THIS scene of gladness was not abiding. Man broke in upon it, as if already weary of it, ere it had well been tasted. He interrupted God in telling the story of his goodness upon earth. He sinned. The story ceased, and the voice of goodness forthwith died away. This was strange,—strange in man, that he should so soon grow weary of God, and of that blessedness which he had so plentifully found in God. It would not have been strange, had God been tired of telling this story of his goodness to man; but it was truly strange that man should so soon have become tired of listening to that story from the lips of God. Yet so it was at the first, and so it has been found ever since that day. God has never said to man, "I am weary of thee, depart from me!" but how often has man said to God, "I am weary of thee, I desire not the knowledge of thy ways!" He was not weary of Eden, perhaps, but he was weary of that God who met him everywhere, and whose voice seemed to come forth to him from every leaf and flower.

Immediately he showed this. He stretched up his hand and plucked from the forbidden tree the fruit of which God had said, "Thou shalt not eat of it." What did this mean? That he had become weary of God, and had begun to prefer the gift to the Giver, and that, for the sake of the gift, he was willing to lose the favour of the Giver.

In denying him that fruit, God meant him no harm; he did him no wrong; but he put him to an open test. He said, "By this let me see whether you care most for the Giver or the gift, which of the two is the more precious in thine eyes." For a while the Giver was every thing—the gift was nothing when compared to him. But the choice soon began to alter: his eye admired the fruit; his heart coveted it. God seemed to stand between him and the desire of his heart. That heart immediately whispered, "Where is this goodness now? is He not a hard master?"

Unbelief overcame: he laid hold of the tree; its fruit had become his God; he saw more to be desired in it than in God; he closed his ear against the story of God's goodness—nay, he denied the whole truth of that story.

The very meaning of his disobedient act was, that this goodness was but a profession, this whole story of it a lie! He gave the lie to God—he gave the lie to the many voices that whispered around him of that goodness—he gave the lie to all Eden, with its holy beauty. He said, "God is not good, whatever these flowers may say—God is not good, whatever these stars may utter—God is a hard master, for he has denied me this fruit, which my heart desires." Thus he believed the devil; he took the suggestion of his own heart; he turned away from God; he preferred the gift to the Giver; he cast out the Creator, and put a small fragment of his handiwork in his place, saying to it, "Be thou my God!"

Thus man interrupted God in telling the story of his goodness. He would hear it no more; he little thought how much remained untold, what stores of blessedness might have been opened to him as the story went on. He turned away from God and from his voice, as if he had heard enough.

But God would not be mocked. It was a true story that he had been telling to man, and he could not suffer his word to be discredited, and his goodness denied, by the creatures he had made. Besides, he was holy, and could not but hate this hideous sin; he could not treat it lightly, as if it did not concern him. He must now speak in another voice, such as man had never yet heard—a voice which would let, man know how He hated that which he had done.

And this voice of holy displeasure must, like the former, come forth from all the works of his hands. They had all been telling of his goodness; they must now begin to tell of his righteousness. Each object must have an utterance; each part of creation must proclaim in man's ears, regarding this holy God, "Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look upon iniquity;" "the wages of sin is death;" "cursed is every one that continueth not in all things that are written in the book of the law, to do them." (Hab. 1:13; Rom. 6:23; Gal. 3:10) That same world that had been telling so universally of his goodness was now to tell as widely that there was something more than goodness in God; that there was such a thing as righteousness: nay, that "He loved righteousness and hated wickedness." Sin was now to "reign unto death," in order that God might thereby express his abhorrence of evil: that is to say, DEATH was to be shown to be the certain issue of every thing in the shape of sin.

This was the brand with which God was to stamp creation, to make man fully know that sin was "the abominable thing which he hated." Nor did this take long to accomplish. It took effect without delay. God but withdrew his hand from the instrument out of which the rich music had come forth, and straightway its chords were unstrung, and from each one there came forth the sounds of discord and sadness.

The skies began to darken, as if to hide the face of God, and to show that this was no longer a world fit for God to look upon. The storm came forth in its fierceness, as if to let man hear how an angry God can speak, and how terrible is "the thunder of his power." (Job 26:14) The verdure faded, the leaf grew sere, the weed sprang up, the flower drooped, the creatures looked fiercely on each other, hoarse sounds went and came, and the harmony of earth was dissolved. The world seemed putting on sackcloth, as if bewailing some unspeakable calamity that had smitten it. It stood now like one of those mourners of whom history speaks, whose fresh locks a single night's grief has blanched, whose clear forehead has been made, by some overwhelming stroke, to take on at once the deep wrinkles of age.

