God warns us to flee from the low level life of sin to the mountain of purity and peace. A word spoken by a friend, something read in a letter or book, joy, sorrow, anything God can use as His angel or messenger to call us away from the land of sin. And we are willing to do so on condition that we may keep that one little sin that doth so easily beset us. There is one habit which conscience tells us is not quite right, but which could only be broken by a painful struggle. Oh, let me keep this sin (is it not a little one?), and all other sins I shall put away! But this sort of compromise is impossible. The contagion of any one conscious sin, however small, will poison the whole soul. God will have all of a man’s heart, or none of it. Let us think of some of the reasons why we should try by God’s grace to put away those little sins which we have been comparing to the little Zoar for which Lot pleaded.
1. The first reason is because in God’s sight there is no such thing as a little sin. He is of purer eyes than to behold with tolerance any evil. Then we ought to reflect that doing conspicuous good actions and abstaining from great sins cannot prove our love to God as much as doing small duties and abstaining from little sins. The test, therefore, of a fine character is attention to what are called the small matters of conduct.
2. Another reason why we should be afraid to harbour little sins is because they lead to great ones. The very absence of crime and great sin which, it present, might have shocked us into repentance, may lull us into a sleep of fatal security and self-righteousness. To prevent this, let us adopt a high standard of Christian excellence, and endeavour to reach it by attention to small things. Every one who is at all in the habit of self-examination must be conscious of such within him--indolence, vanity, ill-temper, weakness, yielding to the opinion and ridicule of the world, the temptation of bad passions, of which we are ashamed, but by which we are overcome. Let each of us consider what his peculiar infirmity is, and though the Zoar be a little one, and though it be hard to part with, resolutely determine to give it up to destruction. Let us remember, that if ever we are to have a character capable of enjoying the mountain of holiness, we must not now despise the day of small things. Character is built, like the walls of an edifice, by laying one stone upon another. A mountain is ascended by setting one footstep after another up its steep face; if there be an occasional backward slip, a lesson of caution is learned, and the lost path is regained with determination. Holiness is not a rapture; it is a steady living to God, one step at a time, and every one higher up. (E. J. Hardy, M. A.)
Little sins
The most lamentable consequences in a Christian’s life often date their origin from some small act which is suffered to grow into a principle; from some incidental occurrence which ministered temptations that were heedlessly encouraged; or from a failure in habitual watchfulness in something which was considered unimportant in its influence.
I. THIS INATTENTION TO LITTLE THINGS WILL BE DISCOVERED IN THE FREQUENT EXCITEMENTS OF A NATURALLY IRRITABLE TEMPER. That ardour of temperament which gives the ability for great achievements, opens also the source of great sorrows. Our trials of temper are usually found in small incidents; chiefly in the little and private concerns of domestic life.
II. THIS DISREGARD OF LITTLE THINGS WILL BE EXHIBITED IN THE MANY SMALL AND UNNECESSARY INDULGENCES WHICH CHRISTIANS TOO OFTEN ALLOW THEMSELVES FOR APPETITE OR EASE. How often are such indulgences made the substance of a permanent and unchangeable habit?
III. THIS INATTENTION TO SMALLER THINGS WILL BE DETECTED IN THE LIGHT AND UNIMPROVING RECREATIONS AND AMUSEMENTS, WHICH ARE OFTEN ALLOWED,
IV. YOU MAY DISCOVER THIS INATTENTION TO SMALLER MATTERS IN RELIGION, IN AN INCREASING SPIRIT OF IDLENESS AND SLOTH. The Zoar of indolence will be no refuge. It may be made the prison of bondage. It can never be the abode of peace. (S. H. Tyng, D. D.)
