Man’s Fallen Nature

TOGETHER with the denial of the character of the Divine punishment of the ungodly, we usually find the denial of the utterly fallen nature of man. Evil doctrine seldom walks alone, it has its companions; and one false doctrine invariably opens the door to let in others.
God declares that man is utterly astray from Him by nature. It is not in man, by nature, even to wish to return to God. The very idea of God is distasteful to him, for “the carnal mind is enmity against God.” Yet, along with this fact, runs the delusion in man’s heart that, by doing his best, man may recover himself so as to be fit for God. Perhaps it is only such Christians as have learned the perfect favor of God towards them in Christ, who thoroughly accept the verdict of God concerning man’s utter badness. In those who have solid peace with God, absolute condemnation of self will always be found. Do we ever find absolute condemnation of self in anyone who has not solid peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ? The rule is invariable that he who wishes for, but lacks, peace with God, looks in himself to discover some good thing. The weaker the faith in the work of Christ, the stronger the trust in human works. The less established the soul in Christ, the greater its regard for its own feelings and experiences.
It is in the cross of Christ alone that, by the teaching of the Spirit of God, we really learn our own badness and God’s thoughts respecting the vileness of sin. In the crucified Son of God we discover self; we see what we are; for God made Him sin for us.
The cross of Christ explains to us how God regards sin. God turned away His face from His Son when the Lord was made sin for us. He forsook Jesus. Nothing could be more terrible. It was separation from God. Our reader knows that, while God acted thus in a judicial way towards the Son of His love, it was because of the place His Son took on the sinner’s behalf. In Himself the blessed Lord was always perfect. In His adorable Person He was never anything save perfection. Yet, when He stood in the sinner’s stead, God dealt with Him in. absolute righteousness, and our Lord suffered the unutterable woe of bearing the wrath of God—of being forsaken by God. The suffering for sin by the Lord upon the cross was a reality. The punishment for sin which He endured was a reality, but faith alone enters into the reality.
Now, this agony of the Lord Jesus proves to us what we merit, shows to us what we are. The cross of Christ is the gospel looking-glass. The law shows us what we ought to be, the cross what we are. We try to do our best, and we discover that we cannot do one single thing righteously.
We believe what Christ suffered for sinners upon the cross, and we discover the righteousness of God in respect to sin.
For faith, the cross of Christ is not only the condemnation of self, it is also the grave of self-effort. For faith, it is the burying place of self. “We are dead with Christ.” For faith, it is the utter end of human nature beyond all hope of revival— “Buried with Christ.” And this hopelessness in self, and this absolute trust in what Christ has done, brings us deliverance.
Thus is linked within the soul of the Christian this apparent contradiction, No hope in self-peace with God. And both agree perfectly with each other.
Now, the utter ruin of man is never, to nature, a palatable truth. God made man in His own image, and man, in the circle of his fellow-men—educated and refined, brave and tender—may be a noble creature, but when we bring God into our thoughts, when, instead of measuring ourselves with ourselves, we consider the infinite purity and infinite holiness of God, we are constrained to cry, “What is man!” How base and evil we feel ourselves to be, when we no longer adopt a human standard, but ponder over God’s Word. But infidelity attacks the very Word of God, which explains to us what God is and what we are. By it God is degraded, God’s holiness diluted to the enfeebled quality of man’s uprightness, and God’s light darkened to the tone of man’s darkness. God is thus utterly misrepresented. The God who is our God we are not called upon to hear, but a being of man’s creation, made conformable to the requirements of the present age.
Thus the cross of Christ does not become to the hearers of these new, or rather, revived old, errors, their only hope as sinners. On the contrary, the cross of Christ becomes to such rather a pattern than the way of salvation. And we are told that God, by some means which He has not revealed to men, can save from hell hereafter such as in this life miss the benefits of the death of Christ! That, despite the plain statements of His Word, God will have mercy on those who die rejecting or neglecting the only way of salvation.
