"Come on in, everyone!"—Luke 14:23
I'm bursting at the seams to follow through with this command today. The urge to bring in those still lingering outside is so strong, I'm skipping formalities and diving straight into my plea.
Listen up, especially if Jesus' truth is foreign to you. Here's the deal: We've all taken a nosedive, starting with Adam, and compounded by our own daily failures and constant missteps. We've irked the Almighty, and just as we've messed up, God must set things straight because He's all about justice and won't let the guilty slide. But have you caught wind of the incredible news that's been buzzing for ages, that God, in His boundless mercy, has found a way to extend mercy to us without compromising His honor? This message is for you: Jesus Christ, God incarnate, descended from heaven, became one of us. Conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of Mary, He led a life marked by unparalleled goodness and profound suffering, culminating in His sacrifice for our sins, "the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring us to God." And now, the path to salvation is laid out in plain sight: anyone who puts their trust in Jesus Christ will be saved. Despite having trampled all over God's commands, and having turned a blind eye to His mercy, there's still mercy announced for you because "everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved." This is a trustworthy saying and deserves full acceptance: Christ came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost. But here's the promise: anyone who approaches Him will in no way be turned away because He is fully capable of saving those who come to God through Him, as He always lives to intercede for us. What God asks—and grants—is for you to merely gaze upon His Son, suffering and dying, and entrust your life into His hands, the only One who can save from death and hell. Isn't it bewildering that the proclamation of this gospel isn't met with universal acclaim? One might think that as soon as this was preached, "Whoever believes shall have eternal life," every single one of you, abandoning every sin and iniquity, would latch onto Jesus Christ and look solely to His cross. But alas! such is the depth of our corruption, such the lethal nature of our character, that this message is disregarded, the invitation to the gospel feast spurned, and many of you stand this very day as adversaries of God by wicked deeds, foes to the God who today proclaims Christ to you, the One who sent His Son to lay down His life as a ransom for many. Odd, I say, but nonetheless the reality, underscoring the necessity for the command in the text—"Come on in, everyone."
Believers, you who have put your faith in Him, I might have little to say to you today; my mission is squarely focused—I'm after those who are reluctant—those wandering the byways and hiding in the hedges, and with God at my side, it's my duty now to fulfill this command, "Come on in, everyone."
First off, I need to locate you. If you pore over the verses preceding the text, you'll find an expansion of this command: "Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in here the poor and crippled and blind and lame," and then, beyond that, "Go out into the highways and hedges," gather the wanderers, the outlaws, "and into the hedges," draw in those without a roof over their heads, sleeping under the hedges for rest, bring them in too, and "compel them to come in." Yes, I see you this morning, you who are impoverished. It's my job to compel you to come in. You're poor in material wealth, but that's no barrier to the kingdom of heaven, for God hasn't excluded from His grace the one shivering in rags, destitute of daily bread. In fact, if any distinction exists, it's in your favor, for your benefit—"To you is the word of salvation sent"; "For the poor have the gospel preached to them." But more critically, I must address you who are spiritually bankrupt. You possess no faith, no righteousness, no good deeds, no grace, and what's even more dire, you're devoid of hope. Ah, my Master extends to you a gracious invitation. Come and welcome to the feast of His love. "Whoever will, let him come and take the water of life freely." Come, I must seize you, even if you're covered in the filthiest grime, even if you're clad in nothing but rags, even if your own righteousness is as filthy rags, I must grab hold of you and first invite you, and if need be, compel you to come in.
And
now I spot you again. You're not just poor, but you're crippled. There was a time when you fancied you could secure your salvation without God's aid, when you believed you could rack up good deeds, adhere to rituals, and earn your way to heaven on your own. But now you're crippled, the sharp blade of the law has severed your hands, and now you're incapacitated; you lament with profound sorrow—
"The finest efforts of my hands
Dare not appear before Thy throne."
