In our most recent study we turned away from the consideration of the business of preaching and turned to the business of living our preaching. It was emphasized that to adequately carry out the great commission its preachers are not to be content to stop with presenting its doctrines in teaching; they are also to present its doctrines in life. Not only have they the Word to preach; they have been given the Word to live.
Truth spoken is of great importance; truth lived is of even greater importance. The spoken word is made of little effect when it is not supported by life. The truths of the final message are not alone to be upon the preacher's lips; they are to be incarnated in his life. Not only has he a message to deliver; he is to be that message. It is to be displayed and exhibited in his manner of life. By him the message is to be both spoken and lived.
There are two ways in which truth is accepted—with the head and with the heart. The first results in right beliefs; the second, in right lives. There is a general application and a personal application of every doctrine of the Bible. The full purpose of doctrine is not realized when the truth is merely believed and produces right views. It is not realized until the truth reaches the heart and produces right lives. Christian doctrine is designed to exhibit itself in living experience.
One of the most valuable courses of personal study any preacher can lay out for himself is to work out this personal application of each doctrine he preaches that he may learn what its application to his own life and experience is designed to accomplish, and see to it that he not only preaches it but lives it. He will discover that in this way his spoken word will become mighty in power and results. Truth lived, combined with truth spoken, is an overwhelming, convincing, and irresistible combination.
In this way, when you come to the sanctuary truth in your course of public addresses, you will realize the personal application of the sanctuary doctrine in the words, "Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own? . . . therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God's" (1 Cor. 6:19, 20).
When you present the doctrine of the investigative judgment you will do so with the personal experience of which David speaks: "Search me, 0 God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting" (Ps. 139:23, 24).
When you come to the cleansing of the sanctuary you will present it from a background of an experience of the cleansing of the personal temple. "Who can understand his errors? cleanse thou me from secret faults" (Ps. 19:12). "Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin" (Ps. 51:2).
When we present the doctrine of the return of our Lord we will do so from the experience of what this teaching has meant to us in changed and holy lives. The personal application of this great doctrine is set forth in many places where the truth of the second coming is mentioned.
"The grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world; looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Saviour Jesus Christ" (Titus 2: 11-13).
Plainly, from this passage it appears that believing the doctrine of the second coming is more than a mental assent to a teaching; rather, because of the teaching, it is living "soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world."
And so this principle of the general and personal application of every doctrine can be connected with every teaching we proclaim in our evangelistic services. Doctrine without life is futile. Accompanied by life and sent home by the power of the Spirit of God, it exerts an influence that is irresistibly convincing.
I had this matter searchingly impressed upon my consciousness and deeply etched into my heart and mind some years after I entered the ministry. I had been preaching in evangelistic services, and God had greatly blessed me. I had devoted myself entirely to evangelism, the teaching of this final message of truth to the public in tent and hall efforts, in theaters, and in every place where people could be induced to come together and hear it.
I had learned some things about advertising, about public speaking, and I was quite complacent about the success I was having. Many people were convinced, accepted the message, and were brought into the church. I became accustomed to gathering and speaking to large companies of people. I expected large baptisms, and had them. My congregations listened with deep interest and respect, and, as I have said, many with conviction.
I was sent to many of the large cities of the eastern seaboard States of America. My brethren trusted me with sizable budgets and considerable equipment.
After several years of success I began to think quite favorably of my evangelistic and public-speaking abilities. I could preach convincingly on the difficult subjects of the message and had the satisfaction of baptizing large numbers of people.
On such rare occasions as I thought about my own relationship with God, it was with assurance that everything was right between Him and me. I was His servant, had devoted my life to His work, was engaged in doing that work, and He was responding and blessing and giving me success. That seemed sufficient to provide every assurance that I was on good terms with Him, accepted by Him, and that no question need arise about my own status and salvation.
I must confess that about personal religion I knew very little. I did know considerable about doctrine. It became easy for me to answer difficult questions about the Bible, easy to find and repeat the texts that threw light on such questions. In short, I was good. Moreover, I knew it, and it seemed to me to be of some importance that others should know it.
I distinctly recall the occasion when I was sharply confronted with the questions: Are you saved? Are you converted? Are your sins forgiven? Is everything between you and God as it should be? These questions came with a startling impact, and the fact that they came at all shocked me deeply.
The immediate and indignant reply which came to my mind was, "Why, I am a preacher! I know God's truth. I preach God's truth. I win people to God's truth, and bring them into the church. What a shocking thing it is that any question could possibly be raised about me, about my standing with God!"
I was profoundly moved and shaken. But what really shocked me was the discovery that I did not know whether I was saved or not, whether I was converted or not, whether I was forgiven or not. I could not recall that I had ever taken occasion to settle such matters. It had never seemed necessary to me that a minister needed to face the question as to whether he was converted. It seemed that ought to be taken for granted.
Are you by any chance taking it for granted?
At any rate, when this deep experience came to me I clearly saw that there was one minister who needed to be converted. My understanding of the prophecies, the sanctuary and its cleansing, the investigative judgment, even my belief that the seventh day is the Sabbath, and the truth about the nature of man and the coming of the Lord, about all of which I was very clear, did not operate to cure me of my besetting sins, did not conquer my rebellious will, did not give victory and peace in daily living, and were not, therefore, the power of God unto salvation.
A deeply moving experience had preceded this turmoil of my spiritual nature and produced this upheaval of thought. I was holding large meetings in Jacksonville, and was filling the largest hall there with crowds who were listening intently to the doctrinal presentation of this message. One morning I received a telephone call which ran about as follows:
"Are you a Seventh-day Adventist minister?" "1 am."