Surely such falsehoods are fresh witnesses to the utterly depraved state of man’s heart. For not only is the fallen nature of man denied, but the very provision which God has made, in grace, to meet man in his fallen state is set aside. The great reason which hinders men from receiving the benefits of Christ’s death is pride of heart, which declines to believe that man is so hopelessly ruined, so utterly apart from God, that nothing save the death of God’s own Son could meet his case.
In this day of mercy God has not only provided the way of salvation for sinners, but by His Spirit He beseeches man to be reconciled to Him. “Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech by us: we pray, in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God. For He hath made Him to be sin for us who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him.” (2 Cor. 5:20, 21). Such is the attitude in which the God whom, by nature, we hate, places Himself toward us. Nothing can be more wonderful. It was the wonder of wonders that God should give His Son to die for sinners; and now, to sinners living without God, and careless as to His Son’s death for them, God even goes so far in His love as to ask them to be reconciled to Himself. This love and grace ought to break down the hardest heart.
But suppose, after all, a man dies without God, without Christ—dies unmoved by such love? That man will rise again, and will live forever. What, then, will be his eternal destiny? Reader, “be not deceived, God is not mocked; whatsoever a man soweth, that also shall he reap.” Such a man has thrown away his last hope.
His nature is utterly fallen, and will ever remain so. His will was, through lifetime, at enmity to God, and will ever remain so. There will be no change in him forever and ever. The “gospel,” which “is the power of God unto salvation,” he despised and refused, and God has not “another gospel” for man. There will be no evangelists sent to the lost hereafter with “another gospel,” such delusive preaching belongs only to this brief lifetime. There will be no preaching of faith where all will be sight; yes, terribly plain sight. For then there will be no deception of heart. No denial of the utter ruin of man, no boast in good works fitting a man for God, no refusal to believe in what God says respecting the character of punishment. No, nothing but the realization of second death, which follows judgment.
For the believer, judgment precedes death, since Christ has been judged in his stead. “I am crucified with Christ,” says faith. Therefore, says the Lord, the believer “shall not come into judgment.” But be not deceived: if a man die without Christ, the word is “after this the judgment.” Not, after death a fresh chance for salvation. Not, after death a fresh change of nature and a becoming fit for God. No, but the sentence of the second death which will be passed at the Great White Throne upon all who die without life—without Christ. H. F. W.
William Farel.
(Continued from p. 144.)
MONTBÉLIARD is a little town, now belonging to France, but at that time to the German Empire. A pretty little town in the valley of the Allan, now chiefly inhabited by watchmakers and cotton manufacturers. There is an old castle on a high bill, with ancient round towers, and a bridge crosses the river below.
Farel was soon busily employed. He preached constantly. He also worked hard at the translation of German tracts into French, and himself wrote French tracts, which were all printed together at Basle. Anemond helped him eagerly in this work. Master Faber had by this time finished his translation of the whole of the New Testament into French. Anemond managed to get one of these Testaments, and had a great many printed from it, at the press at Basle. As neither Farel nor Anemond had any money of their own, all the expenses were paid by the Lord’s people at Metz, at Grenoble, and at Lyons. There were now many believers at Lyons, for the seed sown in Dauphine had sprung up, and preachers of the gospel had gone forth to other places. There was just then a reason why several went to Lyons. The king, Francis I., had started for his Italian wars. His mother and sister had gone with him as far as Lyons, and there they remained for awhile. This was in August, 1524. Margaret had brought no attendants except those who believed the gospel. She was anxious that the word of God should be preached at Lyons. And thus several preachers, who were persecuted elsewhere, took refuge there. Many believed the glad tidings, amongst them some of the rich merchants, who gladly sent money to Farel and Anemond to help on the work of printing. The two friends were a great help to one another. Anemond went backwards and forwards between Basle and Montbéliard, and kept William well supplied with tracts and books. These were given to colporteurs, men who carried them about in packs into the towns and villages of France, where they sold them cheaply. Thus, where preachers were banished the word of God still had free course, and this seed, sown far and wide, sprang up and brought forth fruit. All over France, in a little while, there were men and women who believed in the Lord Jesus, and turned from their idols to the one living and true God.
Farel’s preaching was heard with great joy by many of the people of Montbéliard. A great number seem to have been converted.
