PALACE-CAR PIETY by Theodore L. Cuyler

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Nov 11, 1889

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 15, No. 43.

PALACE-CAR PIETY.

By Theodore L. Cuyler

Good old John Bunyan lived before the days of railroads, and he sent his pilgrim to the Celestial City on foot. Some pretty rough walking and hard climbing did Christian find before he had traversed the straight road from the City of God. His convictions of guilt were deep and pungent, his conversion was thorough, and when he reached a dark and dangerous defile on the way, he bravely said, "I see not but that this is the way to the desired haven," and on he goes without flinching. The piety of the pilgrim was stalwart, self-denying, sin-hating, and uncompromising; the man relished even the severities of duty, and never coddled himself with confectionery. Is there not a strong tendency in our day to make a Christian life a great deal easier and more self-indulgent, and instead of a sturdy walk with God, to make it a comfortable ride to heaven in a palace car?

1. This tendency shows itself in quite too much of the preaching to the unconverted. The apostle Peter's first discourse after Pentecost was not a bid for popularity; he did not seek to bribe those Jerusalem sinners by telling them how easy it was for them to become Christians, and what a "good time" they

would have if they embraced the new gospel. He knew that the very best thing for them was to convict them of their sins, and a prompt acceptance and confession of Jesus Christ. Thorough conviction brought thorough conversion; then came gladness of heart and steadfast continuance in the apostles' doctrine and fellowship. This same kind of subsoil plowing down to the roots was the characteristic of Whitefield, Finney, Edwards, Nettleton, and Lyman Beecher; it is the characteristic of Spurgeon's preaching to-day. The best service that can be rendered to a sinner is first to convince him of his sinfulness, and then lead him to Jesus' blood; the more thoroughly sick of sin he becomes, the more he gets the bad stuff out of him by deep repentance, the healthier, holier Christian he will be afterward. But to preach to an unconverted man that "it is just the easiest thing in the world to be a Christian," and to urge him to come on board the church train just as he is, and be transported safely and comfortably to Paradise, is pretty sure to either hoax him into self-deception, or to make him a crude, half-converted, self-indulgent professor to the last.

2. Our blessed Master—who loved sinners infinitely more than we can—never bribed men into discipleship. He invited them to come to him, but he frankly told them that unless they were willing to deny themselves, and take up a cross and follow him, they could not be his disciples. There was a magnificent reward waiting for them at the terminus, but no palace cars to carry them there. The young ruler who fancied he might find one, and ride to heaven "like a gentleman," went away disgusted and disappointed. Brethren, we are always safe when we copy our blessed Master. So in dealing with the unconverted and with the awakened inquirer, let us be honest with them, and tell them that if their "right hand" be a favorite sin, the hand must come off. The biggest devil in a sinner's heart is self, and unless that greedy devil is cast out, Christ cannot and will not come in and flood the soul with peace and joy and power. What is it but the subtle spirit of self that would seek to bargain with Christ for a safe and "genteel" journey to heaven in a palace car?

3. The spirit of indulgence eats like a canker into the life of too many members of our churches. It leads them to choose as their place of worship, not the one in which they are the most needed, but the prosperous one in which they have the lightest load and the most luxuries. The wealth that ought to feed a dozen feeble churches into independence, runs right down into the pool of one aristocratic church and stagnates there. Self-indulgence inquires: "Who preaches there? Is he eloquent? Is the music fine? And do the best society go there?" In plain English this means, Bribe me with a seat in the drawing-room car, and I will go with you. Self-indulgence always goes to its store through a storm, and hires a carriage on the bitterest night to reach a pleasure party; but it leaves Christ's ambassadors to preach to empty pews on an unpleasant Sabbath. The conduct of a vast portion of Christ's professed followers is a severer reproach, and works a severer damage to our Christianity, than the ribald assaults of a hundred Ingersols. It practically means, "My religion will be worth heaven to me in eternity; but in this world it is not worth a little exposure and discomfort."—Theodore L. Cuyler, D.D.