Little things
This is the question which we are always asking with regard to the events of our lives. Something crosses the stream of our existence and diverts its current into another channel, a trifle we call it, in our blindness; but it is no such thing, there are no such things as trifles; little things make up the history of mankind and the history of individuals, but they are not trifles; the vast machinery of the universe turns upon very little wheels, but they are none the less important for all that. A little message flashed along the telegraph wire plunges two great nations into war, and dislocates half Europe; a little word spoken in anger makes a man a murderer, or loses a prodigal an inheritance; a little look of penitence, a single tear from remorseful eyes, heals the breach between two friends and make them one again; a little plaything or a little trouble alters the whole current of a child’s thoughts, so a little larger plaything or a little deeper trouble sweetens or embitters the life of men who are but children of a larger growth, Never, then, underrate the importance of little things; they are to your lives and fortunes what the acorn is to the forest oak, what the little spring in the Cotswold Hills is to the great river at your doors. Look at the little troubles of life; they cause more of the grumbling in the world than its great trials. It is marvellous how wretched and discontented a little change of weather makes us, a shift of wind, a change of temperature paralyzes one, and makes another ill-tempered. God’s hand is concerned in the little things, remember, as well as in the great. He makes the grain of sand as well as the mountain, the same hand lets the sparrow fall to the ground, and destroys the armies in the war. Little sins are the most dangerous of all sins, just as some tropical reptiles are the most deadly because difficult to detect from their smallness. Let me try to bring some of these little sins under the microscope, that you may see how dangerous and ugly they look. Grumbling we have spoken of; next look at thoughtlessness, and little sins of commission and omission constantly excused with the words, “is it not a little one?” or “I never thought of it.” Again, there is procrastination--some duty is to be done, a little one, some small debt is to be paid, seine small memorandum to be put down, some visit to be made, and we put it off till to-morrow, till the to-morrow which never comes, and when some calamity or loss arises from the neglect our pitiful plaint is “I never thought of it.” So with little unkindness; it is not often, I believe, that we wound and injure people of deliberate malice, but many a fair fame is tarnished, many a happy home broken up, many a life-long quarrel caused by thoughtlessly uttered words about our neighbours. We cannot be too careful in judging or giving an opinion of the qualities of others. Let us bring another sin beneath the microscope--bad temper. I know not if I may safely call it a little one, it has an ugly aspect and is capable of an endless amount of mischief. In many a household there is this little bitter drop of bad temper spoiling all the meals, blackening all the social pleasures, fading all the flowers of joy and happiness. It is easy to call it an infirmity of temper, or to say it is only a manner, but it is an infirmity which, if neglected, grows to great lengths, and a manner is all by which we can judge most people; it is the outward man which is presented to us, and although a man’s heart may be very kindly disposed to us, it is scarcely likely for us to know it or appreciate it if his manner be unkind. This manner is one of the little things which is of vast importance. Another of the little sins which affect the home circle greatly is want of forbearance; bear and forbear is the best maxim for home; “let them first learn to show piety at home” is the best text. Close akin to this last sin is that of censoriousness, of finding fault perpetually with the details of your home life. There is yet another so-called little sin, of which I must speak--the breaking and re-forming of good resolutions. This is no little sin, believe me, it is the sin which has ruined millions, the sin of trusting in ourselves instead of in God’s constant help. But I pass on to say a word, in conclusion, on the exceeding danger of little sins as regards our spiritual life. They sap and undermine it, just as the constant fretting of a tiny stream of water will wear away stone and wooden piers; just as tiny insects will eat through a ship’s timbers and destroy her. If a man procrastinates, habitually defers any duty, how will he prepare for the great day, when will he begin to set his house in order? If we indulge in unkindly judgments and remarks about our neighbours, how can we approach the Holy Communion when we are told to be in love and charity with our neighbour; how, if we continually break our good resolutions, can we be said “ to intend to lead a new life”? How can we come to Church in a proper frame of mind, how can we hope to get any good from the services, if we have just left a scene of ill-temper, harsh language, and bitter thoughts at home? No, such things cannot be. (H. J. Wilmot Buxton, M. A.)
Little sins
1. With regard, then, to this temptation of Satan concerning the littleness of sin, I would make this first answer: the best of men have always been afraid of little sins. Yea may have read of that noble warrior for Christ, Martin Arethusa, the bishop. He had led the people to pull down the idol temple in the city over which he presided; and when the apostate emperor Julian came to power, he commanded the people to rebuild the temple. They were bound to obey on pain of death. But Arethusa all the while lifted up his voice against the evil they were doing, until the wrath of the king fell upon him of a sudden. He was, however, offered his life on condition that he would subscribe so much as a single halfpenny towards the building of the temple; nay, less than that, if he would cast one grain of incense into the censer of the false God he might escape. But he would not do it. He feared God, and he would not do the most tiny little sin to save his life. They therefore exposed his body, and gave him up to the children to prick him with knives; then they smeared him with honey, and he was exposed to wasps and stung to death. But all the while the grain of incense he would not give. He could give his body to wasps, and die in the most terrible pains, but he could not, he would not, he dared not sin against God. A noble example I Now, brethren, if men have been able to perceive so much of sin in little transgressions, that they would bear inconceivable tortures rather than commit them, must there not be something dreadful after all in the thing of which Satan says, “Is it not a little one?” Men, with their eyes well opened by Divine grace, have seen a whole hell slumbering in the most minute sin.
2. We all see in nature how easily we may prove this--that little things lead to greater things. If it be desired to bridge a gulf, it is often the custom to shoot an arrow, and cross it with a line almost as thin as film. That line passes over and a string is drawn after it, and after that some small rope, and after that a cable, and after that the swinging suspension bridge, that makes a way for thousands. So it is ofttimes with Satan.
