By moments in life, I mean certain
periods which occur more or less frequently in our
history, when the spirit in which we then
live, the step we then take, the word we then utter,
or what we at that moment think, resolve, accept,
reject, do, or do not, may give a complexion to our
whole future being both here and hereafter.
Let me notice one or two features
which characterise those moments.
They may, for example, be very brief.
Napoleon once remarked, that there was a crisis in
every battle, when ten minutes generally determined
the victory on one side or other. Yet on the transactions
of those few minutes the fate of empires may hang,
and on the single word of command, rapidly spoken
amidst the roar of cannon and the crash of arms, the
destinies of the human race be affected. Men in
public life, who are compelled every day to decide
on matters of importance, appreciate the value of
minutes, and estimate the necessity of snatching them
as they pass with promptness and decision; of
“taking advantage of the chance,” as they
say, knowing well that if that moment is allowed to
pass, “the chance” it brings is gone for
ever; that whatever their hand “finds to do”
must be done then or never. The results to them
of what they decide at that moment may be incalculable.
What is then done may never be undone; yet not another
second is added to the time given them for action.
Within the germ of that brief moment of life is contained
the future tree of many branches and of much fruit.
What a brief moment, indeed, in our
endless life is the whole period even of the longest
life on earth! It is compared to a vapour, which
appeareth for a short time, and then vanisheth away;
to “a watch in the night,” “a
tale that is told.” And if we but consider
how nearly a third portion of our threescore years
and ten is necessarily spent in sleep; and add to
this the years spent during infancy while preparing
for labour; during old age, when our labours are well-nigh
past; and many more consumed in adorning and supporting
or giving rest to the body; and then if, after summing
up those years, we deduct what remains of time at
the disposal of the oldest man for the formation of
active thought and the improvement of his spiritual
being, oh! how brief is the whole period of our mortal
life, when longest, though its transactions are to
us fraught with endless and awful consequences!
Another characteristic of those moments
in life is the silence with which they may come and
pass away. No “sign” may be given
to indicate their importance to us. They do not
announce their approach with the sound of a trumpet,
nor demand with a voice of thunder our immediate and
solemn attention to their interests; but stealthily,
quietly, with noiseless tread like spirits from another
world, they come to us, put their question, speak
the word, and vanish to heaven with our reply.
In after years, possibly, with “the long results
of time” to guide us upward as by a stream to
the tiny threads of this fountain of life and action,
we may be able in a greater degree to realise of what
tremendous importance they were to us. “Had
we only known this at the time!” we exclaim,
as we revolve those memories, and think of all we
would have said or done; “had we only
known!” But it is not God’s will that
we should know how much of the future is involved in
the present, or how all we shall be is determined
by what we may resolve to be or do at any particular
moment. Such a revelation would paralyse all
effort, and destroy the mainspring of all right action.
Sight would thus be substituted for faith; the fear
of evil consequences for the fear of evil; and the
love of future benefits for the love of present duty.
God will have us rather cultivate habitually a right
spirit at each moment, so as to be able to act rightly
when the all-important moment comes, whether we then
discover its importance or not. Let us not be
surprised, then, if God comes to us, not in the strong
wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but only in the
still small voice which speaks to the heart or to
the conscience, demanding the conduct which becomes
us as responsible beings and as obedient children.
But let me illustrate these remarks
by a few examples of “moments in life,”
and such as must come to us all.
It is a solemn “moment in life”
when the glad tidings of the love of God in Christ
Jesus are heard and understood. Remember that
we are saved by “the truth;” born again
“of the Word;” sanctified “by the
truth.” To receive the truth of God, then,
as a living power into the mind and conscience, is
of infinite importance to us. Now, while God’s
truth comes to us “at various times and in diverse
manners,” there are moments in life when we
cannot choose but feel as if it was addressing our
inner spirit as it never did before, and earnestly
knocking for admission. The circumstances in
which this appeal is made may be what are called commonplace;
such as when hearing a sermon preached from the pulpit,
when reading a book by the fireside, or when conversing
for a few minutes with an acquaintance; yet at such
times truth expressed in a single sentence, or in
a few words, may search our spirits, and gaze on us
with a solemn look, saying, “Thou art the man
I am in search of!” But, as it sometimes happens,
the circumstances in which we are thus arrested by
the truth, and are compelled to listen to it for weal
or woe, may be peculiarly impressive; as when we are
ourselves in sickness or danger, or when addressed
by a parent or dear friend on their dying bed, or
when in deep family distress, or when standing beside
the grave that conceals our best earthly treasure from
our sight. At such moments the voice of God’s
Spirit is awfully solemn as He cries, “Now is
the day of salvation;” “To-day, if ye will
hear His voice, harden not your hearts;” “Believe
and live.”