Hausschein was delighted with the news that God was thus owning and blessing his dear friend.
But he was always frightened when he thought of Farel, much as he loved him. He was afraid that he would rouse people to anger by his strong language. He entreated him again and again to be meek and gentle, to lead people, not to drive them—not to speak severely of the mass priests.
“Remember,” he said, “they are often people who know no better. They are ignorant and superstitious, and really think they are doing right. Be kind to them, and try to win them over by persuasion. Do not speak against the mass till you have first preached Antichrist out of their hearts.”
Farel did endeavor to be meet; and gentle, but at the same time he did not hesitate to say that the mass was idolatry. He preached Christ boldly and faithfully. Very soon a disturbance arose. A monk and a priest stood up in the church where he was preaching, and interrupted the sermon by calling him a liar and a heretic. The duke arrested the priest and the monk, and ordered them to make no further disturbance, under penalty of his severe displeasure. The monk, however, again interrupted the sermon in the afternoon, and endeavored to raise a riot. The duke then arrested both the monk and Farel. He told the monk he would give him his choice—either to prove from the Bible that what Farel had said was false, or if he could not do that to confess that it was true. The monk having duly considered the matter, said he could not contradict Farel from the Bible, and would therefore own that he had spoken in anger and ill-temper, without any reasonable ground for what he had said. The duke desired him to write this confession, that it might be read publicly. The honest monk did so, and both were then dismissed.
The preaching was now listened to more eagerly than before, and Farel found his time fully taken up, for those who were converted wished to be further taught, and desired that their children should be taught too. Thus matters proceeded for about a year, but the New Year 1525 was to be a dark year for the believers in and near France. Early in that year the French king, Francis I., was taken prisoner by the Emperor Charles V., at the battle of Pavia. During the year that the king’s captivity lasted, the government was placed in the hands of his wicked mother, Louise of Savoy. You remember Louise and Chancellor Duprat as two bitter enemies of the gospel. The time was now come when they had it all their own way. A terrible persecution of the Lord’s people immediately began in every part of France where believers were to be found.
Bedier and the doctors of the Sorbonne were now free to breathe out threatenings and slaughter against all who had received the gospel.
“Let us banish from France,” said Bedier, “this hateful doctrine. This neglect of good works is a fatal delusion from the devil.”
And to set the example of good works did Bedier proceed to hunt out from every corner of Paris, Meaux, Lyons, or wherever else the word of God had been preached, all those who had believed it.
The first attack was made upon Briconnet. After his terrible denial of his Lord, this poor man had again ventured to preach Christ. He had again gathered round him some of the gospel preachers; he had even made a tour round his diocese in company with Master Faber, and had spent three months in clearing out the images from all the churches; he had burnt them one and all, the crucifixes only excepted. Briconnet was, therefore, seized. He requested to be tried before the Parliament, but this favor was refused him. Bedier was afraid he would have too much to say for himself. He was, therefore, examined privately by two councilors, who were desired to get him, if possible, to deny his faith. Bedier judged rightly that his martyrdom might bring honor to the gospel, but that his denial of it would only bring disgrace upon the faith he had professed. A second time was the poor bishop called upon to decide between Christ and Satan; a second time he made the awful choice of giving up his Lord. He consented to do penance for his past errors—he publicly condemned Luther’s books—he gave orders that the saints were to be worshipped as before—and he headed a pompous procession to testify his faith in popery. Thus Briconnet fell, to rise no more. He lived eight years after this denial of the Lord whom he had owned and preached. In his will he commended his soul to the Virgin Mary, and to the “heavenly choir of paradise,” and desired that twelve hundred masses should be said for him after his death.
Master Faber was the next victim. He was the man who was specially hateful to Bedier, for he looked upon him as the author of all the mischief.
“Faber,” said Becher, “tells us that whoever seeks to save himself will perish, while the man that lays aside all strength of his own, and throws himself entirely into the arms of Jesus, will be saved! What a hellish error! What a deceitful snare of the devil! Let us oppose it with all our might.” Alas, how many Bediers still remain! You, perhaps, and I have been Bediers too. It is through God’s mercy if we are not so now. We may not dare to use his words, but have we never thought his thoughts, and have felt dislike, contempt—God might say hatred—to those who trust in Christ alone?