You've lost all capacity now to adhere to the law; you realize that whenever you aim to do good, evil is right there with you. You're crippled; you've abandoned, as a lost cause, all attempts to save yourself, because you're crippled and your arms are gone. But your situation is even more desperate, for if you couldn't earn your way to heaven, you might have walked your way there along the path of faith; but you're crippled in the feet as well as in the hands; you feel you can't believe, you can't repent, you can't comply with the gospel's demands. You feel utterly powerless, incapable of doing anything that could please God. In fact, you're crying out—
"If only I could believe,
All would be smooth sailing,
I want to, but can't—Lord, relieve,
My rescue must come from Thee."
To you, too, I'm dispatched. Before you, I must hoist the blood-stained banner of the cross, to you, I must proclaim this gospel, "Whoever calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved;" and to you, I must declare, "Whoever will, let him take the water of life freely."
There's yet another category. You're hobbling, undecided between two paths. Sometimes you're drawn to serious reflection, and at other times, worldly pleasures lure you away. The little progress you make in faith is but a limp. You possess a modicum of strength, but it's so minimal that your forward movement is painful. Ah, limping soul, this salvation message is also for you. Though you're vacillating between two views, the Master sends me to you with this message: "How long will you waver between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow Him; but if Baal, then follow him." Consider your ways; set your house in order, for you shall die and not live. Because I will do this, prepare to meet your God, O Israel! No more hesitation, but make a decision for God and His truth.
And yet I spot another group—the blind. Yes, you who can't see your own state, who consider yourselves upright when you're brimming with sin, who swap sweet for bitter and light for darkness; to you, I'm sent. You, blind souls who can't discern your doomed condition, who refuse to acknowledge the gravity of sin as it truly is, and who can't be persuaded to believe that God is a just and righteous God, to you, I'm dispatched. To you too who can't see the Savior, who find no allure in Him that you should desire Him; who see no worth in virtue, no splendor in religion, no joy in serving God, no delight in being His children; to you, I'm also sent. Ah, to whom am I not sent if I grasp my text in full? For it stretches beyond specific descriptions, ensuring each individual case is addressed, but then it broadens its sweep and commands, "Go into the highways and hedges." Here we encompass all classes and statuses of people—the noble on horseback in the highways, and the commoner trudging along, the thief lying in wait for the traveler—all are on the highways, and they are all to be compelled to come in, and there, in the hedges, lie some poor souls whose false refuges have been dismantled, and who are seeking, yet failing, to find some shelter for their weary heads, to you, too, I'm dispatched this morning. This is the universal mandate—compel them to come in.
Now, I pause, having delineated the characters, to contemplate the Herculean task before me. Melanchthon aptly said, "The old Adam is too strong for the young Melanchthon." It's as if a child is attempting to lead a Samson, as I endeavor to guide a sinner to Christ's cross. But my Master has entrusted me with this mission. Behold, I see the vast mountain of human depravity and stubborn indifference before me, but by faith, I declare, "Who are you, O great mountain? Before Zerubbabel, you shall become a plain." If my Master commands, "Compel them to come in," then, even if the sinner is as formidable as Samson and I as feeble as a child, I shall lead him with a mere thread. If God commands it, and I undertake
it with faith, it shall be accomplished; and if with a heart burdened with groans, struggles, and tears, I endeavor this day to compel sinners to come to Christ, the gentle persuasions of the Holy Spirit shall accompany each word, and some indeed shall be compelled to come in.