3. Another argument may be used to respond to this little temptation of the devil. He says, “Is it not a little one?”, “Yes,” we reply, “but little sins multiply very fast.” Like all other little things, there is a marvellous power of multiplication in little sins. Years ago there was not a single thistle in the whole of Australia. Some Scotchman who very much admired thistles--rather more than I do--thought it was a pity that a great island like Australia should be without that marvellous and glorious symbol of his great nation. He therefore collected a packet of thistle-seeds, and sent it over to one of his friends in Australia. Well, when it was landed, the officers might have said, “Oh, let it in; ‘is it not a little one?’ Here is but a handful of thistle-down, oh, let it come in; it will be but sown in a garden--the Scotch will grow it in their gardens; they think it a fine flower, nodoubt--let them have it, it is but meant for their amusement.” Ah, yes, it was but a little one; but now whole districts of country are covered with it, and it has become the farmer’s pest and plague. It was a little one; but, all the worse for that, it multiplied and grew. If it had been a great evil, all men would have set to work to crush it. This little evil is not to be eradicated, and of that country it may be said till doomsday--“Thorns and thistles shall it bring forth.” Happy would it have been if the ship that brought that seed had been wrecked. No boon is it to those of our countrymen there on the other side of the earth, but a vast curse. Take heed of the thistle-seed; little sins are like it.
4. Once again; little sins, after all, if you look at them in another aspect, are great. A little sin involves a great principle. Suppose that to-morrow the Austrians should send a body of men into Sardinia. If they only send a dozen it would be equal to a declaration of war. It may be said “Is it not a little one?--a very small band of soldiers that we have sent?” “Yes,” it would be replied, “but it is the principle of the thing. You cannot be allowed with impunity to send your soldiers across the border. War must be proclaimed, because you have violated the frontier, and invaded the land.” It is not necessary to send a hundred thousand troops into a country to break a treaty. It is true the breach of the treaty may appear to be small; but if the slightest breach be allowed, the principle is gone. The principle of obedience is compromised in thy smallest transgression, and, therefore, is it great. Now I am about to speak to the child of God only, and I say to him, “Brother, if Satan tempts thee to say, ‘Is it not a little one?’” reply to him, “Ah, Satan, but little though it be, it may mar my fellowship with Christ.” Is it a little one, Satan? But a little stone in the shoe will make a traveller limp. A little thorn may breed a fester. A little cloud may hide the sun. A cloud the size of a man’s hand may bring a deluge of rain. Avaunt Satan! I can have nought to do with thee; for since I know that Jesus bled for little sins, I cannot wound His heart by indulging in them afresh. Ah, my friends, those men that say little sins can have no vice in them whatever, they do but give indications of their own character; they show which way the stream runs. A straw may let you know which way the wind blows, or even a floating feather; and so may some little sin be an indication of the prevailing tendency of the heart. An eternity of woe is prepared for what men call little sins. It is not alone the murderer, the drunkard, the whoremonger, that shall be sent to hell. The wicked, it is true, shall be sent there, but the little sinner, with all the nations that forget God, shall have his portion there also. Tremble, therefore, on account of little sins. (C. H.Spurgeon.)
The danger of little sins
I. LITTLE SINS LEAD ON TO GREAT ONES. Some years ago the Bradfield reservoir sprang a tiny leak. It was so small that it was disregarded. Neglected, it grew larger, until one night the bank was swept away, and a mighty torrent let loose that destroyed houses and mills, an immense amount of property and many lives, flooded the town of Sheffield, and has left a burden of debt on that town to this day. Not long ago a gentleman, hurrying along one of the streets of Manchester, slipped and fell, slightly grazing one of his fingers. He saw the wound, but thought it too slight for care. The blood was poisoned by contact with some rubbish on which he had fallen, and in a few weeks his whole system became charged with it, and he expired in terrible agony. Little sins indulged, spared, neglected, have shown equal power of growth. A little leaven has leavened the whole lump. Learn the story of the inmates of our jails, workhouses, lunatic asylums, and you will see how little sins end in great sins; in poverty, crime, insanity and utter ruin.
II. LITTLE SINS DESTROY OUR PEACE AND HINDER OUR GROWTH IN GRACE. A little splinter of wood, a tiny thorn buried in the flesh and neglected will produce intense agony. The story is told of a whole train being stopped on the railway between Perth and Aberdeen by the loss of one little pin. And equally sad results are produced in us by little sins.
III. LITTLE SINS DESTROY OUR INFLUENCE. We are Christ’s “living epistles,” known and read of all men. Many a man has lost all influence for good, undone his own efforts, through little slips and want of care about the minor moralities. It was not the Philistines but Delilah that robbed Samson of his power.
