Not Far from the Kingdom

“Thou art not far from the Kingdom of God!’ Mark 12:34.

IT IS said that in one of the great cathedrals across the sea there is a clock, which is so marvelous in its mechanism that ignorant and superstitious people have almost looked upon it not as the work of man but of God. It is said that when the chimes ring out it would seem almost as if a company of angels had lodged in the cathedral spire to sing heaven’s sweetest music. For a long time the maker of the clock was not paid for his services, so one day he stole up into the cathedral spire and touched one of the springs of the clock, and although all the mechanism was there the wheels did not move; although the chimes were there, they did not ring out. Then it is said that weeks and months afterward the maker was paid for his services, and he came again and touched the same spring, and suddenly the same sweet music rang out and there was the same wonderful exhibition of mechanism. It is an interesting story, and to my mind it is a good illustration of many in the world to-day who seem to lack but one thing to make them all that God would have them be, and that is -the touch of the Master’s hand. It would be a sad thing to see an arch without a keystone, a building without a foundation, a human heart without a hope; and to find a man attempting to battle with and defeat all the temptations of life in his own strength. It would seem to me that the story we are studying is in line with the story of the cathedral clock. “Thou art not far from the Kingdom of God.”

I need scarcely remind you that these were the last days of Jesus on earth. The shadow of the cross was already falling upon Him. His enemies somehow seemed to realize that He was about to leave them, although doubtless they would never have put it in words, and they were attempting in every way to entrap Him in His doctrine. The Sadducees, who had no hope of the resurrection, put their questions to Him, while a man who was evidently fair in his judgment, and a lawyer of the old days, stood off and listened. And when he saw that Jesus answered them fairly, he turned to Him with his own questions. He said, “Master, which is the first commandment?”

I would like those of you who say that all we need is just to do the best we can in this life for ourselves and our fellow-men about us to listen to the reply of Jesus. He said, “This is the first commandment: ‘The Lord our God is one Lord.’” Then He went on to say that man owed allegiance to Him. “And this,” said he, “is the second commandment: ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.’” Then He brought out clearly our duties and our obligations to our fellow-men. So if you are going to take Jesus as a model of fairness, and as a great teacher, before you begin to serve your fellow-men you must begin to know God. Before you begin to help those who are round about you, and succeed in helping them, you must get your inspiration from Him. The first commandment is: “The Lord our God is one Lord,” and you owe a duty to Him. And when Jesus saw that this man talked with Him fairly and honestly, He turned to him saying, “Thou art not far from the kingdom of God.”

But I call your attention to the fact that Jesus did not say he was in the kingdom of God. It is a possible thing to be near, and yet be out. It is a possible thing to be almost saved, and yet be far from the kingdom. It is a possible thing almost to hear the music of heaven, and yet never know Jesus Christ as your personal Saviour. And so my message has to do with those of you who because of this influence, or because of that, have been coming slowly and yet surely to the border line. “Thou art not far from the kingdom of God.”

So many influences lead one to this position. But whatever the force may be — whether it is the influence of the home, or of preaching, whether it is the influence of the best friend you ever had in this world, I want to make it as plain as I can to you that there comes a time when, in addition to the mother’s prayers, and the minister’s pleading, you must act for yourself. You must will to enter the Kingdom. You must say, “I choose Jesus Christ to be my personal Saviour.”

When Mr. Moody was preaching in a great series of meetings in New England, a young man heard him night after night. He felt that he ought to be a Christian, and he came to the place where again and again his hand was lifted for prayer; and again and again he passed into the inquiry service; but he said, “To-morrow night, I will settle it,” and leaving the building, he passed away from the service. Walking out to his home at the edge of the city, he passed underneath a row of trees on the way to his house. Suddenly he stopped. The moonlight was shining way through the trees, he took his walking stick and drew a line across the pathway. Then he stepped back 1 and looked at it. “Now,” said he, “if I step over that line it means that I will surrender. If I go around that line it means that my determination is against Jesus Christ.” He stood looking at the line only for a moment, and then deliberately passed over it. And it is a bit of history that the man who that night found himself near to the kingdom of God, and by an act of his will simply stepped over the line, became one of the most earnest Christians, and one of the most faithful workers for Christ. So whatever the influence may be that has brought you nearer to Christ, you never will become a Christian until you act for yourself, and say “I will.” “Thou art not far from the kingdom of God.” But to be near is still to be lost Allow me to suggest two or three things that may have brought us near to the kingdom. First, natural temperament. While it is true that morality which is the result of personal effort cannot save, at the same time I wish to pay a tribute to morality. It is not to be despised. But on the authority of God’s Word I dare to say there is not found in all the New Testament one single verse of Scripture, which, if you take it in its connection, teaches any other thing than this: That man is not saved by his own righteousness; he is not saved by his own morality, or his own good graces.