Now, to the task at hand—directly to the task. Unconverted, unreconciled, unregenerate men and women, I am to COMPEL YOU TO COME IN. Allow me first to approach you in the highways of sin and reiterate my mission. The King of heaven extends to you a gracious invitation this morning. He declares, "As I live, says the Lord, I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live:" "Come now, let us settle the matter," says the Lord. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool." My dear friend, my heart leaps at the thought of bearing such good news to you, yet I'm heavy-hearted seeing you dismiss it, not giving it the attention it deserves. Allow me to recount what the King has done for you. He was fully aware of your guilt, He foresaw your self-destruction. He knew His justice would demand your life, and to navigate this dilemma, that His justice might be satisfied, and yet you might be saved, Jesus Christ died. Would you, for a moment, gaze upon this scene. Observe that man there, on His knees in the garden of Gethsemane, sweating blood. Now, behold this: the same man, tied to a post, lashed mercilessly until His back is a canvas of raw wounds. And then, this third scene: the same man, nailed to the cross, arms stretched wide, dying, groaning, bleeding; I thought the scene whispered, "It is finished." All this, Jesus of Nazareth endured, so that God could, without compromising His justice, pardon sin; and the message to you this morning is this—"Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved." That is, trust Him, set aside your deeds, your ways, and focus your heart solely on this man, who offered Himself for sinners.
Well, my friend, I've relayed the message, what do you say? Do you turn away? You inform me it's irrelevant to you; you can't be bothered with it; you'll listen to me some other time; but today, you'll go about your business, attend to your farm, your trade. Hold on, my friend, I wasn't just instructed to inform you and then move on. No, I'm commanded to compel you to come in; and allow me to note, before I proceed further, there's one thing I can assert—and God is my witness this morning—I'm genuinely earnest in my desire for you to heed this divine command. You may disregard your own salvation, but I don't. You may leave today and forget what you've heard, but remember, the words I speak today are born out of many a groan before I stood here to utter them. My very soul speaks out to you, my dear friend, when I implore you, by the One who lives and was dead, and is alive forevermore, consider the message my Master has tasked me to deliver to you today.
But do you spurn it? Do you still reject it? Then I must alter my tone momentarily. I won't just convey the message and invite you, as I do with all earnestness and genuine affection—I'll go a step further. Sinner, in God's name, I command you to repent and believe. Do you question my authority? I am an ambassador of heaven. My credentials, some internal, within my heart; and others external, laid bare before you today by the seals of my ministry, standing and speaking in this place, where God has granted me many souls as my reward. As the Almighty has commissioned me to preach His gospel, I command you to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ; not by my own authority, but by the authority of Him who said, "Go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature," attaching this solemn sanction, "Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned." Dismiss my message, and remember, "Anyone who rejected the law of Moses died without mercy on the testimony of two or three witnesses. How much more severely, do you think, someone deserves to be punished who has trampled the Son of God underfoot?" An ambassador doesn't stand beneath the one he deals with, for we occupy a higher position. If a minister assumes his rightful place, clothed with God's omnipotence and anointed with His holy unction, he is to command men, speaking with all authority, compelling them to come in:
"preach the word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage—with great patience and careful instruction."
But do you still resist, refusing to be commanded? Then once more, I'll change my approach. If that's ineffective, all other means must be tried. My friend, I come to you in plain speech, urging you to flee to Christ. Oh, my friend, do you realize how loving Christ is? Let me share from my own soul what I know of Him. I, too, once disregarded Him. He knocked on my heart's door, and I wouldn't open it. He came to me repeatedly, morning after morning, night after night; He pricked my conscience and spoke to me through His Spirit. And when, at last, the thunder of the law resounded in my conscience, I mistakenly thought Christ was harsh and unkind. Oh, I can never forgive myself for harboring such ill thoughts of Him. But what a warm reception I received when I finally approached Him. I expected Him to strike me, but His hand wasn't clenched in anger but open wide in mercy. I fully anticipated His eyes to shoot lightning flashes of wrath at me; but instead, they were brimming with tears. He embraced me, He clothed me with His righteousness, causing my soul to sing aloud with joy; while in my heart's house and in His church, there was music and dancing, because His lost son was found, and the dead was made alive. I urge you, then, look to Jesus Christ and be enlightened. Sinner, you will never regret it—I stand as a guarantor for my Master that you won't regret it. You'll never yearn to return to your state of condemnation; you'll emerge from Egypt and enter the promised land, finding it flowing with milk and honey. The challenges of the Christian life might seem daunting, but you'll discover grace makes them bearable. And as for the joys and delights of being a child of God, if I'm misleading you today, you're free to confront me in the future. If you taste and see that the Lord is good, I'm confident you won't find Him merely good, but beyond what human lips can describe.
