NO. 3366
PUBLISHED ON THURSDAY, AUGUST 7TH, 1913.
DELIVERED BY CH SPURGEON,
AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.
ON THURSDAY EVENING, NOV. 29TH, 1866.
“Who hath delivered us from the power of darkness.”—Colossians 1:13.
Darkness is used in Scripture to express a great many things. Sometimes it represents sorrow. “A night of weeping” is a common expression among us. We speak, too, of “walking in darkness, and seeing no light.” We commonly say to one another, that our minds are in a dark and gloomy state when we are surrounded by the fogs and mists of sorrow. Taking it in this sense, how often might we say of our heavenly Father, that he “hath delivered us from the power of darkness”? He has helped us in our temporary difficulties and circumstances, or he has whispered, “As thy days so shall thy strength be,” and he has turned our night of weeping into a morning of gladness, put away the sackcloth and ashes, and given us the oil of joy. Blessed be his name for all this! Let us not be ungrateful, nor forget the many times when he has turned our mourning into dancing, and our sackcloth into scarlet and fine linen.
But darkness frequently means, too, in Scripture ignorance. We were once so in darkness that we were ourselves blinded. “The God of this world” hath blinded our eyes, lest the light of the glorious gospel should shine in upon us. “We who were sometimes darkness, are now light in the Lord.” Christ’s mission had for one of its many gracious purposes and ends the taking away of the darkness of human ignorance, and the pouring of light upon the intellect of man. I thank God that many of us, though we know comparatively but little, do know that, whereas we were once blind, now we see. We do know something of ourselves, so as to be humbled, and we know, too, something of the gracious God, so as to rejoice that we are saved by him. God has, therefore, delivered us, in that sense, from the power of darkness. Let us be thankful for that. Pant for more knowledge, but oh! believer, be grateful for what you have. Remember that the little you already know of saving truth is inestimably precious, for to know Jesus Christ is eternal life; and if, on this side of the grave, you never learn any more, yet you know that which should set your tongue eternally in holy motion with a rapturous song of thankfulness to him who has taught you such priceless truth. Yes, “he has delivered us from the power of darkness.”
Darkness, too, frequently represents Satan, and the mysterious spiritual influence which he exerts upon the human mind. He is called “the prince of darkness.” Darkness seems to be his element from him. God is the “Father of Lights,” but Satan seems to be the father of the gloom and the dark.
Two elements are now at war in this lower world: Christ, the Light, the true light, and Satan—sin—thick darkness, a darkness which may be felt, the Egyptian darkness in which we are naturally born, and out of which we are not delivered, except by the supernatural power of God, exhibited through the plan of salvation by his grace. Beloved, we still are tempted by Satan, but we are not under his power; we have to fight with him, but we are not his slaves. He is not our king; he has no rights over us; we do not obey him; we will not listen to his temptations from him. By the grace of God, we mean, notwithstanding all his opposition to him, to fight in his very teeth from him, and to win our way to heaven. He “hath delivered us from the power of darkness.” Oh! what a mercy this is—that man, such a poor creature as he is, should be able to escape from the power of that master-spirit Diabolus, Satan, the destroyer! That was a wonderful moment when, according to Bunyan’s description, Hopeful and Christian found that the key was turned in the lock and that they could get out of Giant Despair’s castle. That was a wonderful moment, I say, when, according to Master Bunyan, the key turned in the great lock which locked the iron gate. To use John Bunyan’s own words, he says, “That lock went damnable hard.” In all the new editions of “Pilgrim’s Progress,” it is put, “That lock went desperate hard.” more refined way of putting it, but John Bunyan meant just what he said, and implied that there was a sense of the wrath of God upon the soul of man on account of sin, so that he felt as if he were near even to perdition itself. And yet, at such a time, the key did turn in the lock, and the iron gate was opened. You recollect that just at the moment old Giant Despair woke up, and was going to pursue the pilgrims, and lay hold upon them, when he was seized with one of his fainting-fits from him. Oh! what an escape from Giant Despair! And yet this is little compared with escaping from Satan! Satan is the prince of the power of the air, and human despair is but one of his servants of him, one of the black officers in his infernal regiment of him. To escape from Satan himself!—oh! let it be sung in heaven! Let angels who have never fallen help us to sing in triumph over those fallen spirits from whom we have been rescued by divine grace. “He hath delivered us from the power of darkness, and translated us into the kingdom of God’s dear Son.”
I prefer, however, tonight, as we cannot talk about all these things, and the field is so very wide, to consider the word “darkness” here, in the restricted meaning of sin. Sin is a tremendous moral and spiritual darkness, which has overspread the human mind, but we are told in the text, and we have felt it in our personal experience, that “he hath delivered us from the power of darkness.”
