Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 2275
“And he took them the same hour of the night, and washed their stripes; and was baptized, he and all his, straightway. And when he bad brought them into his house, he set meat before them, and rejoiced, believing in God with all his house.” Acts 16:33,34.
THE Gospel, attended by the Spirit of God, is always victorious, but it is very pleasant to make notes of its victories. The Gospel came to Lydia, a devout woman, who was one given to prayer, and who worshipped God, although she did not know the Lord Jesus Christ. She was a woman of tender heart and she was soon won. The Lord gently knocked at the door of her heart and it was opened. She heard Paul’s plain preaching, she received the Truth of God, was baptized, and became the cornerstone of the Church at Philippi. “Well,” says one, “that is an instance of what the Gospel does with delicate, tender, gentle natures.”
Now, here is an old soldier. He has been in the wars, he has earned distinction and has been appointed to the office of jailor at Philippi, an office of some importance under the Roman Emperor. He is a man who knows the sight of blood— he is of a coarse, though apparently honest, disposition. He keeps prisoners and that is not an office that brings much gentleness with it—and he is under very stern law. He carries out strict discipline in the prison. He is as hard as a bit of the lower millstone. What will the Gospel do with him? Brothers and Sisters, it triumphed as much in the jailor at Philippi as it did in the lady from Thyatira! And while it won its way into the heart of the dealer in purple, it also worked its way into the heart of the dealer in crimson who had often shed precious blood! The victory over the rough Philippian jailor was as illustrious as the victory over the gentle and devout Lydia.
I want especially to call your attention to this point—the Philippian jailor stands before us as one who was converted, baptized and who brought forth useful fruit all in the compass of an hour or so. “Straightway,” says my text. It also says, “The same hour of the night.” This man was brought from darkness into the marvelous Light of God all of a sudden! He was so distinctly brought that he avowed his conversion, then and there, and went on to prove its reality right then, in his own house, by entertaining the men whom, a few hours before, he had thrust into the inner prison and whose feet he had made fast in the stocks.
In a great many cases, conversion may be said to be a slow work. I do not think that it really is so, but it appears to be so. There is the early training, there is the awakening of conscience, there is the seeking to find Christ, the struggling, the little Light of God, the dim hope, the faith like a grain of mustard seed and, by-and-by, a little confidence— afterwards faith more clear and then, after a long time, comes the public avowal of the joy and peace received through believing! We have a great many people round us who are very slow. Why it is, I do not know, for this is not a slow age. People are fast enough about the things of this world. We cannot travel fast enough. Everything must be done at express speed! But in the things of God there are numbers of persons who are as slow as snails. I have often wondered how the snail got into the ark—he must have started very early to get in. I am thankful that he did get in, however, as certainly as the hare or the gazelle. And many of our crawling friends, I trust, will be found in Heaven, and will be really saved, although they are a long while in coming to Christ. It takes a long time to get some of them even a small distance on the road towards a comfortable assurance of salvation.
I have no doubt that the work of Grace is very gradual in some people. It is like the sunrise in this country. I am sure that you cannot tell, on foggy mornings, when the sun rises. I have sometimes questioned whether he ever does rise in England—I have seen very little of him for the last few days. I believe that the sun has been seen in England—I take it as
a matter of trust that that ruddy wafer that I saw the other day really was the sun—although it is a great contrast to the king of day who rules in the sunny South! Who can tell when he begins to shine upon the earth? There is a little gray light, by-and-by a little more, and a little more, and at last you can say that the sun has fairly risen. So it is with some Christians. There is a tiny gleam of light and then a little more light, and then a further ray of light—but it is only after a considerable time that you can say that the full light has really come into their souls.
Yet, mark you, there is a moment when the sun’s disc first appears above the horizon. There is a moment when the circle of the sun is really first visible, just an instant, the smallest portion of time and, in conversion, there must be a time in which death has gone and life has come—and that must be as sharp a division as the razor’s edge could make. There really cannot be anything between life and death. The man is either dead or alive—and there must be some point at which he ceases to be dead and becomes living. A man cannot be somewhere between condemnation and justification— there is no land in between. The man is either condemned on account of sin, or he is justified through the righteousness of Christ! He cannot be between those two states so that, after all, in its essence, salvation must be an instantaneous thing. It may be, it will be, surrounded by a good deal that seems to lead up to it and makes it appear to be gradual. But, in reality, if you get to the root of the matter, there is a turning point, well-defined and sharp, and if not clear to you, it is clear to the Great Worker who has worked in the heart that is changed from death to life, and from condemnation through sin to justification through Jesus Christ!