I'm at a loss for what more to say to persuade you. I appeal to your self-interest. Oh, my dear friend, wouldn't it be better to be reconciled with the God of heaven than to be His enemy? What do you gain by opposing God? Are you happier for being His adversary? Answer me, pleasure-seeker; have you found true joy in that pursuit? Respond, self-righteous individual: have you found rest for your weary soul in all your endeavors? Oh, you who strive to establish your own righteousness, I implore you, let your conscience speak. Has it been a fulfilling journey? Ah, my friend, "Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare." I urge you, by all that is sacred and solemn, by all that is vital and eternal, flee for your lives, don't look back, don't linger in the plain, don't pause until you've secured and found your place in the blood of Jesus Christ, that blood which cleanses us from all sin. Are you still indifferent and unresponsive? Will you not allow the blind man to be led to the feast? Will my crippled brother not lean on my shoulder for support to the banquet? Will the impoverished individual not walk alongside me? Must I resort to more forceful words? Must I employ another form of compulsion to bring you in? Sinners, I'm determined this morning that if you aren't saved, you shall be without excuse. From the eldest to the youngest, if you don't grasp hold of Christ today, your blood shall be on your own heads. If there's any human power to bring a fellow being to Christ (and there is when aided by the Holy Spirit), that power shall be unleashed this morning, God assisting me. Come, I refuse to be deterred by your rejections; if my plea fails, I'll resort to another method. My friend, I implore you, stop and consider. Are you aware of what you're dismissing this morning? You're rejecting Christ, your only Savior. "No one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ;" "Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved." My friend, I can't bear the thought of you doing this, because I recall what you're overlooking: a day is approaching when you'll desperately need a Savior. It won't be long before the months have passed, your strength begins to wane; your pulse weakens, your vigor fades, and you find yourself face-to-face with death
. What will you do in death's throes without a Savior? Deathbeds are harsh without the Lord Jesus Christ. Dying is daunting under any circumstance; even those with the firmest hope and most triumphant faith find death no trivial matter. It's a daunting transition from the seen to the unseen, from the temporal to the eternal, from time to eternity, and you'll find it challenging to pass through death's gates without the guidance of angels to the heavenly gates. It's harrowing to die without Christ. I can't help but envision you. I see you making a fatal choice, and I imagine myself at your bedside, hearing your cries, knowing you're dying without hope. I can't bear that thought. I envision myself by your coffin, staring into your lifeless face, and lamenting, "This person disregarded Christ and neglected the great salvation." I dread the tears I'll shed then, should I think I've failed you, and how your closed eyes, in death, might seem to rebuke me, saying, "Minister, I attended your sermons, but you didn't engage with me earnestly; you entertained me, you preached to me, but you didn't plead with me. You didn't grasp what Paul meant when he said, 'We implore you on Christ's behalf: Be reconciled to God.'"
