The Exhausting Ministry of Sin
J. H. Jowett, M. A. Psalm 31:9-18 Have mercy on me, O LORD, for I am in trouble: my eye is consumed with grief, yes, my soul and my belly.… There is nothing drains away the strength like sin. At the time when sin is committed we may be unconscious of its demands; indeed, we may sometimes feel as though our strength had been increased. It is part of the subtlety of the Evil One that he often adds a little exuberance to our rebellion, and fills our life with a sense of freedom and delight. But the drain is not the less real because it is concealed. I have seen a village slaughter-house covered with ivy and climbing roses. And the destruction wrought by sin proceeds behind our apparent gains. The real exhaustion is frequently discovered in the time of storm. We are flung into some exacting circle of circumstances, and we find we do not possess the necessary resource. Now all sin is attended by this destructive ministry. It is not only the sensual excess, but the sin of the daintier kind. It is not only the presumptuous uncleanness, emerging from the life like some foul eruption, but it is the secret fault nibbling away in the inward parts. And it is not only that all sin is destructive, but all sin works with a ministry of general destruction. It is not only that a single power is impaired; the taint infects the entire life. Sin is an evil contagion, and its evil is not confined to a power; it pervades a personality. In the destructive influence of sin the most delicate powers are the first impaired. The whole being immediately suffers deterioration, created by the presence of an enervating atmosphere, but the finest powers are those which soonest reveal the insidious consumption. The coronal powers first begin to sicken, and the sickness creeps down into the basement. When a man sins, the blight first strikes the spiritual apprehension. There is no clearer indication of this than when we turn to prayer after we have committed sin. We feel as though we had no delicate hand by which to apprehend the things divine; we have been coarsened, and these delicate presences are not revealed to our touch. But it is not only that our powers are benumbed, they are also emasculated; their secret strength is drained away. But with the impoverishment of the feeling for God there goes the dulling of the moral sense. We lose our powers of refinement, our capacity for discerning between the holy and the profane. We have no cute apprehension of moral values. The very criterion of social health is found in the accuracy of this moral standard, and it is the most pathetic commonplace to watch its deterioration. When a man tells a lie his moral sense is stunned as though he had received a blow in the forehead. And with the consumption of these highest powers our emotional endowment is impaired. I do not mean that we lose our readiness to tears. Weeping may be an art or an artifice, and there are many people whose emotions have been subsidized by the devil. But a fine emotional susceptibility gives weight and pressure to sacred purpose. We can do little or nothing without it. Logical convictions may abound, but they may be inactive and inert. They may be like tramcars waiting for electrical power. We can do little without emotion in political life, and perhaps the greatest need of our time is a baptism of profound and genuine emotion. But the strength of affection is drained away by sin, and what is left is polluted. A common sin diminishes the strength of the affections; they are no longer so refined and sympathetic; affection, through the ministry of sin, can become blind and deaf and dumb. "My strength faileth because of mine iniquity." Now if this destructive ministry is at work, what can we do with it? Antagonistic ministries are suggested in the way of powerful antidotes. We are recommended to rearrange and refurnish men's environments. But what sort of an environment shall we create? Do we not too frequently argue as if the iniquity were all found in the Seven Dials and not in Belgravia? And yet in one the environment appears to be propitious, while in the other it seems to be adverse. Men say, "Let us make our towns more like Bournville, and as far as we can, let us restore the original Paradise." But the devil is in Bournville as the serpent was in Eden. Other men accentuate the ministry of education. Yes, and who would say otherwise? And yet many an educated man is a beast. A secret canker is the companion of many a well-stored mind. We can hear the educated men and women everywhere employing the words of the psalmist: "My strength faileth because of mine iniquity." How does the man of the text face his need? He surrenders his unmade soul to its Maker. "Unto Thee, O God, I commit my spirit." He commits his spirit to God as an invalid commits himself to a competent physician. And this with completeness of trust. "I trusted in Thee, O Lord. I said, Thou art my God!" I think there is a most tender pathos in these words. "Thou .... My!" This sin-haunted, sin-persecuted man lifts his eyes to the Maker, and addresses himself to a personal God. He quietly but confidently claims that Maker for himself. "Thou art my God." And then with a sense of his own complete helplessness, and of the utter confusion which his own handiwork has wrought, he places the corrupted life into other and better hands. "Take it off my hands, good Lord! I have spoiled Thy work, and the beauty and the strength of it are gone! I bring it back to Thee! Into Thy hands I commit my spirit!" But with this completeness of trust there goes an audacity of obedience. There is no real trust without it. There is no faith without faithfulness, and no trust without obedience. The man puts his life into the hands of the Maker, and then stands to do the Maker's bidding. And what are the issues of the faithful committal? We find them described in ver. 19. "O, how great is Thy goodness which Thou hast laid up for them that fear Thee; which Thou hast wrought for them that trust in Thee before the sons of men!" The immediate issue is a state of convalescence, the gradual recovery of lost health. (J. H. Jowett, M. A.) Parallel Verses KJV: Have mercy upon me, O LORD, for I am in trouble: mine eye is consumed with grief, yea, my soul and my belly. WEB: Have mercy on me, Yahweh, for I am in distress. My eye, my soul, and my body waste away with grief.