God's X-Rays

“For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil” Eccles. 12 :14.

THIS is a remarkable text; it is found in a great book. It comes almost at the close of the book, and the book is a perfect illustration of the fact that the man who has found the world at its best, and tried the best that was in it, realizes that all the world is vanity. Sin is mocking him, pleasure is deceiving him, and so we find him saying in the fourteenth verse of the first chapter, “I have seen all the works that are done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit. That which is crooked cannot be made straight, and that which is wanting cannot be numbered, 9 Then, in the seventeenth verse: “And I gave my heart to know wisdom and to know madness and folly; I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit.” In the second chapter, verses one to eleven, we find the same remarkable expressions, concluding in verse eleven with the words: “Then I looked on all the works that my

hands had wrought, and on the labor that I had labored to do, and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun,”

Then, if you turn to the eleventh chapter and the ninth verse, you read: “Rejoice, O young man, in

thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.”

If ever there was a man who had tried to find the best in the world, it was the man who wrote this book. And I wish all young men who have found sin alluring for a season, and all women who have found questionable pleasure fascinating for a time, would listen to this man who reaches the conclusion of the whole matter when he says, “Behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.” In the thirteenth and fourteenth verses of the twelfth chapter, he says, “Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter; fear God and keep His commandments; for this is the whole duty of man.” Then comes our text, “For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good or whether it be evil.” A startling sentence, is it not? The judgment! I do not know of any subject that so makes one think. When you have forgotten other things, this word, judgment, will sound over and over again in your mind. The judgment! You will hear it in the tick of your watch under your pillow; in the throb of your pulse; you will hear it in the beat of your heart. “I could forget everything else in the sermon, and everything in the song,” said a gentleman to me, “but when I passed out of the service you had conducted, I heard above the sound of the conversation of people, one word, and it was ‘judgment, When I made my way to my home, I heard it in the striking of the clock; then I heard it in the beating of my heart. After a sleepless night I came to my place of business, and I seemed to see it stamped across the books; then I thought I saw it in the newspapers, this awful word, ‘judgment, I found no peace,” said he, “until I turned my eyes to Jesus Christ, and from that moment until this I have been at rest.” Some of you who read this message will never forget the word.

I know there are judgments here. There has been the judgment of conscience. Paul Lawrence Dunbar wrote of this when he said:

“‘Good-bye, I said to my conscience,

‘Good-bye for aye and aye/

And I pushed her hands off harshly,

And I turned my face away,

And conscience, smitten sorely.

Returned not from that day.

But the time came when my spirit
Grew weary of its pace,

And I said, ‘Come back, to my conscience,

‘For I long to see thy face/

But conscience cried, ‘I cannot.

Remorse sits in my place,”

Then we have faced, not only conscience, but remorse as well. Not a great while ago, in a great city, an inspector of police stepped up to a young police officer serving in a most important capacity, and said, “You are requested to appear at once and report to your superior officer.” The officer knew why he was going. Eleven years before he had committed a sin so grievous that he knew if it were found out he would be discredited before the people of the city, and especially discredited before the police officers. He made his way, tremblingly, to his superior officer, and, as he entered, he unbuckled his belt, took off his badge, removed his helmet, and then laid down at the feet of his superior officer these things that were the mark of his authority. He said, “Sir, you need not speak to me. I know what you would say. Eleven years ago I sinned, and I covered that sin, but I have never been able to forget it, night or day. In the midst of the busy thoroughfares of the city, and when I have been alone, it has faced me.” Then, turning away, he said only one word, and repeated it over and over, “Remorse! Remorse!” Do you know what that is? If you tell me there is no future, I will not stop to argue with you, but if you sin, there is a day of judgment here; for a man faces conscience, and he meets remorse as well.

Then he faces the penalty of a broken law, too. In one of our courts a man was on trial for murder. Everybody knew he was guilty, for he was taken red-handed in his crime. The Judge looked into his face, and said, “Are you guilty, or not guilty?” He hesitated a second; his face grew deathly white, then he raised his right hand and said, “Your Honor, may God strike me dead if I am guilty of this crime!” A gentleman I know stood in the court room, and said that the man had scarcely uttered the words before his hands began to tremble, his face to whiten, his lips to turn blue, his eyes became glassy, and he dropped back in the witness chair — dead.