I beseech you, let this message penetrate your heart for another reason. I imagine myself at God's judgment seat. As surely as the Lord lives, the Day of Judgment is imminent. You believe that, don't you? You're not a skeptic; your conscience wouldn't allow you to doubt Scripture. Perhaps you've feigned doubt, but deep down, you know there must be a day when God will judge the world in righteousness. I see you amidst that throng, God's gaze fixed on you. It seems He's looking nowhere else but at you, and He summons you before Him; He recounts your sins and commands, "Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels." My friend, I can't bear to think of you in that situation; it's as if every hair on my head stands on end at the thought of any listener of mine being condemned. Can you visualize yourself in that position? The command has been issued, "Depart, you who are cursed." Do you see the abyss as it opens to swallow you up? Do you hear the screams and wails of those who have gone before you to that eternal lake of torment? Rather than imagining the scene, I turn to you with the words of the inspired prophet, asking, "Who among us can dwell with the consuming fire? Who among us can dwell with everlasting burning?" Oh, my friend, I can't simply let you dismiss religion like this; no, I'm haunted by what lies ahead after death. If I witnessed someone about to poison themselves and didn't snatch the cup away, or if I saw someone poised to jump from a bridge and didn't intervene, I'd be devoid of humanity. If I don't, with all love, kindness, and earnestness, implore you to "lay hold of eternal life," to "stop toiling for food that perishes, but for food that endures to eternal life," I'd be worse than a fiend.
Some might argue I'm overstepping, but I can't help it. I must act. As I'll ultimately stand before my Judge, I'm convinced I won't have fully discharged my duties unless I implore you with tears to be saved, to look to Jesus Christ and embrace His glorious salvation. But does this not sway you? Are all my entreaties lost on you? Do you turn a deaf ear? Then I have one last recourse: I can weep for you; I can pray for you. You may scorn my address if you wish; you may mock the preacher; you may deem me a fanatic if you choose; I won't rebuke you, I won't bring any charge against you before the great Judge. Your offense, as far as I'm concerned, is forgiven even before it's committed. But you'll remember that the message you're rejecting today comes from one who loves you, delivered by the lips of one who loves you. You may choose to gamble your soul away, to regard this matter lightly, but know this: at least one person is earnest about your soul, one who, before arriving here, wrestled with God for the strength to preach to you, and who, upon leaving, won't forget today's congregation. I say again, when words fail, we can resort to tears—for words and tears are the tools gospel ministers use to compel people to come in. You might not know, and perhaps couldn't fathom, the depth of concern a God-called minister feels for his congregation, especially for some individuals. I recently heard about a young man who regularly attended here, whose father hoped he would turn to
Christ. Sadly, he fell in with a skeptic and now neglects his responsibilities, living a life of sin. I saw his father's gaunt face; I didn't ask him to recount the ordeal, as it would only reopen wounds; I fear the anguish might prematurely grey his hair. Young people, you may not pray for yourselves, but your mothers are interceding for you. You may disregard your souls, but your fathers are fraught with concern for you. I've attended prayer meetings where God's children prayed with such intensity, you'd think they were pleading for their own salvation. Isn't it astonishing that we're willing to move heaven and earth for your salvation, yet you remain indifferent to your own fate?
Now, is there anything left for the minister besides weeping and prayer? Yes, there's one more thing. Though no man can regenerate another, God has bestowed upon His servants a power akin to it. It's impossible for anyone to regenerate their neighbor; yet, how are people reborn in God? Doesn't the apostle speak of someone as having been begotten by him in his bonds? Now, ministers are granted a power by God, allowing them to be considered both the father and mother of those born again in God, for the apostle said he labored in birth for souls until Christ was formed in them. What can we do, then? We can now appeal to the Spirit. I'm confident I've preached the gospel, and I've preached it fervently; I appeal to my Master to honor His promise. He has assured that His word will not return void, and it won't. It's in His hands, not mine. I cannot compel you, but the Spirit of God, who holds the key to the heart, can compel. Have you noticed in Revelation, where it says, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock," just a few verses earlier, the same figure is described as holding the key of David? So, if knocking doesn't suffice, He has the key and can, and will, come in. If my earnest appeal doesn't move you this morning, there remains the silent unlocking of the heart by the Spirit, compelling you to come in.
I thought it my duty to labor as if I must do it alone; now, I entrust it to my Master. It can't be His will for us to labor in vain, without bearing spiritual offspring. It's up to Him; He reigns over hearts, and time will reveal that some of you, drawn by sovereign grace, have become willing captives of the all-conquering Jesus and have submitted your hearts to Him, influenced by this morning's sermon.