THE SINFULNESS OF SIN by Elder J. H. Durland

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Sep 18, 1893

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 19, No. 45.

THE SINFULNESS OF SIN.

By Elder J. H. Durland

BY ELDER J. H. DURLAND.

IN order that we may forsake sin, the Spirit of the Lord, through the word, shows us its exceeding sinfulness. Until we are led to see its terribleness we will not desire to cut loose from it. The Lord can see when we will sin long before we get to it. He desires that we may see the deceitfulness of the nature of sin, that we may be willing to give it all up and hate it as a man hates a snake after being once bitten.

David learned the nature and power of sin by a sad experience, and this experience has been recorded for our benefit, that we might keep away from it. When he saw where he was, he had not words that were strong enough to express his feelings towards it. He says it is transgression—a going out of the way; it is sin—a mistake, a missing the mark; it is iniquity—an injustice, a wrong; it is a guile—a cheating, a lie.

Thus a penitent sinner sees sin. He looks back and sees sin as a going out of the way. He stepped out of the path; it was only a step—he thought he could easily come back again, he would not go far—only to see just what was over there. So it began, and so it went on, day after day, thoughts growing into acts, acts into habits, habits ever growing stronger. Then some day the man wakes. Where is he? Hanging to the edge of the precipice he looks up. Oh, how different that way of the Lord appears now! He used to think of it as a restriction, a being too particular. But now he wakes to find innocence lost, and the man who was going to be free is the helpless slave of his own sin. And he cannot get back, cannot get up again. What memories crowd around him! Thoughts in which God's way appears a way of pleasantness, but so far from him that he can only cry out, "O wretched man that I am!" He sees that he is far out of the way, and is unable to return. He cannot climb up, and down below him is that terrible darkness of destruction.

When sin is revealed to the sinner, he may at first try to hide it by making excuses for his transgression. He says, "I am not worse than others." If there ever was any blame it was not his. Blame his nature if you will, in which fiery passion slept—he could not help that. Blame occasion and temptation; these were answerable for what happened, not himself. But underneath the covering there is an accuser that torments him day and night. No, he cannot get rid of sin by denying it. It still remains there, in all its hideous nakedness, standing out in the glaring light of God. Memory meets him and whispers in his ear. Faces rise up, and come near and look at him, dumbly clamoring against him. Fingers point at him. Nature seems allied with conscience. As he goes on there come strange voices, looks, hints, whispers, as if all the world knew all about it and shrank from this dreadful man. Above him is a God whom he fears to face. Beneath him is a blackness of which he shudders to think. No, he cannot bury his sin. As in the weird and tragic story in which the poet tells of the man who tried to bury his crime, the black pool would not hide the secret, and there, in the dried-up river bed, lay the victim. The wind swept away the leaves and flung the dead again into sight. We have no power to undo the past; we cannot hush it up. Its voices go on and on forever clamoring against us. We cannot bury it. It rises and pursues us. The height of blessedness cannot be reached by this path. "When I kept silence, my bones waxed old through my roaring."

Does sin always mean such anguish, and fear, and remorse? No, not always. Only as long as the light of God's word is within the soul, and speaks to the sinner. That light may be put out. That voice may be silenced. Then the sinner will come to laugh a wild and hardened laugh at these things. Right and wrong have ceased to mean anything. Love is lust, and truth is but a name, and purity is a hypocrite who wears a white robe, and friendship is only the disguise of selfishness. Better a thousand times the madness that raves at the memories of sin than this. The eye that sees truth is put out, the ear that hears the voice of God is stopped. Then the soul can go untroubled, unburdened, because hardened.

"He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy." When God shows us our sins, the best way for us to do is to say, "I acknowledge my transgression." Then the Lord answers, "I forgive." Then he who sees how wicked it is to sin, can turn his eyes to the Lord, and say, "Praise the Lord, for his mercy endureth forever."