Rensselaer Republican, Volume 25, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 September 1892 — A LION TO FIGHT. [ARTICLE]

A LION TO FIGHT.

Through Christ W& May Come Ofl Conquerors. Shall We Amwtr ‘-Here*’ to the Muster Call of the Pardoned in - - the Last Day, The great outpourings to hear Dr. Talmage preach continue. Probably the greatest demonstration the past month was that at the town hall, Birmingham, when he delivered three addresses the same evening to audiences aggregating 30,000 persons. At Sheffield, Derby, Leicester, Exeter and Bristol, also, pheaudiences assembled, the most cordial welcome being everywhere accorded him. The sermon selected for publication this week is entitled “Celestial Sympathizers, ” the text, being taken from I Cor. xv, 82, “I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, ” and Hebrews xii, l*, "Seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses. ”

Crossing the Alps by the Mont Genis pass, or through the Mont Cenis tunnel, you are in a few hours set down at Verona, Italy, and in a few minutes begin examiniug one of the grandest ruins in the world — the amphitheater. The whole building sweeps around you in a circle. You stand in the arena, where the combat 4vas once fought, or the race run, and on all sides the seats rise, tier above tier, until you count forty elevations or galleries, as I shall see fit to call them, in which sat the senators, the kings, and the twentyfive thousand excited spectators. At the sides of the arena and under the galleries are the cages in which the irons and tigers are .kept without food, until frenzied with hunger and thirst tltey are let out upon some poor victim, who with his sword and J.lone is condemned to meet them. I hink that Paul himself once stood in such a place, and that it was not only figuratively but literally that he had “fought with beasts at Ephesus. * The fact is that every Christian man has a lion to fight. Yours is a bad temper. The gates of the arena have been opened, and this tiger has come out to destroy your soul. It has lacerated you with jnany a wound. You have been thrown by it time and again, but in the strength of God you have arisen to drive it back. 1 verily believe you will conquer. I think that the temptation is getting weaker. You have given

it so many wounds that the prospect is that it w ill die and you shall be victor, through Christ. Courage, brother! Do not let the sands of the arena drink the blood of your soul! Your lipn is the passion for strong drink. You may have contended against it twenty vears, but it is strong of body and thirsty of tongue. Yon have tried to fight it back with broken bottle or empty wine flask. v is not the weapon. With one horrible roar he will seize thee by the throat and rend thee limb from limb. Take this weapon,sharp and keen—reach up and get it from God’s armory—the Sword of the Spirit. With that thou mayest drive him back and conquer. when avery man and woman nas a lion, to fight! If there be one here who has no besetting sin, let him speak out, for him have I offended. If you have not fonght the lion, it is because you have let the lion eat you up. This very moment the contest goes on. The Trojan celebration, where ten thousand gladiators fought and eleven thousand wild beasts wore slain, was not so terrific a struggle os that which at this moment goes on in many a soul. The combat was for the life of the body; this is for the life of the soul. was with wild beasts from the jungle; this is with the roaring lion of hell. Men think when they contend against an evil habit thut they have to fight it all alone. No! They t'ond in the center of on immense circle of sympathy. Paul had been reciting the name of Abel, Enoch, Noali, A oral)am, Sarah, Isaac, Joseph, Gideon and Barak, and then says, “Being compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses." Before I get through I will show you that your fight is aa arena around which circle, in galleries above ach other, all the kindling eyes and all the sympathetic hearts of the ages, and at every victory gained there comes down the thundering applause of a great multitude that no man can number. “Beiug compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses."

Cn the first elevation of the ancient amphitheater, on the day of a celebration, sat Tiberius, or Augustus, or the reigning king. 80, in the greet arena of spectators that watch om* struggles, and in the first divine galtfry, os I shall call it, sits our King, one Jesus. On his-head are many crowns. The Roman emperor got his place by cold blooded conquests, but our king hath come to his place by broken hearts healed, and the tears wiped away and the souls redeemed. The Roman emperor sat with folded arms, indifferent as to whether the swordsman or the lion beat, bntour king's sympathies are with us. Nay, unheardof 'condescension! I comedown '.from the gullerv into the arena to 'help us in the tight, shouting until ,all np and down his voice is heard: ; “Fear notl I will help thee. I will 'Strengthen thee by the right hand of , mv power." \ "Kow bring on your lions. Who can

