Salvation From Sin by George MacDonald, edited by Michael Phillips

A sermon entitled Salvation From Sin by George MacDonald, from The Hope of the Gospel, 1892, edited by Michael Phillips, partially printed in Leben 5, 2005

 

–and thou shalt call his name Jesus; for he shall save his people from their sins.–Matthew i. 21.

     I would help us understand what Jesus came from the home of our Father to be to us and do for us. Everything in the world is more or less misunderstood at first: we have to learn what it is, and come at length to see that it must be so, that it could not be otherwise. Then we know it; and we never know a thing really until we know it thus.

Discomforts that plague us

     I presume there is scarce a human being , if he or she resolved to speak openly, who would not confess to having something that plagued him, something from which he would like to be free, something making it impossible for him, at the moment, to regard life as an altogether good thing. Most, I presume, imagine that, free of such antagonistic things , life would be an unmingled satisfaction, worthy of being prolonged indefinitely.

     The causes of these discomforts may be of all kinds. Their degrees reach from simple uneasiness, to a misery that would make annihilation itself the highest hope of one who could persuade himself that it was possibile. Perhaps the greater part of the energy of this world’s life is spent in the effort to rid itself of discomfort.

     Some, to escape it, leave their natural surroundings behind them. With strong and continuous effort , they rise in the social scale only to discover at every new ascent fresh trouble, as they think, awaiting them. In truth, they have brought the trouble with them. Others, hurrying to be rich, are slow to find out that the poverty of their souls, none the less that their purses are filling, will yet keep them unhappy. Some seek endless change, not knowing that the only thing that will set them free is for the change to take place within themselves. Others expand their souls with knowledge, only to find that contentment does not dwell in the great house they have built.

     To list the varieties of human endeavour to escape discomfort would be to enumerate all the modes of such life that does not know how to live. All seek the thing whose defect appears the cause of their misery, but is in reality the variable occasion of it–the cause of the shape it takes, not of the misery itself. For when one apparent cause is removed, another at once takes its place. The real cause of his trouble is a something the man has not perhaps recognized as even existent. In any case he is not yet acquainted with its true nature.

The cause

     However absurd the statement may appear to one who has not yet discovered the fact for himself, the cause of every man’s discomfort is evil, moral evil–first of all, evil in himself, his own sin, his own wrongness, his own unrightness; and then, evil in those he loves. With this latter I am not at present concerned; the only way to get rid of it is for the man to get rid of his own sin. No special sin may be recognizable as having caused this or that special physical discomfort–which may indeed have originated with some ancestor. But evil in ourselves is the cause of its continuance, the source of its necessity, and the preventive of that patience which would soon take from it, or at least blunt, its sting. The evil is essentially unnecessary. It disappears with the attainment of the object for which it is permitted–namely, the development of pure will in man. The suffering is also essentially unnecessary. But while the evil remains, the suffering, whether resulting directly from the evil or merely a corollary to it, is absolutely necessary.

     Foolish is the man, and there are many such men, who would rid himself or his fellows of discomfort by setting the world right, by waging war on the evils around him, while he neglects that integral part of the world where lies his business, his first business–namely, his own character and conduct. Were it possible–an absurd supposition–that the world should thus be righted from the outside, it would yet be impossible for the man who had contributed to the work, remaining what he was, ever to enjoy the perfection of the result. Not himself in tune with the organ he had tuned, he must imagine it still a distracted, jarring instrument. The philanthropist who regards the wrong as in the race, forgetting that the race is made up of conscious and wrong individuals, forgets also that wrong is always generated in and done by an individual. The wrongness exists in the individual, and by him is passed over, as tendency, to the race. No evil can be cured in the race except by its being cured in its individuals. Tendency is not absolute evil. It is there that it may be resisted, not yielded to. There is no way of making three men right but by making right each one of the three. But a cure in one man who repents and turns, is a beginning of the cure of the whole human race.

