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TOPIC: Gordon, Samuel Dickey - Quiet Talks on Personal Problems (Other Topics in this Collection)
SUBJECT: 05. Unloosing the Demons of Sin.
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Unloosing the Demons of Sin.
David committed a sin in secret. It was supposed to be unknown except to the one who joined him in it. Yet that lawless, utterly selfish act against the purity of life and of a home brought back big bitter wages. The frightful effects of it infected his own home, spread out into his kingdom, left his successor a horrid heritage, and has had a bad influence among men until this day, with the end not yet. The act itself was repeated with cruel variation within the circle of his own family. It led to the inhuman dyeing of his own hands with faithful outraged human blood. And that act in turn was repeated with heartbreaking variation within the family circle.
The man himself was badly hurt in more ways than one; his sense of right as a ruler was badly blurred. His favorite son, tainted with the lawless spirit of his father's act, is received back into the home with no change of heart and with no rebuke for his conduct. That itself was a lawless act, hurtful to the son, and brought a very whirlwind of lawlessness that almost disrupted the kingdom, and that left a debt of blood and of "bitter memory that long years did not fully pay.
The prodigal, received back into the home unrepentant, carried with him a hell of anarchy and suffering and heart-burnings. The violence that started in the king's heart, and slew one of his own sons, stayed not until his favorite son fell under its ruthless hand, and left the old father heartbroken. That first brief act let loose a horrid horde of demons. Sin has a frightful contagion. Ah! this old warrior king, with his splendid talents and great traits of character, learned with a bitter tenacity of memory that sin pays wages in kind.
History tells of a certain portion of the world where two races were brought into intimate contact; a superior race and an inferior, and so remained for many years. The men of that superior race, taking advantage of their position of superiority, with many splendid exceptions, invaded the sanctity of the women of the inferior race, for passion's sake. And for long years, through successive generations, the daughters of those injured women have been debauching the sons of those men, until that bit of country has been made red with precious human blood, and wet with bitterest human tears. And deep in the very family fibre of life there is woven inextricably in, the truth that sin pays wages in kind.
A fifth fact to mark is this: sin pays in installments. The payments begin at once. The very immediate act of sin has in it the beginning of its results, and those results continue bit by bit, with a grimly patient faithfulness, at regular periods through the years. The human eye blurred by its own sin is not always able to see the results. The human mind dulled by its own decisions is not always keen enough to appreciate what is going on, until passing years pile up the results, and they are forced upon the attention, and gazed upon with wonder. And sometimes we hear talk about mysterious providences among religious folk, and of hard luck among others; but never a bit of suffering has come into any life but it could be traced back, were our knowledge full and our eyes keen enough, back step by step in regular logical sequence to some initial human act of wrong.
The sixth fact should be coupled with the fifth, the payment is in full. There are no defalcations here; no settlement by agreement of fifty cents on the dollar. But dollar for dollar, and each full weight, and with full measure of cents, is paid. No amount of reluctance on our part, no attempt at shirking will make any difference. A man is very apt to grow generous here. He will forgive the account due him. He is even eager to "call the thing square." "No," this inexorable paymaster sternly says, "you will step up and receive the full stint of what has been earned."
A French writer has described a scene in the old province of Brittany, that juts out into the sea on the west of France. A man was walking along the seashore on a bright afternoon enjoying the air and sea. Above the sky was blue, the sun shining, the air invigorating, and the view off very beautiful. And the man walks along leisurely, thinking only of the enjoyment of his surroundings. He does notice absent-mindedly that his feet sink into the sand rather much. Then they sink a little more, until he begins to think it strange; then all at once it flashes upon him that the tide is out, and he is in a bed of quicksand.
With the instinctive dread of a native, he knows well what that means, and instantly turns in horror towards the mainland to escape. But his quicker, intenser movements make his feet sink in deeper, up to the ankles. He plunges madly this way and that, calling wildly for help. But there is nobody to hear, and the more he plunges the deeper he sinks. Now he turns to the left, seeking to find a footing beyond the edge of the treacherous bed of quicksand. And now frantically to the right, and now up towards mainland, but he only sinks down the deeper into the smooth, slippery sand. Now the sand is to his knees, and now over his loins; then its pressure crowds in about his vitals, while he stretches out his arms wildly and shrieks piteously for help, and the pressure is seen in the blood coming from mouth and nose and ears. And now only the head is above the smooth level of pretty sand, and now just a pair of glaring, blood-shot eyes, and now a tuft of hair. Then only a smooth stretch of pretty shining sand. And above the sky is blue, the sun shining, the air so fine, and the sea laughing.
That is the working of nature's law. It is true alike of all her laws. Here it was the law of gravitation that ruthlessly, mercilessly, inexorably drew down the man who had given himself unwittingly over to its power. The same action marks this law of sin of which we are talking. Whoever comes within the sphere of its power will find it working in the same quiet, sure, merciless way. Law knows no mercy. Oh! yes, there is a provision sometimes made in human law for certain days of grace in meeting financial obligation. But it simply means that, if the brief time allotted find you unready with the money, the house may be sold from over your head, and you left in the cold night unsheltered. That is surely great grace.
Here in this old tale of the native of Brittany is an illustration of the working of law, the logical sequence of cause and result. With slow pace, bit by bit, with mercilessly sure tread the law of sin works out its logical way endlessly. Sin pays in installments, but in full, with a final fullness beyond anybody's power to compute.
There is a seventh fact to be noted here, that should be marked very keenly, and not forgotten. Sin is self-executive. That is to say, every sin pays its own bills. Sin keeps an independent bank account and checks out all its own payments. And it can be said very positively that there is no result of sin except that which works out of itself. Yet that is terrific beyond the power of the imagination to picture, or of words to tell. You may, if you choose to, leave God out of your thinking about this. Yet that does not affect the tremendous fact put down here. Sin has bound up in itself all the terrific consequences that ever come. The act of sin unlooses the demons bound within, and they do but carry out to the full what the man began. Sin works automatically. It is self-executive.