fear? All Ihe spectators in the angelic gallery- are -our--friends. “He shall give bis angels charge over thee to keep thee irf all thy ways. They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone. Tbou sbalt tread upon the lion :nl adder; the young lion and the drag ju shall thou trample under foot.” , , Though the arena be crowded with temptations we shal 1 , with the angelic help, strike them down in the name of our God and leap on fallen carcasses! Oh. bending throng of bright angelic faces and swift wings and lightning foot! I hail you today from tbe dust and struggle of the arena. I look again and I see tlje gallery of the prophets and apostles. Who are those mighty ones up yonder? Hosea and Jeremiah and Daniel and Isaiah and Paul and Peter and John and James. There sits Noah waiting for all the world to come, into the ark. and Moses, waiting till the last Red sea shall divide; and Jeremiah, waiting for the Jews to return; and John, of the Apocalypse, waiting for the swearing of the angel that Time shall be no longer. Glorious spirits! Ye were howled at, ye were stoned, ye were spit upon! They have been in this fight themselves, and they are all with us. Daniel knows all about lions, Paul fought with beasts at Ephesus.

I look again and I see the gallery of the martyrs. Who is that? Hugh Latimer, sure enough! He would not apologize for the truth pleached, and so he died the night before swinging from the bedpost in perfect glee at the thought of emancipation. Who are that army of six thousand six hundred and sixty-six? The are the Theban legion, who died for the faith. Here is a larger host in magnificent array—eight hundred and eightv-four thousand —who perished for Christ in the persecutions of Diocletian.

Yonder is a family group, Felicitas of Rome, and her children. While they were dying for the faith she stood encouraging them. One son was whipped to death by thorns; another was flung from a rock; another was beheaded. At the last mother became a martyr. They are together—a family group in heaven! Yonder is John Bradford, who said in the fire, “We shall have a merry supper with the Lord to-night!” Yonder is Henrv Yoes. who exclaimed as he died, “If I had ten heads thev should all fall off for Christ!” * The great throng of the martyrs! They had hot lead poured down their throats; horses were fastened to their hands, and other horses to their feet' and thus they were pulled apart; they had their tongues pulled out with hot pincers; they were thrown to the dogs; they were daubed with combustibles and set on fire. If all the martyrs’ stakes that had been kindled could be set at proper distances they would make the midnight, all the world over bright as noonday.

Hook again, and see another gallon’ that of eminent Christians. What strikes me strangely is the mixing in companionship of those who on earth could not agree. There is Albert Barnes, and around him the presbytery who tried him for | heterodoxy! Yonder is Lyman Beecher, and the church court that denounced him! Stranger than all, there is John Cal vin and James Arm.imus! Who’d have thought that they would sit so lovingly together? There is George Whitefield and the ministers who would not let him come into their pulpits because they thought him a fanatio. There are the sweet singers, Toplad.v, Montgomery, Charles Wesley, Isaac Watts and Mrs. Sigourney. If heaven had had no music before they went up they would have started the singing. I look again and see the gallery "of our departed. Many of those in the other galleries we have heard of, but these we knew. Oh, how familiar their faces! They sat at our tables, and we walked to the house of God in company. Have they forgotten us? Those fathers and mothers started us on the road of life. Are thev careless of what becomes of us? And those children —do they look on with stclid indifference as to whether we win or lose this battle for eternity? Nay; I see that child running its hand over your brow and saying, “Father, do not fret;” “Mother, do not worry.”

They remember the day they left us. They remember the agony of the last farewell. Though years in heaven, they know our faces. They remember our sorrows. They speak our names. They watch this fight for heaven. Nay; I see them rise up and lean over and wave before us their recognition and encouragement That gallery is not full. They are keeping places for us. After we have slain the lion they expect the King to call us, saying, “Come up higher!" Between tho hot Btruggloa in tho arena I wipe the sweat from my brow and stor.l on tiptoe, reaching up my right hand to clasp theirs in rapturous hand-shaking, while their voices come ringing down from the gallery crying: “Be thou faithful un-’ to death ant. you shall have a crown.” But here I pause, overwhelmed with the majesty and the joy of the scene. Gallery of the King! Gallery of angelß! Gallery of prophets and apostles! Gallery of saints! Gallery of friends and kindred. Oh, majestic circles of light and love! Multitudes! Throngs! How shall we endure the gaze of the universe? Myriads of eyes beaming on us. Myriads of hearts beating in sympathy for us. How shall we over dare to siu agin! How shall we over become discouraged again! How shall wo ever feel lonely again I