     Even if a man’s suffering be a far inheritance, for the curing of which by faith and obedience this life would not be sufficiently long, faith and obedience will yet render it endurable to the man, and overflow in help to his fellow-sufferers. The groaning body, wrapt in the garment of hope, will, with outstretched neck, look for its redemption, and endure.

The only cure

     The one cure for any organism, is to be set right–to have all its parts brought into harmony with each other. The one comfort is to know this cure in process. Rightness alone is cure. The return of the organism to its true self, is its only possible ease.

     To free a man from suffering, he must be set right, put in health. The health at the root of man’s being, his rightness, is to be free from wrongness, that is, from sin. A man is right when there is no wrong in him. He must be set free from the wrong, the evil, that is in him. I do not mean set free from the sins he has done: that will follow. I mean the sins he is doing, or is capable of doing, the sins in his being which spoil his nature–the wrongness in him–the evil he consents to, the sin he is, which makes him do the sin he does.

     To save a man from his sins is to say to him, in meaning both perfect and eternal, “Rise up and walk. Be at liberty in thy essential being. Be free as the son of God is free.” To do this for us, Jesus was born, and remains born to all the ages. When misery drives a man to call out to the source of his life,–and I take the increasing outcry against existence as a sign of the growth of the race toward a sense of the need of regeneration–the answer, I think, will come in a quickening of his conscience.

     This pledge of the promised deliverance will in all probability not be what the man desires. He only wants to be rid of his suffering. But that he cannot have except in being delivered from its essential root, a thing infinitely worse than any suffering it can produce. If he will not have that full deliverance, he must keep his suffering. Through chastisement he will take at last the only way that leads into the liberty of that which is and must be. There can be no deliverance but to come out of his evil dream into the glory of God.

Jesus did not come to save us from hell

     It is true that Jesus came, in delivering us from our sins, to deliver us also from the painful consequences of our sins. But these consequences exist by the one law of the universe, the true will of the Perfect. That broken, that disobeyed by the creature, his anarchy makes suffering inevitable–it is the natural consequence of his unnatural rebellion. In the perfection of God’s creation, the result is curative of the cause. The pain at least tends to the healing of the breach between man and God.

     The Lord never came to deliver men from the consequences of their sins while yet those sins remained. That would be to cast out of the window the medicine of cure while yet the man lay sick, going straight against the very laws of being. Yet men, loving their sins, and feeling nothing of their dread hatefulness, have, consistently with their low condition, constantly taken this word concerning the Lord to mean that he came to save them from the punishment of their sins.

     This miserable fancy has terribly corrupted the preaching of the gospel. The message of the good news has not been truly delivered. Unable to believe in the forgiveness of their Father in heaven, many imagine him not at liberty to forgive, or incapable of forgiving forthright. Not really believing him God our Saviour, but a God bound, either in his own nature or by a law above him and compulsory upon him, to exact some recompense or satisfaction for sin, a multitude of teaching men have taught their fellows that Jesus came to bear our punishment and save us from hell. They have represented a result as the object of his mission. Nor is that result one that would be desired by a true man except as a result of the gain of the Lord’s primary object.

     The mission of Jesus was from the same source and with the same object as the punishment of our sins. He came to work along with our punishment. He came to side with it, and set us free from our sins. No man is safe from hell until he is free from his sins. But a man to whom his sins, that is the evil things in him, are a burden, while he may indeed sometimes feel as if he were in hell, will soon have forgotten that ever he had any other hell to think of than that of his sinful condition. For to him his sins are hell. He would go to the other hell to be free of them. Free of them, hell itself would be endurable to him.

Hell is God’s

     For hell is God’s and not the devil’s. Hell is on the side of God and man, to free the child of God from the corruption of death. Not one soul will ever be redeemed from hell but by being saved from his sins, from the evil in him. If hell be needful to save him, hell will blaze and the worm will writhe and bite, until he takes refuge in the will of the Father. “Salvation from hell,” is salvation as conceived by such to whom hell and not evil is the terror. But if even for dread of hell a poor soul seek the Father, he will be heard of him in his terror, and, taught of him to seek the immeasurably greater gift, and therefore will in the greater receive the less.

