is near nineteen centuries old. It was prepared at the time when Christ trod the wine-press alone. When such grievous sinners as we come back, methinks the chamberlain of heaven cries out to the servants, ’93This is unusual joy! Bring up from the vaults of heaven that old wine. Fill all the tankards. Let all the white-robed guests drink to the immortal health of these new-born sons and daughters of the Lord Almighty.’94 There is joy in heaven among the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth; and God grant that that one may be you!
Again, in order to have a right heart it must be a forgiving heart. An old writer says, ’93To render good for evil is God-like; good for good is man-like; evil for good, devil-like.’94 Which of these natures have we? Christ will have nothing to do with us as long as we keep any old grudge. We have all been cheated and lied about. There are people who dislike us so much that if we should come down to poverty and disgrace, they would say, ’93Good for him! Didn’92t I tell you so?’94 They never have understood us, and never will. They do not want to understand us. Unsanctified human nature says, Wait till you get a good crack at him, and when at last you find him in a tight place, give it to him. Flay him alive. No quarter. Leave not a fragment of reputation. Jump on him with both feet. Pay him in his own coin’97sarcasm for sarcasm, scorn for scorn, abuse for abuse. But, my friends, that is not the right kind of heart. No man ever did so mean a thing toward us as we have done toward God. And if we cannot forgive others, how can we expect God to forgive us? Thousands of men have been kept out of heaven by an unforgiving heart.
Here is some one who says, ’93I will forgive that man the wrong he did me about that house and lot; I will forgive that man who overreached me in a bargain; I will forgive that man who sold me a shoddy overcoat; I forgive them’97all but one. That man I cannot forgive. The villain’97I can hardly keep my hands off of him. If my going to heaven depends on my forgiving him, then I will stay out.’94 Wrong feeling! If a man lie to me once, I am not called to trust him again. If a man betray me once, I am not called to put confidence in him again. But I would not dare to go to sleep at night if I could not offer a sincere prayer for the temporal and everlasting welfare of all men, whatever meannesses and outrage they have inflicted upon me. If you want to get your heart right, strike a match, and burn up all your old grudges, and blow the ashes away. ’93If you forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your heavenly Father forgive you your trespasses.’94
An old Christian black woman was going along the streets of New York with a basket of apples that she had for sale. A rough sailor ran against her and upset the basket, and stood back expecting to hear her scold frightfully; but she stooped down and picked up the apples, and said, ’93God forgive you, my son, as I do.’94 The sailor saw the meanness of what he had done, and felt in his pocket for his money, and insisted that she should take it all. Though she was black, he called her mother, and said, ’93Forgive me, mother; I will never do anything so mean again.’94 Ah! there is a power in a forgiving spirit to overcome all hardness. There is no way of conquering men like that of bestowing upon them your pardon, whether they will accept it or not.
Again, a right heart is an expectant heart. It is a poor business to be building castles in the air. Enjoy what you have now. Do not spoil your comfort in the small house because you expect a larger one. Do not fret about your income when it is three or four dollars per day, because you expect to have after a while ten dollars per day; or ten thousand a year, because you expect it to be twenty thousand a year. But about heavenly things, the more we think the better. Those castles are not in the air, but on the hills, and we have a deed of them in our possession.
I like to see a man all full of heaven. He talks heaven. He sings heaven. He prays heaven. He dreams heaven. Some of us in our sleep have had the good place open to us. We saw the pinnacles in the sky. We heard the click of the hoofs of the white horses on which victors rode, and the clapping of the cymbals of eternal triumph. And while in our sleep we were glad that all of our sorrows were over, and burdens done with, the throne of God grew whiter, whiter and whiter, till we opened our eyes and saw that it was only the sun of the earthly morning shining on our pillow. To have a right heart you need to be filled with this expectancy. It would make your privations and annoyances more bearable.