Sin is an awful thing. I would that God would help me to speak about it as Jesus would speak if He were here. I think he would speak first in tones of condemnation — condemning sin because of its blighting, blasting power. It can take your daughter from your arms and drag her to perdition; it can take your little boy and mar his features and weaken his character, until, at last, he would turn from you, his father, blighted and ruined for time and for eternity.

Sin is a damnable thing. When I say the word, I think I almost hear the hiss of the serpent back in Eden. Sin has its day of judgment here. It never pays to sin. But the future — O God, help me to be earnest and faithful as regards the future! The Bible is full of judgment. In Genesis, in 2:17, we read: “For in the day that thou eatest thou shalt

surely die.” That is judgment; and whenever one sins and breaks God’s law he shall die — die to peace, die to strength of character, die to everything that makes life worth living.

But that is not all. In Ezek., 2 137, there is the judgment of Israel. “And I will cause you to pass under the rod.” That is not all. In Matthew, 25 132, there is the judgment of nations. “And before Him shall be gathered all the nations, and He shall separate one from another as the shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats.” That is not all. In Jude, verse 6, there is the judgment of the fallen angels. “And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, He hath reserved in everlasting chains, under darkness, unto the judgment of the great day.” That is not all. In Second Corinthians, 5 :io, there is the judgment seat of Christ. “For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in the body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.” I must stop long enough to say that this judgment seat is for the Christian. It is not a judgment of sin; it is a judgment of the way we have used our time and talents, and a reward for work.

Then there is the last judgment, and I almost hesitate to read the words, they are so startling. “And I saw a great white throne and Him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heavens fell away, and there was no place for them. And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened; and another book was opened, and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the book.” God keep and save you from that day. All the way through the Bible it is judgment, and yet all the way through God sounds this word, as if He would say, “I warned you!” Side by side with judgment always runs the stream of grace.

In the Portland harbor, on the northern coast of the United States, there is a great arm that runs out into the sea, and on the end of that arm stands the Portland lighthouse. That lighthouse has a stationary light, and standing there, far out in the sea, it warns the vessels or guides them as they come. Whenever a vessel is putting in towards Portland, that light flashes red in three directions, and white only in one. If your boat is coming from one direction, the Portland light flashes its red light, and says, “Danger.” If your boat is coming from another direction, the Portland light flashes back red, and says “Danger.” If your boat is coming from still another direction, it flashes out, “Danger.” But if your boat is coming in the right direction, the Portland light flashes white, and in the light of the white gleam you can make your way safely into the harbor.

That is like God’s word. It is judgment, judgment, judgment, from Genesis to Revelation, but the book of Genesis starts out with the message, “Where art thou?” And the book of Revelation closes with the message, “Come, come, come, Let him that heareth say, Come.” Then, as if some poor, lost, sorrowing man might think he was not included, Christ stretches out His arms of mercy, and says, “Whosoever will, let him come.” The white light of grace runs from Genesis to Revelation, and yet it is judgment, too. There is no event so certain. In Acts, 17:30, we read, “And the times of this ignorance God winked at, but now commandeth all men everywhere to repent; because He hath appointed a day in the which He will judge the world in righteousness.” You cannot escape it. You may, for a while, escape the judgment of earth, you may, perhaps, buy yourself free, but you cannot escape that judgment, excepting by one way.

I know who will be there at the Day of Judgment. The unbeliever will be there, and I think I hear the Judge saying to him, “Ye would not come unto Me that ye might have life.” Wicked men will be there, and wicked women. The drunkard also will be there. They arrested a man in an Eastern city awhile ago and cast him into prison. He was a university man with degrees, but had lost everything through drink. When they arrested him he was in a maudlin condition, and the next morning the officer in charge heard him shaking the door of his cell. He commanded silence, but the poor man’s voice sounded so pitiful as he asked, “Tell me what I am here for,” that he said, “You are here with a charge of murder against you.” The poor man drew back a few steps. “No, no; not murder! You are mistaken, officer; it is not murder.” “Yes,” said the officer, “it is murder.” The poor fellow fell back on the stone floor, and as he fell, said, “Oh, do not tell my wife; it will kill her,” and the officer said, “It was your wife you killed.” That man will be there, but for the grace of God. It is an awful day. “I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God, and the books were opened” — God’s books. Down in the Southland the colored people have a song which runs like this:

“He sees all we do,

He hears all we say,

My God’s a-writing all the time.”