The parliament drew up an accusation against Master Faber, but, when he was sought for, he was not to be found. The old doctor had left Meaux secretly, and was gone. We shall hear of him again by-and-bye.
Bédier now turned with all the rage of disappointment to Louis Berquin. He was a second time seized, and cast into prison.
“He shall not escape us,” said the parliament.
The next object of Bédier’s fury was Erasmus. This was not because Erasmus was a teacher of the gospel; on the contrary, he had just been writing against Luther and the Lutherans. But Bedier knew that Erasmus despised him, and the priests and monks in general, for their ignorance, their stupidity, and their hypocrisy. Besides, he had helped on the cause of the gospel without intending it, by encouraging the study of Greek, and, therefore, of the New Testament. He had translated it also. He had, on the whole, done much more to help than to hinder the new doctrines.
“Erasmus must, therefore,” said Bédier, “be crushed speedily.”
But Erasmus appealed for protection to the Emperor Charles V. This plan succeeded, and another victim escaped from the clutches of the Sorbonne.
The next who was seized was a preacher a: the gospel near the town of Nancy, in Lorraine His name was Schuch. Lorraine was then in the possession of a duke called Anthony the Good. But Anthony’s goodness began and ended with repeating the Lord’s Prayer and the Ave Maria on all suitable, or, rather, unsuitable occasions; when not so employed, he was either indulging in vice, or persecuting the people of God. He and his confessor, Friar Bonaventura seized upon Schuch, who was brought before the duke for trial. The trial was in Latin, which Anthony did not understand, but he was provoked at seeing Schuch look so calm and happy and, thinking the examination had lasted long enough, he stood up and condemned Schuch to be burnt alive.
Schuch looked at him, and quietly replied, “I was glad when they said unto me, let us go into the house of the Lord.”
It was in August 1525 that Schuch was burns at Nancy; his Bible was burnt also. There were yet other victims upon whom Bedier had his eye.
The next who was seized was the young student, James Pavanne. You remember that in the happy days of Meaux, he had been invited by Briconnet to help in the gospel work with Master Faber and Farel. When Briconnet had the first time turned from Christ, Pavanne has been seized by the Sorbonne and imprisoned. This was at the end of 1524. The poor boy alone in his prison, felt his courage give way he consented to go back into popery, and he was released; but from that moment he was utterly miserable. We are told he spent his time in weeping. He now came forward and said he had sinned against his Lord, and desired to be counted amongst those who trusted in Christ alone. He did not, he said, believe in purgatory; he could not pray to the saints; he would own Christ as his Saviour, and Christ alone. He was taken to the Place de Greve, a. Paris, there to be burnt. His sadness and feat were gone; he walked to the stake looking bright and joyful; he preached boldly during the few minutes that remained, and so great was the power of that little sermon, that one of the priests said: “I would rather the Church had paid a million gold pieces, than that Pavanne should have spoken as he did.”
The burning of Pavanne was soon followed by another glorious testimony to Christ. The poor hermit of the forest of Livry was dragged into the city of Paris, to be burnt by a slow fire in front of the cathedral of Noter Dame. The whole city crowded to the place of execution. The hermit was calm and firm. The priests pressed around him, holding a crucifix before his eyes, and the doctors of the Sorbonne cried aloud, “He is damned! he is going into hell fire!”
The hermit only replied that his trust was in Christ, and he was resolved to die believing in Him only as his Saviour.
All this and much more of martyrdom and persecution was happening in France, whilst William Farel, in the little town of Montbéliard, was preaching and teaching unharmed. But, though none were allowed to seize upon him, the zeal of the priests was none the less. They did their best to hinder and oppose, and to keep up the idolatrous worship where worshippers could be found. The popish cantons of Switzerland also sent messages to Duke Ulric, entreating him to banish the heretic who was disturbing the peace of the Church. The duke was unwilling to do so. And so the autumn and winter of 1525 passed away.
F. B.