IV. LITTLE SINS NEED MORE EFFORT AND WATCHFULNESS TO OVERCOME THAN GREAT ONES. (J. Ogle.)
Lot’s false reasoning
The natural conclusion from God’s mercy, which he acknowledges, would have been trust and obedience. “Therefore I can escape,” not “but I cannot escape,” would have been the logic of faith. The latter is irrationality of fear. When a man who has been cleaving to this fleeting life of earthly good wakes up to believe his danger, he is ever apt to plunge into an abyss of terror, in which God’s commands seem impossible, and His will to save becomes dim. The world first lies to us by “You are quite safe where you are. Don’t be in a hurry to go.” Then it lies, “You never can get away now.” Reverse Lot’s whimpering fears, and we get the truth. Are not God’s directions how to escape promises that we shall escape? Will He begin to build, and not be able to finish? Will the judgments of His hand overrun their commission, like a bloodhound which, in his master’s absence, may rend his friend? “We have all of us one human heart,” and this swift leap from unreasoning carelessness to as unreasoning dread, this failure to draw the true conclusion from God’s past mercy, and this despairing recoil from the path pointed for us, and craving for easier ways, belong to us. “A strange servant of God was this,” say we. Yes, and we are often quite as strange. How many people awakened to see their danger are so absorbed by the sight that they cannot see the cross, or think they can never reach it? God answered the cry, whatever its fault, and that may well make us pause in our condemnation. He hears even a very imperfect petition, and can see the tiniest germ of faith buried under thick clods of doubt and fear. This stooping readiness to meet Lot’s weakness comes in wonderful contrast with the terrible revelation of judgment which follows. What an idea of God, which had room for this more than human patience with weakness, and also for the flashing, lurid glories of destructive retribution! Zoar is spared, not for the unworthy reason which Lot suggested,--because its minuteness might buy impunity, as some noxious insect too small to be worth crushing; but in accordance with the principle which was illustrated in Abraham’s intercession, and even in Lot’s safety; namely, that the righteous are shields for others, as Paul had the lives of all that sailed with him given to him. God’s “cannot” answers Lot’s “cannot.” His power is limited by His own solemn purpose to save His faltering servant. The latter had feared that, before he could reach the mountain, “the evil” would overtake him. God shows him that his safety was a condition precedent to its outburst. Lot barred the way. God could not “let slip the dogs of” judgment, but held them in the leash until Lot was in Zoar. Very awful is the command to make haste, based on this impossibility, as if God were weary of delay, and more than ready to smite. However we may find anthropomorphism in these early narratives, let us not forget that, when the world has long been groaning under some giant evil, and the bitter seed is grown up into a waving forest of poison, there is something in the passionless righteousness of God which brooks no longer delay, but seeks to make “a short work” on the earth. (A. Maclaren, D. D.)
Wedges
“When a man cleaves a block he first pierces it with small wedges, and then with greater; and so doth the devil make entrance into the soul by degrees. Judas first purloineth and stealeth out of the bag; then censureth Christ as profusely lavishing. What needs this waste? This was not only a check to the woman, but to Christ Himself. Lastly, upon Christ’s rebuke, he hates Him, and then betrays Him to His enemies.” There is no dealing with the devil except at arm’s length. Those little wedges of his are terribly insinuating because they are so little. Keep them out or worse will follow. Occasional glasses lead on to drunken orgies; occasional theatre-going grows into wantonness and chambering; trifling pilfering soon grows to downright theft; secret back-slidings end in public abominations. The egg of all mischief is as small as a mustard-seed. It is with the transgressor as with the falling stone--the further he falls the faster he falls. Again we say beware of the little wedges, for they are in crafty hands, and our utter destruction may be compassed by them. Even iron safes have been forced when little wedges have made room for the burglar’s lever. Take heed of the plea, “Is it not a little one?” O my Saviour, let me net fall little by little, or think myself able to bear the indulgence of any known sin because it seems so insignificant. Keep me from sinful beginnings, lest they lead me on to sorrowful endings. (C. H. Spurgeon.)
Dangerous to remain in the neighbourhood of old sins
Camping down upon the edges of a sin from which a man has just escaped, is dangerous work. A person in such a position is like one who, upon finding himself in the running current of a river which is rising, swollen by heavy rains, struggles desperately until he reaches its banks, and there settles himself in false security. In the morning the waters of the freshet are booming about him, and he flies to the meadow, a little higher. But the floods are out, and they rise and rise, faster than he can run, and the man who, by fleeing at once to the mountains when he came up from the river, would have been saved, by tarrying upon the lowlands, perished. (H. W. Beecher.)