     There is another important misapprehension of the words of the messengers of the good tidings—that they threaten us with punishment because of the sins we have committed, whereas their true message is of forgiveness not vengeance, of deliverance not punishment to come. Not for anything he has committed does the gospel threaten a man with the outer darkness. A man shall not be condemned for any or all of his sins that are past. Not for the worst of them needs he dread remaining unforgiven. The sin he dwells in, the sin he will not come out of, is the sole ruin of a man.

     Our present live sins—those pervading our thoughts and ruling our conduct, the sins we keep doing, and will not give up, the sins we are called to abandon yet cling to, the same sins which are the cause of our misery though we may not know it—these are they for which we are even now condemned. It is true that the memory of the wrongs we have done may become very bitter. But we are not condemned for those. And if that in our character which made them possible is abolished, remorse will lose its worst bitterness in the hope of future amends. “This is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.”

      It is the indwelling badness, ready to produce bad actions, that we need to be delivered from. If a man will not fight against this badness, he is left to sin and reap the consequences. To be saved from these consequences would be no deliverance. It would be an immediate and ever deepening damnation.

      He came to deliver us from the evil in our being—no essential part of it, thank God! He came to free us from the miserable fact that as children of God we do not care for our father and will not obey him, causing us to desire wrongly, act wrongly, or, even when we try not to act wrongly, yet still feeling wrongly. He came to deliver us, not from the things we have done, but the possibility of doing such things anymore.

      With the departure of this possibility, and with the hope of confession hereafter to those we have wronged, will depart also the power over us of the evil things we have done. And so we shall be saved from them also.

      The bad that lives in us, our evil judgments, our unjust desires, our hate and pride and envy and greed and self-satisfaction—these are the souls of our sins. These live sins are more terrible than the bodies of our sins, namely the deeds we do. For our live sin not only produces these loathsome things, but makes us as loathsome as they. Our wrong deeds are but dead works. Our evil thoughts are live sins. These sins that dwell and work in us are the essential opposites of faith and love and are the sins from which Jesus came to deliver us. When we turn against them and refuse to obey them, they rise in fierce insistence. But the same moment they begin to die. We are then on the Lord’s side, as he has always been on ours, and he begins to deliver us from them.

Even tiny sins must go

      Anything in you, which, in your own child, would make you feel him not so pleasant as you would have him, is something wrong. This may mean much to one, little or nothing to another. Things in a child which to one parent would not seem worth minding, would fill another with horror. Concerning his moral development, where the one parent would smile, the other would look aghast, perceiving both the present evil and the serpent-brood to follow.

      But as the love of him who is love transcends ours as the heavens are higher than the earth, so must he desire in his child infinitely more than the most vigilant love of the best mother can desire in hers. He would have each of us rid of all discontent, all fear, all grudging, all bitterness in word or thought, all gauging and measuring of our own with a different standard from what we apply to others. He will have no curling of the lip, no indifference in us to the one whose service in any form comes to us, no desire to excel another, no contentment at gaining by someone else’s loss. He will not have us receive the smallest kindness without gratitude, would not hear from us so much as a tone of voice to jar the heart of another, nor word to make it ache, be the ache ever so fleeting.

      Jesus was born to deliver us from all such and other sin—not, primarily from the punishment of any of them. When all are gone, the holy punishment will have departed also.

      He came to make us good, and therein blessed children.

The highest in man—the will

      One master-sin is at the root of all the rest. It is no individual action, or anything that comes of mood or feeling. It is the non-recognition by man, and consequent inactivity in him, of the highest of all relations, that relation which is the root and first essential condition of every other true relation in the human soul. It is the absence in man of harmony with the Being whose thought is man’s existence, whose word is man’s power of thought.

      It is true that, being thus his offspring, as St. Paul affirms, God cannot ever be far from any one of us. If we were not in closest contact to the creating and creative love, we could not exist at all. We have within ourselves no power to live nor to continue living. But there is a closer contact still that is absolutely necessary to our well-being and highest existence.