But he is saved because he puts his trust in Jesus Christ, accepting Him as his Saviour, letting Him become the power and strength of his life, letting Him become the incentive to all goodness and greatness. Natural temperament may bring you very near. But if you are boasting of a morality attained away from Christ, let me ask you this question, whose is the standard of morality? Possibly you may fail before my standard. If I were attempting to be saved in my own strength, I might fail before yours. There is only one standard of righteousness, and that is God’s, and no man can ever know God nor can he enter into the kingdom of God, until he reaches that standard.

It is an absolutely hopeless task in your own strength. A man might as well try to lift himself by his own boot-straps as in his own strength to attain to the standard of righteousness of an infinite God. But when by faith you accept Jesus Christ; when you turn away from sin and unto Him; when you say, “From this day on I shall walk with Him”; when your life is yielded to Him, so that He lives in you, and works through you — then God looks at you no longer in your individual capacity, but He looks at you in Christ.

“So near, so very near to God,

Nearer I could not be,

For in the person of His Son,

I am as near as He.”

Natural temperament will never save you, but faith in Christ will.

I have an idea that very many people are brought near to the kingdom by home influence. If there were no other influence in this world that would have brought me near to Christ, it would have been the influence of my father. I saw him live an absolutely consistent life; I saw him meet reverses without complaint; I saw him bury my mother with an unfailing faith in Jesus Christ; I saw him, after having been a man of comparative wealth, come down to the plane where he faced poverty, and yet with his little children about him he never forgot to praise God for His goodness to Him. When he died he left me one inheritance. It was not money, it was not position. It was a New Testament, which was wrapped in a piece of paper and given to me as my part of the estate. And when I turned over the pages of this New Testament I saw verses which he had marked with his pen; I saw places on the margin where he had written his appreciation of God’s promises. I saw page after page that seemed stained with his tears. Then I saw at the close of the Book his written consecration to Jesus. And if there had been no other influence in all my life, that would have brought me near to the kingdom. There are many men with fathers as true as mine, and as great and good as mine, and they have brought them near to the kingdom, but that will not save you. “I would go on my hands and knees through the streets of this city, if I could reach my boy,” said a man to me. “I would cut off my right hand if I could reach him,” he said. Then he sat down on the couch by my side, dropped his face in his hands, and sobbed as if his heart would break, as he said, “I would die for him if I could keep him.”

There are many fathers who would die for their boys if they could save them, but the boy himself must choose. “Thou art not far from the kingdom of God.” But you never will be saved until you say for yourself, “I will.”

When we were in the city of Philadelphia a boy was arrested in the upper part of the city, and taken to the police station. His mother, who never knew that he was living other than a good life, came down to the prison to see him. She brought the cover from the bed in his room, thinking that he must be cold. She thought he might be hungry, and brought a little basket of delicacies, such as only a mother’s fingers could prepare. When they opened the iron door of the prison to let her pass through, and when she got into his cell, she gave him the clothing to keep him warm, put the food down at his feet, and burst into tears. They took her home, and she cried all the night through, and when the morning came they found her dead upon her knees. The doctor said she had died of a broken heart.

There are many of us who have been brought nearer, and nearer, and still nearer, not by the preacher, not by the singer, but by the best memory that ever held a man’s mind, the sweetest memory that ever stirred his emotions — the memory of his mother. In my mail the other day came these few lines: “I

love old mothers. Mothers with white hair and kindly eyes, and lips grown softly sweet with murmuring blessings for their friends. There is something in their quiet manner that speaks of the calm of Sabbath afternoons. Old mothers, as they pass with slowtimed step. Sweet mothers; as they pass one sees again old garden walks, old roses, and old leaves.” And when I read those lines I was back again with my mother. I could feel the touch of her hand, and see the tears upon her cheeks. There is many a man who has had the same experience, and you are brought near by your mother. But all the mothers in the world could not save you. You may be near to the kingdom, but you must act for yourself.

