Many will sit here to-night, who have, through a long life, committed a hundred sins of which they would be ashamed to be reminded, and yet they are not ashamed of them. They would only be ashamed to be found out; they are not ashamed of the sin itself.
A man truly awakened by the Spirit of God feels the remembrance of his sin to sting him as with scorpions. He cannot bear it. But the great mass of people do a thousand wrong things, and yet they are not troubled, but feel quite at their ease. Some of you are probably within a very short time of death and judgment, and yet you can make sport of sin.
How often does it happen that people come to the place of worship, and go their way, having rejected solemn appeals: and they will never hear any more! They have bad their last warning. Oh, if they could but know that, during the week, they will fall down dead, or be laid aside by sickness, never to leave the bed again! Yet they trifle, on the brink of fate, on the very verge of everlasting woo.
If you saw a man going straight on to the very brink of some dreadful precipice, and you saw him about to take another step, you would say,
“That man is blind. I am sure that he is, or else he would not act like that.”
People do not go into terrible danger with their eyes open; yet there are many of our fellow-men, perhaps many of ourselves, going right on, carelessly and heedlessly, to the very brink of the awful abyss without a thought of danger. They must be blind. This horrible peace of conscience, this quenching of the Spirit whenever conscience does stir itself, this playing and trifling with death and judgment, prove that they are blind.