Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 2203
“Then said I, Lo, I come.” Psalm 40:7.
To my great sorrow, last Sunday night I was unable to preach. I had prepared a sermon upon this text with much hope of its usefulness, for I intended it to be a supplement to the morning sermon [Sermon #2202, “Lo, I Come”— Exposition”] which was a doctrinal exposition. The evening sermon was intended to be practical and to commend the whole subject to the attention of enquiring sinners. I came here feeling quite fit to preach, but an overpowering nervousness oppressed me and I lost all self-control—and left the pulpit in anguish. I come here this morning with the same subject. I have been turning it over and wondering why it was so. Perhaps this sermon was not to be preached on that occasion because God would teach the preacher more of his on feebleness and cast him more fully upon the Divine Strength. That has certainly been the effect upon my own heart.
Perhaps, also, there are some here, this morning, who were not here last Lord’s-Day evening, whom God intends to bless by the sermon. The people were not here, perhaps, for whom the eternal decree of God had designed the message and they may be here now. You that are new to this place should consider the strange circumstance—which never happened to me before in the 40 years of my ministry—and you may be led to enquire whether my bow was then unstrung that the arrow might find its ordained target in your heart! The two sermons will now go forth together from the press and, perhaps, going together, they may prove to be like two hands of love with which to embrace lost souls and draw them to the Savior, who herein says, “Lo, I come.” God grant it may be so!
The times when our Lord says, “Lo, I come,” have all a family likeness. There are certain crystals which assume a regular shape and, if you break them, each fragment will show the same conformation. If you were to dash them to shivers, every particle of the crystal would still be of the same form. Now, the goings forth of Christ which were of old, His coming at Calvary and that great Advent when He shall come a second time to judge the earth in righteousness—all these have a likeness, the one to the other. But there is a coming of what I may call a lesser sort, when Jesus cries, “Lo, I come,” to each individual sinner and brings a revelation of pardon and salvation—and this has about it much which is similar to the great ones. My one desire this morning is to set forth the Lord Jesus as saying to you, as once He did to me, “Lo, I come.”
He still cries to the weak, destitute, forlorn, hopeless sinner, “Lo, I come.” I shall talk about that coming and hope that you will experience it, now, and thus be able to follow me in what I say. I speak mainly to the unconverted, but while I do so, I shall hope to be refreshing the grateful memories of those already saved—but this will all depend upon the working of the Spirit of God. To Him, then, lift up your hearts in prayer.
I. I will commence with this observation—THE LORD CHRIST HAS TIMES OF HIS FIRST COMINGS TO MEN—“Then said I, Lo, I come.”
What are these times? Maybe some here present have reached this season and this very day is the time of blessing when the text shall be fulfilled—“Then said I, Lo, I come.” Go with me to the first record in the volume of the Book, when it was said that He should come. You will find it in the early chapters of Genesis.
Jesus said, “Lo, I come,” when man’s probation was a failure. Man in the Garden of Eden had every advantage for obedience and life. He had a perfect nature, created without bias towards evil and he was surrounded with every inducement to continue loyal to his Maker. He was placed under no burdensome law. The precept was simple and plain—“Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat: but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, you shall not eat of it: for
in the day that you eat thereof, you shall surely die.” Only one tree was reserved—all the rest were given up to be freely enjoyed. In a very short time—some think it was on the first day, but that we do not know—our mother Eve ate of the fruit and father Adam followed her, and thus human probation ended in total failure. They were weighed in the balances and found wanting—“Adam, being in honor, continued not.” At that point we read in the volume of the Book that the Seed of the woman should bruise the serpent’s head. Then our Redeemer said, “Lo, I come.”
Listen to me, my Friend—you, also, have had your probation, as you have thought it to be. You left your father’s roof with every hope. Your mother judged you to be of a most amiable character and your friends expected to see in you one whose life would honor the family. You thought so yourself. Your probation has reversed that hope—you have turned out far different then you should have and, looking back upon the whole of your life to this moment, you ought to be ashamed! It has been a terrible breaking down for you and for all who know you—and you are sitting in this place feeling, “Yes, it is so. The tests have proven me to be as a broken reed. I am under condemnation by reason of my transgressions against God.” How rejoiced I am to tell you that, at such a time when you are conscious that you are a dead failure, Jesus says, “Lo, I come!” If you had not been a failure, you would not have needed Him and He never comes as a superfluity. But now, in your complete breakdown, you must have Him or perish—and in infinite pity he cries, “Lo, I come!” Is not this good news for you? Believe it and live!