I want to suggest another thing that I believe has brought some of you near, and that is preaching. The highest compliment that has been paid me as a preacher was paid by a man who said, “I have attended these mission services from the first. I have heard the singing, and I have heard every sermon you have preached, and not one single night have I been able to sit down. I have always stood in the crowd. But there was only one person present, and that was myself. You were preaching to me. When you preached to me I was back in England, I was sailing to South Africa, I was landing on the Australian shores, and I was breaking my mother’s heart, and I was hurting myself. Sir,” he said, “there has been only one man in all the crowd you have preached to, and I was the man.” It has been practical preaching you may have heard and you have understood it. I have an idea that if you should stand at the judgment and God should say to you, “Did you understand me?” You might say, “No.” Who could understand the infinite God, who holds the winds in His fist, and in the hollow of whose hands the seas wash? Who could understand the majesty of God? And if God should say, “Did you understand my words?” I think you would say, “O God, I did not.” And if you made such a confession I think He might say, “My ways are not your ways, and my thoughts are not like yours.” But if when you stand at the judgment, God should say to you, “Did you understand that sin was an awful thing?” you would have to say “Yes.” “Did you understand that Jesus Christ presented the only way to be saved from sin?” You would be obliged to say “Yes.” You have understood the preaching. And the warning has come to you in time. Your heads are clear, and your eyes are wide open.

An officer of my church out in the middle western part of America was riding a young horse one day, and the horse threw him. In falling, one foot caught in the stirrup, and he could not release it, and the horse dragged him for at least a mile. Then the leather strap of the stirrup broke, and later a gentleman driving along the highway saw this old man lying on the road almost dead. They sent for his minister, and when I went in to see my friend, he was only half conscious. Bone after bone in his body had been broken. I remember two or three days later, when he had passed out of danger, I bent over him and said, “Tell me this. If you had not been a Christian, could you have decided for Christ in these days?” He said, “Never. The pain of my body was too intense, and the ache of my head was too severe.”

But you are not ill, the warning has come to you in time. “Thou art not far from the kingdom of God.”

I have one other thing to suggest as bringing you to this position, although I could speak of many. You stand in the place you occupy this evening because of prayer. Somebody has been praying for you. When you left England’s shores, your old mother followed you down to the dock, put her arms around your neck, and said, “My boy, every day I will pray for you.” And every letter that has come across the seas had that in it — prayer; and you have wondered why it was you could drift so far, and no further. It was prayer that held you. One of the most terrific storms that ever swept over on the Northern Sea was raging. The fisher folk had gathered upon the shore, and were down upon their knees in prayer, the minister in the center of them. They were lifting up to God the boys who had fastened themselves to the rigging of the vessel out in the storm. The vessel was plunging down into the trough of the waves, and then mounting on the crest of them. The master of the vessel put his speaking trumpet to his lips, and shouted, “Boys, if we go down again it is the end. Make ready.” And they went down again, and once more they came up. Then the master put the speaking trumpet to his lips again, and shouted, “Lads, there is someone praying for us on the shore to-night. We will weather the storm,” and they did.

There is someone praying for you. It is your minister. It is your old mother, who has brought you near to the kingdom. But I need not speak of all the other influences — you are near the kingdom. You are near the kingdom. God is speaking to you and you are near the kingdom. But you must enter in by your own choice.

When Mr. Moody was conducting a mission like this in a certain part of England, night after night a man came in to the audience. He was a Cornish miner. One night as Mr. Moody and Mr. Sankey were leaving the platform, they noticed him sitting under the gallery with a friend. Mr. Moody made his way over to him, and said to him, “Why are you here every night and why are you waiting?” He replied, “Sir, I said to my companion, ‘I will never leave this building until I am saved.’” Mr. Moody that night led him to Christ. The next day there was an explosion in one of the mines, and many men were taken out, bruised, and bleeding and dying. This man was among the wounded, and when they bent down he was fast passing away. When they took water to wash away the dirt from his face, he opened his eyes. His friend of the previous night was kneeling at his side, and the Cornish miner who was saved the night before was saying, “Jem, it is a good thing I settled it. It is a good thing I settled it last night.” And he was gone. Oh, it would be a great thing for you to settle it now, while yet there is hope. The door of mercy is open. I bid you enter in.