But you are writing, too. In the British Museum there is a piece of stone, about half the size of my Bible, which is probably five thousand years old, and in the middle of the stone there is the mark of a bird’s foot. Five thousand years ago, when the stone was soft, the bird put its foot upon the stone, and the mark has been there ever since. My God is writing all the time, and so are you. The sin that you committed in New York, the sin that you committed in London, the sin that you committed in the secrecy of your own room, has made its mark in God’s book, and in your book. There are three books; there is the Bible, too. I think the Judge upon the throne would say, “But this Book, from Genesis to Revelation, was full of warning.” And you would have to bow your head and say, “I know.” And, I think, the Judge up on the throne might say, “But this Book, from beginning to end, had its invitation, and yet you would not come.” For all the way God is saying, “Turn ye, turn ye; for why will ye die?” And, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Did you ever realize that you will be judged for the way you treated Christ? Have you not read in God’s Word, “He that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God. And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men love darkness rather than light.” You question the deity of Jesus. You slight His appeals, you disregard His invitations; but, one day at the Judgment, you must answer for the way you have treated Him. Can you tell me what is the greatest sin in the world? A poor girl, who was deceived almost in her childhood, and has lost that which has made your daughter’s life sweet and beautiful, says, “Sir, I know what is the greatest sin.” No, dear child, you do not. It is not that. A mother, with care written in every expression of her countenance, her hair gray and thin, her back bent; she is but fifty years of age, but she looks seventy; she is a drunkard’s wife, and she says, “I have waited for him, and he never came; I have gone hungry that I might give the scanty crusts to my babes; I know what is the greatest sin.” But I answer, “No, dear woman, you do not; it is not that.” There is a young man who is being eaten away by a nameless disease; he has lost the light of his eye, and he knows he dare not look a pure man or a pure woman in the face, and he says, “I know what is the greatest sin.” No, poor fellow, you do not; it is not that. The greatest sin in the world is the rejection of Jesus. Men have committed that sin who have been high in commercial life; women have committed that sin who have been great socially; boys and girls have committed it. The greatest sin in the world is the rejection of Jesus; and when you stand, face to face with God, He will not ask you if you were a drunkard, or if you were impure; but He will say to you, “What did you do with Jesus?” And your answer to that question will determine whether you stand or fall.

At the judgment will be revealed every secret thing. Would you be willing to appear before the judge in your city that he might judge your outward life? But where is the man who would like his secret life to be judged? Mr. Moody used to say, that if a photographer came into the country who could photograph people’s hearts, he would starve to death before he would get a customer. You would not want a picture of your heart to be shown, pure man or woman as you are. But every secret thing is to be revealed. It is a sharp judgment. There is only one way of escape. A minister once dreamed that he had died, and that he stood before the judgment bar of God. He says that in his dream he heard God say to him, “Have you always been true?” “No,” he replied, “Have you always been kind?” “No.” “Have you always been just?” “No.” And as He continued through the long list of questions, the minister said, “No,” to them all. “Then,” he said, “I thought the end had come, and judgment was to be passed, and I bowed my head and waited for sentence, when I was conscious of a light before me.” He says, “I looked up and saw a face — such a face, fairer than all the sons of men. I looked at His hands, and saw the marks; then I knew who it was, and I heard Him say, ‘Father, this man stood for Me down in the world. I will stand for him here.”

The illustration may or may not be true to Scripture, but I know this — that I shall stand before God only because of Jesus Christ. There is only one way of escape, and I present that way to you now, even “though your sins be as scarlet, though they be red like crimson,” though they be like the sands of the sea for number. You may have been crushed down by forces and circumstances, you may have lost all that makes life worth living, you may stand weakened because of some sin which you have inherited; you may stand condemned because of your own transgressions; but I say to you now, as the messenger of Jesus, “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.” He will blot them out, and He will hurl them from you as far as the east is from the west. Come, will you take Him? “Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die?”