Let us speak, first, of the power of darkness, from which we are delivered; secondly, upon the statement here made concerning it; and thirdly, of the inferences which inevitably flow from the statement.
First, then, let us speak a little upon:—
—————
I. The Power Of Sin, From Which We Have Been Delivered, as it is here set forth, under the suggestive image of “the power of darkness.”
What is “the power” of darkness? I suppose everyone will admit that it is a power which tends towards slumber. It is a compounding power. God has given us the night in which to sleep. Whether or not there be any absolute power in darkness to engender sleep I do not know, but I do know this, that it is much easier, when reclining on your bed, to sleep in the dark than it is to sleep in the full glare of the sun. There seems to be some sedative influence about darkness, something which assists a man to fall into a state of inaction, which we call “sleep.” Now, beloved, look upon the race of men. They are under the Power of darkness, and in consequence they sleep. Does not the apostle say to us who are delivered from that power, “Let us not sleep as do others”? “They that sleep,” saith he, “sleep in the night,” that being the proper time for sleep—the night with its raven-wing seeming to engender sleep—”but let us that are of the day be sober, putting on the breastplate of love.” If you look abroad in the world, I say, you will see men, under the soporific influence of sin, given to slumber. Do you believe that men would go on to sin as they do, if it were not that sin stultifies them, prevents their using their reason, drowns their conscience, and will not allow them really to judge accurately concerning things that differ? Why, can you imagine that a man would run the risk of everlasting misery for the sake of a few days of carnal delight, if he were not, by some means or other, besotted, and made a feel of, by sin! Can you conceive that a man would hear the tidings of pardoning mercy through Jesus Christ, and be solemnly assured that if he turned from the error of his ways, God would accept and receive him, and that then he would treat that message with levity, and go his way, even to ridicule it, if it were not that sin has made him so unreasonable, even in these matters, and made him, if not an idiot, a madman, so that he will not think? He willfully chooses his own mischief, ruins himself, and that with a sort of Satanic malice against himself, as well as against God, choosing rather to inherit eternal misery than to give up the poor delights of time, choosing rather to feast upon the empty husks of this world, than to come and sit down at the table of mercy, and cat and drink of the grace which God has provided. So, then, it is very clear-observation shows it to us, and we also have felt it in ourselves—that sin has a soporific, a drowsing, a sleep-giving power. It makes men careless and indifferent. Makes them say, “I’ll chance it! I do not care what the future may bring.” It makes a man go right to the very edge of perdition, with his eyes blindfolded, and his heart like Nabal’s heart, which was turned to stone—careless even of the “terrors of the Lord,” and of “the wrath to come.”
But blessed be his holy name! “he hath delivered us from the power of darkness.” I hope we do not sleep. “Oh Christian! if you are careless, if you are asleep, if tonight your heart is heavy and dull, I should like to come and whisper this right into your soul, “He hath delivered us from the power of darkness.” We are now to be active, earnest, zealous, and full of devoted life. If they sleep who are unconverted, they only act according to nature. They are in the dark; they therefore sleep. What can they do otherwise? But you are in the light, you know that you are saved, you rejoice in Jesus Christ. Oh! sleep not, my brethren, but seeing that there are but a few hours in your day, work while the day lasts, and make it your pleasure and your delight to spend and to be spent in the service of him “who hath delivered us from the power of darkness.”
A second power of darkness lies in concealment. It is the power of darkness to hide things. What a darkness we had last night! Trying to get home from ministering abroad, I thought I should never be able to find my way. One could hardly see one’s hand in that dense fog, which encompassed one. Houses and trees that one would have known in a moment, and that would have told one where one was, were all concealed. One could see nothing. It would be a very small world, indeed, if it were no larger than what could then be seen. Darkness hides things. No matter how glorious yonder landscape may be as you stand upon the mountain’s brow; if the sun has gone down, and if night has spread its wings over the whole, you can see nothing. It may be very well for the guide to tell you that yonder is a silver lake, and there the Black Forest, and that far away are the brows of mountains covered with their eternal snows, but you can see nothing; night has effectually blotted it all out. Now, the power of sin is just like that. It hides from the human mind what that mind ought to see. The man is lost, but he does not know it; he cannot see the rocks that are just ahead. The man has soon to stand before the bar of God and receive his sentence from him, but he does not know it; I mean his heart he does not know it. I have trifles on, caring for none of these things. As for the plague that is in him in his ruined state, he does not believe it. He hears the truth that Jesus Christ came into the world to…