     For the highest creation of God in man is his will. And until the highest in man meets the highest in God, their true relation is not yet a spiritual fact. The flower lies in the root, but the root is not the flower. The relation exists, but while one of the parties neither knows, loves, nor acts upon it, the relation is yet unborn.

      The highest in man is neither his intellect nor his imagination nor his reason. All are inferior to his will, and indeed, in a grand way, dependent upon it. Man’s will must meet God’s—a will distinct from God’s, otherwise no harmony is possible between them. Not the less, therefore, but the more, is all God’s. For God creates in man the power to will His will. It may cost God a suffering man can never know to bring individual men and women to the point at which they will His will. But when we are brought to that point, and commit ourselves to the doing of the will of God, we become one with God, and the end of God in man, and the end for which Jesus was born and died, is gained. The man is saved from his sins, and the universe flowers yet again in his redemption.

The only way—to be like him

      I would not be supposed, from what I have said, to imagine the Lord without sympathy for the sorrows and pains which reveal what sin is, and by means of which he would make men sick of sin. He sympathizes with everything human. But evil is not human. It is the defect and opposite of the human. The suffering that follows it, however, is human. It belongs of necessity to the human that has sinned. While it is at root caused by sin, suffering acts for the benefit of the sinner, helping toward his deliverance from his sin.

      Jesus is in himself aware of every human pain. He feels it also. In him too it is pain. With the energy of tenderest love he wills his brothers and sisters free, that he may fill them to overflowing with essential joy. For that they were indeed created.

      But from the moment of their existence, truth becomes a yet higher thing than happiness. And he must first of all make them true. If it were possible, however, for pain to continue after evil was gone, he would never rest while one ache yet remained in the world. Perfect in sympathy, he feels in himself the tortured presence of every nerve that lacks its true rest. The man may recognize the wrongness in him only as pain. He may know little and care nothing about his sins. Yet nonetheless is the Lord sorry for his pain.

      He cries aloud, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” He does not say, “Come unto me, all ye that feel the burden of your sins.” He opens his arms to all who are weary enough to come to him in the poorest hope of rest. Right gladly would he free them from their misery. But he knows only one way: He will teach them to be like himself, meek and lowly, bearing with gladness the yoke of his father’s will.

The cure for all—the will of the Father

      This is the one, the only right, the only possible way of freeing mankind from the sins which are the cause of their unrest. With man the weariness, discomfort, and suffering come first. With him the sins are first. There is but one cure for both—the will of the Father. That which is his joy will be our deliverance!

      The disobedient and selfish would prefer to keep hell in their hearts and yet possess the liberty and gladness that belong to purity and love. But they cannot have them. They are weary and heavy-laden, both with what they are, and because of what they were made for but are not. The Lord knows what they need. They know only what they want. They want ease. He knows they need purity.

      But for his resolve to purify them, their very existence is an evil of which their maker must rid his universe. That which is not growing must at length die out of creation. How can he keep in his sight a foul presence? Will the creator send forth his virtue to keep alive a thing that is determined to remain evil—a thing that ought not to exist and has no claim but to cease? The Lord himself would not live except with an existence absolutely good.

In obedience is our only deliverance

 It may be my reader will desire me to say how the Lord will deliver us from our sins. That is like the lawyer’s “Who is my neighbour?” The spirit of such a mode of receiving the offer of the Lord’s deliverance is the root of all the horrors of a corrupt theology, so acceptable to those who love weak and beggarly hornbooks of religion. Such questions spring from the passion for the fruit of the tree of knowledge not the fruit of the tree of life.

      Men would understand: they do not care to obey—understand where it is impossible they should understand except by obeying. They would search into the work of the Lord instead of doing their part in it—thus making it impossible both for the Lord to go on with his work, and for themselves to become capable of seeing and understanding what he does. Instead of immediately obeying the Lord of life, the one condition upon which he can help them, and in itself the beginning their deliverance, they set themselves to question their unenlightened intellects as to his plans for their deliverance—and not merely how he means to effect it, but how he can be able to effect it.