It was thus seen that God was angry; and that, in each one of these sad changes, he was giving awful utterance to his displeasure against man for the sin that he had done, for the disobedience of which he had been guilty. He would now feel what a "fearful thing it was to fall into the hands of the living God." (Heb. 10:31)

That curse is still upon the world. God did not withdraw it after a brief season. It is a long as well as a heavy curse; and this poor dying world—this world of graves and darkness—proclaims that infinite curse as loudly as it did at first. There are no signs of abatement, no tokens of any lessening of God's fierce anger against sin; nay, it cannot abate, it cannot be quenched. It is ETERNAL, And why? "For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness." (Psa. 11:7)

Son of Adam, that curse is upon you, if not yet a son of God! The sin that is in you, God hates. He cannot trifle with it, as you are doing. If he makes as light of it as you do, what means this heavy, unabated curse? What mean the groans of creation? What means this life of sorrow, this heritage of tears? What mean the pangs of disease, the tossing of the sickbed, the unsatisfied hunger of the grave? What mean our broken ties and our bitter farewells? Are these things known in heaven?

Do these blightings fall upon worlds into which sin has never found its way? or, when angels visit earth, do they become the heirs of grief and death? No; for sin is not found upon them. But these evils are your dark lot—a lot which you cannot flee from—for you have sinned! The accursed thing cleaves to you; and however lightly you may estimate it, you have but to look around you on the suffering earth, or within you, to be taught that God's estimate is very different from yours. Every withered leaf you tread upon, every cloud that passes over you, every pain that tears your body, every grief that casts its shadow on your soul,—all tell you how God cannot tolerate sin in any form, however lightly you may treat it, or however harmless you may deem it.

The evil of sin is infinite; God's hatred of it is unchangeable; and woe be to that creature, were he the highest angel, on whose skirts one single stain of it is found!

BUT why did not God put an end to all this at once? When some hateful thing offends our eye, we remove or destroy it. Why then did God allow the world still to exist, and man still to dwell upon it as before? Why did he not lay hold of man, the sinner, and send him down at once into the lake of fire? Why did he not burn up this earth which had been so defiled with sin? These are natural questions occurring to any one that reads the story of sin. They are questions to which many answers might be given,—nay, to which the whole Bible scheme of grace may be said to be the answer. There were many reasons for not executing speedy sentence upon man, and upon the world which he had ruined. And any reader of the Scriptures should be at no loss to discover these. They are written all over the Word of Truth.

God had his own reasons for first allowing sin to enter. These same reasons inclined him not immediately to arrest its course. These reasons will open out as we pass along. Meanwhile, at the very outset, let us suggest a few.

1. He wished to show us what sin is; an evil, an infinite evil; so great an evil that he must not bury it out of sight, or sweep it away till he has made the whole universe look upon it and see its loathsomeness. He let it run its course, now that the flood-gates have been opened, in order that it "may show itself fully and spread itself out in all its hideous variety, exhibiting itself, not in one form, but in ten thousand times ten thousand forms. He knew what sin was and what was in sin. But we did not. We could not. We must see it in detail. It must be spread out. He knew what that one small seed contained; but we could not, unless we saw the whole of this "boundless up as, this all-blasting tree." Therefore that seed is allowed to take root and spring up, and ripen its fruit, and spread its branches over all the earth. Thus God meant to show us "the exceeding sinfulness of sin."

2. He wished to show the wickedness of the creature. It is not one sin that he will commit, but millions. It is not in one thing that he will prefer the gift to the Giver, but in every thing. It is not in one particular that he will mistrust or deny the Creator's goodness, but in every particular. Nay, he will hate God. He will mock God. He will defy God. He will become an atheist altogether. God did nothing to make man wicked or to deprave his heart. No, he merely allowed him time to show himself. He merely brought up to the surface the abominations which that heart contained. Nor was this the state of one heart alone. It was that of millions. It was that of each child of this fallen father.

It would not have been strange, had God been tired of telling this story of his goodness to man; but it was truly strange that man should so soon have become tired of listening to that story from the lips of God.

H. Bonar: The Story of Grace

Bonar:The Story of Grace

H Bonar: The Story of Grace

Bonar: The Story of Grace

Bonar: The Story of Grace