These moments may be very brief.
The crisis of the battle between God and self, right
and wrong, truth and falsehood, may be concentrated
into a few minutes. But time sufficient is, nevertheless,
given wherein to test our truthfulness, the
soil in which truth grows, the mirror that reflects
its beams; time sufficient is given to say Yes or
No to that God who claims our faith and love.
Truth comes with authority and majesty as an ambassador
from the living God, and with clear voice, pure eye,
and an arm omnipotent to save, offers to give light,
life, and liberty to the captive spirit. But we
may evade his bright glance, and close our ears to
his voice, and refuse to consider his claims, and
deal falsely with his arguments; we may reject his
offers, and, shrinking back from his touch and his
helping hand, retire into the gloom of self-satisfied
pride, preferring the darkness to the light; or we
may make merry with Heaven’s ambassador, and
mock him as they did the prophet of old; or cry out,
“Away with him!” as the world cried to
the Lord of light and life. And what if the second
ambassador never comes again with such pressing earnestness,
but passes by the door once so rudely closed against
him, and will knock no more? Or, though he may
in mercy return again and again, what if the eye gets
blinded by the very light which it rejects? and the
ear becomes so familiar with the voice, that it attracts
attention no more than the winds that beat upon the
wall; and the heart becomes so hardened as to be unimpressible,
until the dread sentence is at last passed, “Because
I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out
my hand, and no man regarded; but ye have set at nought
all my counsel, and would none of my reproof:
I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when
your fear cometh; when your fear cometh as desolation,
and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind; when distress
and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they call
upon me, but I will not answer; they shall seek me
early, but they shall not find me: for that they
hated knowledge, and did not choose the
fear of the Lord: they would none of my counsel:
they despised all my reproof. Therefore shall
they eat of the fruit of their own way, and be filled
with their own devices.”
A young man came to Jesus seeking
eternal life. “Jesus, looking on him, loved
him,” and answered his prayers by teaching him
how eternal life could alone be attained. But
the young man went away sorrowful, because he had
much riches. What a history was contained in that
brief moment of his life!
Again, young King Agrippa, along with
the young Bernice, hear a sermon from Paul the prisoner.
The outward picture presented to the eye on that day
had nothing more remarkable or peculiar about it than
has been witnessed a thousand times before and since.
Those royal personages entered “the place of
hearing” with “great pomp,” accompanied
by “the chief captains and principal men of the
city.” And before them appeared an almost
unknown prisoner, upon whom his own nation, including
“the chief priests and elders from Jerusalem,”
demanded the judgment of death to be passed. That
prisoner, “in bodily presence weak and contemptible,”
was however “permitted to speak for himself;”
and verily he did speak! He spoke of God and Christ;
of repentance and the new life; and of his own glorious
commission to “open the eyes” of men,
“to turn them from darkness to light, from the
power of Satan unto God, that they might receive the
forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them that
are sanctified through faith in Jesus.”
What a revelation was this from God to man! The
voice which spoke from Sinai and through the prophets,
the voice of Him who is truth and love, spoke at that
moment of life through Paul to those royal hearers,
and to the captains and principal men. But Agrippa,
with a sneer or with some conviction of the truth,
replied, “Almost thou persuadest me to be a
Christian.” Unlike St Paul himself, when
the Lord spoke to him on his way to Damascus, Agrippa
was disobedient to the heavenly vision. And so
the sermon ended; the gay multitude dispersed; the
place of hearing was left in silence, and echoed only
the midnight winds or the beat of the sea-wave on the
neighbouring shore. St Paul retired to his cell;
Agrippa, Festus, and Bernice, to their chambers of
rest, to sleep and dream by night, as they slept and
dreamt by day. But they never heard the apostle
preach again! It was their first and last sermon;
that moment in their life came and passed, but never
returned. Like two ships which meet at midnight
on a moonlit sea, those two persons, the prisoner
and the king, spoke, then each passed into the darkness,
and onward on their voyage to their several ports,
but never met again! Oh, how awful are such moments
when truth reveals herself to the responsible spirit
of man! And so, my reader, does it ofttimes happen
between thee and God’s Spirit. Let me beseech
of thee to “redeem the time,” to know this
“the day of thy visitation,” and
to hear and believe “the word of the Lord.”
Another “moment in life”
which may be specially noticed, is that in which we
are tempted to evil. Temptations are no doubt
“common to man.” Our whole life in
a sense is a temptation, for whatever makes a demand
upon our choice as moral beings, involves a trial of
character, and tests the “spirit we are of.”