      They would bind their Samson until they have scanned his limbs and muscles. Incapable of understanding the first motions of freedom in themselves, they proceed to interpret the riches of God’s divine soul in terms of their own beggarly notions— paraphrasing his glorious verse into their own paltry commercial prose. And then, in the growing presumption of imagined success, they insist upon their neighbours’ acceptance of their distorted shadows of “the plan of salvation” as the truth of him in whom is no darkness, and the one condition of their acceptance with him.

      They delay setting their foot on the stair which alone can lead them to the house of wisdom, until they shall have determined the material and mode of its construction. For the sake of knowing, they postpone that which alone can enable them to know. They substitute for the true understanding which lies beyond, a false persuasion that they already understand. They will not accept, that is, act upon, their highest privilege, that of obeying the Son of God.

      It is on them that do his will, that the day dawns. To them the day-star arises in their hearts. Obedience is the soul of knowledge.

      By obedience, I intend no kind of obedience to man, or submission to authority claimed by man or community of men. I mean obedience to the will of the Father, however revealed in our conscience.

      God forbid I should seem to despise understanding. The New Testament is full of urgings to understand. Our whole life, to be life at all, must be a growth in understanding. What I cry out upon is the misunderstanding that comes of man’s endeavour to understand while not obeying. Upon obedience our energy must be spent. Understanding will follow.

      Not anxious to know our duty, or knowing it and not doing it, how shall we understand that which only a true heart and a clean soul can ever understand? The power in us that would understand if it were free, lies in the bonds of imperfection and impurity. It is therefore incapable of judging the divine. It cannot see the truth. If it could see it, it would not know it and would not have it. Until a man begins to obey, the light that is in him is darkness.

When we set ourselves to obey the lord helps us

      Any honest soul may understand this much, however—for it is a thing we may of ourselves judge to be right—that the Lord cannot save anyone from his sins while that man or woman yet holds to his sins.

      It is a notion too absurd for mockery that an omnipotent God could do and not do the same thing at the same moment. An omnipotence that could at once make a man free, and at the same time leave him a self-degraded slave, is equally absurd. That God could make him the very likeness of himself, and yet good only because he could not help being good, is an idea of the same character and equally self-contradictory.

      But the Lord is not unreasonable. He requires no high motives where such could not yet exist. He does not say, “You must be sorry for your sins, or you need not come to me.” To be sorry for his sins a man must love God and man, and love is the very thing that has to be developed in him. It is but common sense that a man, longing to be freed from suffering, or made able to bear it, should take himself to the Power who created him and gives him life. Equally is it common sense that, if a man would be delivered from the sin within him, he must himself begin to cast it out. He must himself begin to disobey the urge to sin, and work toward righteousness within himself. Furthermore, it is common sense that a man should look for and expect the help of his Father in the endeavour. Alone, he might labour to all eternity and not succeed. He who has not made himself, cannot set himself right without him who made him. But his maker is in him, and is his strength.

      The man, however, who, instead of doing what he is told, broods speculating on the metaphysics of him who calls him to his work, stands leaning his back against the door by which the Lord would enter to help him. The moment he sets about putting straight the thing that is crooked—I mean doing right where he has been doing wrong—he withdraws from the entrance, and makes room for the Master to come in.

      We cannot make ourselves pure, but we can leave that which is impure. We can spread out the “defiled, discoloured web” of our lives before the bleaching sun of righteousness. We cannot save ourselves, but we can let the Lord save us. The struggle of our weakness is as essential to the coming victory as the strength of Him who resisted unto death, striving against sin.

      The sum of the whole matter is this:—The Son has come from the Father to set the children free from their sins. The children must hear and obey him, that he may send forth judgment unto victory.

      Son of our Father, help us to do what thou sayest, and so with thee die unto sin, that we may rise to the sonship for which we were created. Help us to repent even to the sending away of our sins.