"Would you be willing to come down to the jail and talk with one of the prisoners?"
"Certainly, but what about, and who are you?"
"I am the sheriff of this county."
"Who is the prisoner and why does he want to see me?"
"He is a convicted murderer and is to be executed a week from today. He tells me that he was brought up a Seventh-day Adventist. When I asked him whether he wanted a preacher to visit him he said Yes, but only a Seventh-day Adventist preacher."
"Very well, I will be there right after dinner."
I went to the jail and through the bars of his cell I talked with this man. He did not, as so many prisoners do, deny his guilt. He freely admitted that he had committed the murder with which he was charged. His request to me was not that I should intercede for him and ask the pardon of the governor. What he wanted to know was, whether he could be saved, and how. He was quite resigned to his death, and wanted to meet that death as a Christian. He did not know how to become a Christian.
I was appalled to discover that I had little to offer this man. If he had asked me to tell him when the 1260 years began, I would have had no difficulty. It would have been easy for me to explain to him that the two-horned beast represented the United States. I was sure I could convince him that the seventh day is the Sabbath. I know that I could have shown him that he ought to pay tithe.
It was none of these things, however, that he wanted to know. He wanted to know, and he desperately needed to know, how he could come to Christ for the saving of his soul. And I was shocked to discover that I scarcely knew how to tell him. It was borne in on me with tremendous force that the mere knowledge of the truth did not save—that not even the practice of the truth saved. For the first time I began to realize that something more was needed to save this man, and to save any man, than knowing the truth—he needed to know Jesus Christ.
The interviews I had during the remaining days of his life with this condemned murderer shook me to the very soul. I knew the truth, the truth for this time; I knew it thoroughly; I knew it so that I could convince others—but that did not save me. To preach it to others did not save me. I was diligent in my observance of the truth—but that did not save me. I was a member of the remnant church—but that did not save me. I had never failed in paying my tithes—but that did not save me. I thoroughly believed in the soon coming of Christ—but that did not save me. I could believe all this, and do all this, and still be lost.
It was a withering and humiliating experience. During the days of that week the questions clamored for an answer: Are you saved? Are your sins forgiven? If you should die now, could you die with the assurance of salvation? Indeed, are you fit for heaven?
I had a bad time of it. It seemed so outrageous that a preacher who had been calling on others to be saved for years should have to answer such questions. And yet, I could not obtain rest until they were answered. I thank God they were answered, are answered now, and I know where I stand with God.
At the end of that week I stood by the side of that condemned murderer as he stood on the scaffold waiting to be plunged into eternity. I was thoroughly ashamed and humiliated that I had been unable to give him more help. He was calm and collected and seemed to feel a sense of assurance, but my own heart was in great tumult, not especially about him, but about myself.
I came then to understand that knowledge is not enough, that obedience is not enough, that diligence is not enough, that service is not enough. These do not constitute salvation. They are the result, the effect, the consequence, of salvation, not its cause.
And so I came to Jesus, years after getting into the ministry, and as any other lost sinner, took Him as my Saviour, confessed my sins to Him, cast myself upon His mercy, and by faith received His forgiveness and entered into His grace. He has walked with me since then in loving fellowship and union. I know Him now as my Saviour, as well as my Teacher, my Guide, and my coming King. I offer Him to you as such, the loving Saviour of your souls. I urge you to know Him as such before you essay to preach.
I came to understand the gospel in a clearer way than ever before, not merely "the truth" but the gospel, the everlasting gospel. That is something more than education, reformation, improvement, development, growth. That is something other than building on the old nature, and changing it, and reforming it, and culturing it, and making it over, and making it better. It is the suppression of the old nature and the impartation of an entirely new nature. It is the crucifixion of the old man and the creation of an entirely new man. It is the abandonment of the old life and the gift of a completely new and different life.
My religious experience up to that time had been based on the old man. I had been reforming the old life, cultivating my natural abilities, developing my inherent power, employing my natural and acquired talents, exercising all the energies of the flesh, in order to accomplish the work of God. I came to understand that all this was the work of the flesh, and must be put off, while I was to "put on the Lord Jesus Christ." First, crucifixion of the old nature; then the creation of an entirely new nature, created unto good works. First salvation, and then development of the new man in salvation.
The one great subject of the Bible, which I knew little about, was the subject of salvation. I had not preached on that subject—but on many others. Salvation—and of all things to discover that this was the one thing I lacked and needed! I had, on numerous occasions, been troubled about my sins. Preacher as I was, I could scarcely be called an overcomer. I became impatient, cross, irritable. I was ambitious, conceited, exacting. I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it, and was selfish and self-centered. Not that I wanted to be, I just naturally was.
Salvation was what I needed, not the old life improved and made better, but a completely new and different life. And that is what is provided for sinners in the gospel. Sin has been met, and grappled with, and conquered, and the victory made available to us. Listen:
"Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body." "Be not overcome of evil." "This is the victory that overcometh the world." "Ye have overcome the wicked one." "Thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph."
"Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory." "In all these things we are more than conquerors." "Sin shall not have dominion over you."
Let me urge upon you an earnest study of this matter of salvation and sin. More and more through the years I have been deeply impressed by the truth that the chief employment and work of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, from the very entrance of sin into the world, has been to get rid of sin, take it away, destroy it, eternally dispose of it—and all God has been doing in the world, in the universe, in heaven and earth, has had this for its purpose. According to God's Word the removal of all sin, the abandonment of the practice of sin, in every form, is possible; it is within God's power, within God's purpose.
He can do it for us; He is willing to do it for us; He is waiting to do it for us. Do you want it done?