But nevertheless there do occur periods in our lives
when such trials are peculiarly testing; when large
bribes are offered to the sin that doth so easily beset
us, tempting us to betray conscience, give up principle,
lose faith in the right and in God, and to serve the
devil, the world, or the flesh. Such moments
may be very brief, yet decisive of our future life.
They may come suddenly upon us, though possibly many
notes of warning have announced their approach.
For they are often but the apex of the pyramid to
which many previous steps have gradually and almost
imperceptibly led; the beginning of a battle, which
must at last be fought, and very shortly decided,
but yet the ending of many previous skirmishings.
Be this as it may, that moment of life does come to
us all, when evil like the enemy appears to concentrate
against us its whole force, and when we must fight,
conquer, or die; when like a thief it resolves to
break into our home and take possession; when as a
deceiver it promises happiness, and demands immediate
acceptance or rejection of the splendid offer, “All
these will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and
worship me!”
What a moment is this in the life
of many a young person. How unutterably solemn
is the first deliberate act which opposes conscience,
rebels against the authority of God and of His law,
shuts out the light, and prefers darkness. Future
character, and the life and happiness of years, may
be determined by it. The step taken in that brief
moment, the lie uttered, the dishonesty perpetrated,
the drunkenness or debauchery indulged in, the prayers
for the first time given up, and the father’s
home left for the far country. Who can realise
the consequences of those first acts, or estimate the
many links of evil, and the endless chain itself,
that may connect themselves with the one link of sin
fashioned in that moment of life! Who can foresee
the streams ever increasing in breadth and depth which
may flow from this letting in of water! Would
God that my readers, young men especially, would but
believe in the possibility even of the choice they
make at such a time determining their future destiny.
The thought of this might at least make them pause
and consider.
There is no exaggeration in this language.
To realise the danger, all we need assume is the law
of habit; for, according to that law, we know that
any act of the will, good or bad, has a tendency to
repeat itself with increasing ease and decreasing
consciousness, until it becomes a “second nature.”
Hence the first resistance of evil is much less difficult
than any subsequent attempt; and he who in one moment
of life could by a manly effort become a conqueror,
and enter on a life of principle and peace, may, by
yielding, very soon sink down into a degraded slave,
who is held fast by the iron chain of habit, each
link of which he has himself forged by his own self-will.
What a moment was that in the life
of Herod when he permitted evil desire for Herodias
to enter his soul. That desire conceived sin,
and sin when finished brought forth death. Acts
passed into habits, and habits into a life of abandoned
passion. Then came the festive birthday, and
the dancing before him of the daughter of his paramour;
and then the foul murder, with the spectacle of the
bloody head, closed eyes, and sealed lips of the greatest
and noblest man of his time; and then followed the
hour when Jesus Himself was brought before the murderer,
when the Lord spoke not one word of warning, rebuke,
or mercy to him, but smote the wretch with the terrible
wrath and righteous judgment of silence!
What a moment in life was that, too,
when Judas welcomed covetousness into his heart as
a most profitable guest. Then one day Covetousness
offered him thirty pieces of silver if he would betray
his Lord; and Judas agreed to the proposal. A
whole eternity of misery was involved in that moment
of his life: for the night soon arrived when the
bargain was to be kept. A few moments more, and
the history will end here to begin elsewhere.
Yet there is not a sign on earth or heaven to indicate
the importance of that brief hour to Judas! He
forms one among the most distinguished company that
ever sat at the same table since the earth began;
and never did mortal ears listen to such words uttered
by human lips, nor did mortal eyes ever contemplate
such a scene of peace and love as was witnessed in
that upper room in Jerusalem. But the hour has
struck, and Judas rises to depart. The deed of
darkness must now be done. It is late, and he
has made a most important appointment; unless he keeps
it, he may lose his money; and what a loss to the
poor follower of a man who had nowhere to lay His
head! Judas leaves that company; and what was
there in things visible to make him suspect even that
an awful moment of life his last had
come? All was calm within that upper room, all
was peace in the world without. The naked heavens
shone in the calm brilliancy of an Eastern night The
streets of Jerusalem, along which the traitor passed
on his dreadful errand, echoed his footsteps in their
silence. Yet Judas, “the son of perdition,”
was at that moment on his way “to his own place!”
And thus it is with many a man in
the hour of temptation. The voice of sin speaks
not loudly, but whispers to his inner spirit.
He pursues his path of evil without alarm being given
by sight or sound from heaven or earth. There
is nothing in the world without to disturb the thoughts
and purposes of the world within his false and unprincipled
soul. The moment of his life brings the temptation,
and he yields his soul to its power, and the moment
passes with as noiseless a step; and soon the last
moment comes, and passes away; but he too has noiselessly
passed away with it “to his own place!”