In the midst of the city of Paris stands, or did stand, a statue of the good, but broken-hearted Josephine. I never imagined that marble could be smitten into such tenderness. It seems not lifeless. If the spirit of Josephine be disentabernacled, the soul of the Empress has taken possession of this figure. I am not yet satisfied that it is stone. The puff of the dress on the arm seems to need but the pressure of the finger to indent it. The figure at the bottom of the robe, the ruffle at the neck, the fur lining on the dress, the embroidery of the satin, the cluster of lily and leaf and rose in her hand, the poise of her body as she seems to come sailing out of the sky, her face calm, humble, beautiful, but yet sad’97attest the genius of the sculptor and the beauty of the heroine he celebrates. Looking up through the rifts of the coronet that encircles her brow, I could see the sky beyond, the great heavens where all woman’92s wrongs shall be righted, and the story of endurance and resignation shall be told to all the ages. The rose and the lily in the hand of Josephine will never drop their petals. The children of God, whether they suffer on earth, in palaces, or in hovels, shall come to that glorious rest. O heaven, sweet heaven! at thy gate we set down all our burdens. The place will be full. Here there are vacant chairs at the hearth, and at the table, but there are no vacant chairs in heaven. The crowns all worn; the thrones all mounted.
Some talk of heaven as though it were a very handsome church, where a few favored spirits would come in and sit down on finely-cushioned seats all by themselves, and sing psalms to all eternity. No, no. ’93I saw a great multitude that no man could number, standing before the throne. He that talked with me had a golden reed to measure the city, and it was twelve thousand furlongs’94’97that is, fifteen hundred miles in circumference. Ah! heaven is not a little colony, at one corner of God’92s dominion, where a man’92s entrance depends upon what kind of clothes he has on his back, and how much money he has in his purse; but a vast empire. God grant that the light of that blessed world may shine upon us in our last moment.
The roughest time we had in crossing the ocean was at the mouth of Liverpool harbor. We arrived at nightfall, and were obliged to lie there till the morning, waiting for the rising of the tide, before we could go up to the city. How the vessel pitched and writhed in the water. So sometimes the last illness of the Christian is a struggle. He is almost through the voyage. The waves of temptation toss his soul, but he waits for the morning. At last the light dawns, and the tides of joy rise in his soul, and he sails up and casts anchor within the veil. Are you ready? Is thine heart right? Have you within you a repenting heart, a believing heart, a forgiving heart, an expectant heart? If not, I must write upon your soul what George Whitefield wrote upon the window-pane with his diamond ring. He tarried in an elegant house over night, but found that there was no God recognized in that house. Before he left his room in the morning, with his ring he wrote upon the window-pane, ’93One thing thou lackest.’94 After the guest was gone, the housewife came up and looked at the window, and saw the inscription, and called her husband and her children; and God, through that ministry of the window-glass, brought them all to Jesus. Though you may today be surrounded by comforts and luxuries, and feel that you have need of nothing, if you are not the children of God, with the signet-ring of Christ’92s love, let me inscribe upon your souls, ’93One thing thou lackest.’94
I pray you that, whatever else you may miss, you may not miss heaven. It is too bright a home to lose. Your soul has been bought at too dear a price. I preach to you of the blood that cleanseth from all sin. Casting all your sins behind you. I beg of you to start this morning for the Kingdom. ’93Yes,’94 you say, ’93I will start, but not now.’94 William III made proclamation, when there was a revolution in the north of Scotland, that all who came and took the oath of allegiance by the thirty-first of December should be pardoned. MacIan, a chieftain of a prominent clan, resolved to return with the rest of the rebels, but had some pride in being the very last one that should take the oath. He postponed starting for this purpose until two days before the expiration of the term. A snow-storm impeded his way, and before he got up to take the oath and receive a pardon from the throne the time was up and past. While the others were set free, MacIan was miserably put to death. He started too late and arrived too late. In like manner some of you are in prospect of losing forever the amnesty of the Gospel. Many of you are going to be forever too late. Remember the irreparable mistake of MacIan!
Autor: T. De Witt Talmage