The “moment in life” when
we are called upon to perform some positive duty,
is one which is often very critical and full of solemn
consequences to us. The duty may appear
to be a very trifling one, such as writing
a letter, visiting a friend, warning some brother
against evil, aiding another, or sympathising with
a sufferer in his sorrow. But whatever the work
may be, and in whatever way it is to be performed,
whether by word or deed, by silence or by speech,
yet there is a time given us for doing it, very brief
perhaps, and unaccompanied by any sign to mark its
significance, a time, nevertheless, when
whatever has to be done must be done quickly, “now
or never.”
Such a moment in life was that in
the history of the three apostles who accompanied
our Lord, at His own request, in order to watch with
Him in His last agony. As a man, He deserved their
thoughtful presence, their watchful sympathy, when
enduring the dread sorrow which filled His cup, from
realising by anticipation all that was before Him.
Thrice He came to them from the spot, not far off,
where He wrestled in prayer with His terrible agony.
Thrice He found them asleep.
“What!” he asked, “could ye not watch
with me one hour?” Ah! they knew not what an
hour that was! what it was to Him what
it was and might have been to them! They might
have had the joy, the exalted privilege, which for
ever would have been as a very heaven of glory in
their memory, of sharing, through the power of sympathising
love, the burden of their Lord’s anguish.
But they yielded to the flesh, and permitted that
moment of time to pass; and when they at last roused
themselves from their slumber, it was too late.
That moment in life had come and gone, and could return
no more. “Sleep on, and take your rest;
behold, he who betrayeth me is at hand!”
And thus it often happens in the life
of us all. An hour is given us when something
may be done for our Lord or our brethren, which cannot
possibly be done if that hour is permitted to pass
away unimproved. Then we may teach an ignorant
soul, or rouse a slothful one to action; we may alarm
one who is lethargic, worldly, sensual, “without
God or Christ in the world,” so as to win him
to both; or we may comfort the feeble-minded, and
support the weak. Circumstances may give us the
opportunity, and the “moment in life,”
when such works may be done. The persons to be
helped are perhaps inmates of our dwelling; they are
our relations: they are sick or dying; or they
have cast themselves upon our aid. But we let
the moment pass. The work given us is not done.
We have neglected it from sloth, procrastination,
thoughtlessness, or selfishness. And we may become
awake to our culpable negligence, and rouse ourselves
to duty. But, alas! those whom we could have
aided are past help. They are dead, or are removed
from our influence, or in some way “past remedy.”
And so the moment in life given us is gone, and gone
for ever, except to meet us and to accuse us before
the bar of God. And thus it is with duty in countless
forms. What our hands find to do must be done
quickly, if done at all, and in the time given us.
If not, a night comes, and may come soon and come
suddenly, in which either we ourselves cannot work,
or in which, though at last willing to do it, it is
no longer given us to do.
But there is one moment in life and
I conclude by suggesting it to your thoughts which
must come to every man, and which generally comes
with signs sufficiently significant of its importance, I
mean the last moment which closes our life on earth.
Come it must. And, as an old writer remarks,
“the day we die, though of no importance to the
world, is to ourselves of more importance than is all
the world.” That moment in life ends time
to us, and begins eternity; it ends our day of grace
and begins the day of judgment; it separates us from
the world in which we have lived since we were born,
and introduces us to the unseen, unknown world of
things and persons in which we must live for ever
during the life of God. What a moment is this!
It may come in the quiet of our own chamber, or amidst
the confusion and excitement of some dread accident
by land or sea; it may be heralded by long sickness
or old age, and accompanied by much weakness and bodily
suffering. But if that moment, when it comes,
is to bring us peace, let our present moments, as
they come, find us watchful, conscientious, believing,
and prayerful. And should these words of mine
be read by chance by one who has begun his last moment
without having begun the work for which he was created,
preserved, and redeemed, let me beseech of him to
improve it by repentance towards God, and faith in
Jesus Christ, who will pardon his sins, give him a
new heart, and save him as he did the thief on the
cross. If every hour of his day of grace has
been misimproved, let not this last be added to the
number. If he has stood all the day idle, let
him in the eleventh hour accept his Master’s
work of faith alone in his own soul, and do what he
can for the good of others. But let this moment
in life pass, then shall the next moment after death
bring only fear and anguish; for, be warned and also
encouraged by the words of the truthful and loving
Jesus, uttered with many tears, over lost souls, “If
thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy
day, the things that belong unto thy peace; but
now they are for ever hid from thine eyes!”