SermonIndex Classics - A.W. Tozer

A. W. Tozer: In the twenty-sixth chapter of Acts, Festus had brought Paul before King Agrippa, and that Paul makes his defense. Agrippa the king said unto Paul, "Thou art permitted to speak for thyself." Then Paul stretched forth the hand and answered for himself: "I think myself happy, King Agrippa, because I shall answer for myself this day before thee touching all the things whereof I am accused of the Jews, especially because I know thee to be expert in all customs and questions which are among the Jews. Wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently.

My manner of life from my youth, which was at the first among mine own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews, which knew me from the beginning, if they would testify, that after the most straitest sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee. And now I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers, unto which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night, hope to come. For which hope's sake, King Agrippa, I am accused of the Jews. Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God should raise the dead?

I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth, which thing I also did in Jerusalem. And many of the saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief priests; and when they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. And I punished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme; and being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto strange cities."

Then he gives this testimony about the light on the Damascus road and being converted. And Paul in verse seventeen said that God appeared to him and told him that He would deliver him from the people, and from the Gentiles, unto whom now I send thee, to open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified by faith that is in me.

Whereupon, O King Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision, but showed first unto them of Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance. For these causes the Jews caught me in the temple, and went about to kill me. Having therefore obtained help of God, I continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying none other things than those which the prophets and Moses did say should come: That Christ should suffer, and that he should be the first that should rise from the dead, and should show light unto the people, and to the Gentiles.

And as he thus spake for himself, Festus said with a loud voice, "Paul, thou art beside thyself; much learning doth make thee mad." But he said, "I am not mad, most noble Festus; but speak forth the words of truth and soberness. For the king knoweth of these things, before whom also I speak freely: for I am persuaded that none of these things are hidden from him; for this thing was not done in a corner. King Agrippa, believest thou the prophets? I know that thou believest."

Then Agrippa said unto Paul, "Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian." Paul said, "I would to God, that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost, and altogether such as I am, except for these bonds." Let us have a moment of prayer.

Now Lord, our expectation quietly looking up to Thee, we expect Thee to answer, respond, and fulfill the promise made to the fathers, and to the apostles, and to the church fathers, and to us. Lord, Lord, blessing others, we believe Thou wilt bless us. We look up expecting. We want to see a revival that will be a model for the city, that others may come and light their candles at our flame, and other churches may be set aflame, in our own trusting Thee for this great night. May Thy Blessed Spirit testify to Jesus. Testify tonight through the word. In Christ's name, Amen.

Now our text would be Agrippa said unto Paul, "Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian." Paul replied, "I would to God that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost and altogether such as I am, except for these bonds." Now I have taken the time to read in your hearing this story, or rather this sermon of Paul, this defense of Paul before Agrippa. This living human scene here is one of almost ideal beauty and power. It is Paul's testimony before the king.

Here was a man in chains, the victim of the spite and the jealousy of certain religious leaders of his connection. He was a victim, I say, and he was charged with such a generalized crime that nobody could pin it down quite. And Festus admitted to Agrippa that he didn't know why he had him here. He said, "I brought you this prisoner but I don't know why." Said there's nothing really they can make anything stick. He'd done no crime, no evil could be found in him.

There were robbers skulking about the streets, but he was not a robber. There were murderers whose hands were red with blood, but this man had not murdered. There were traitors who would sell out their country for money; this man of God was true to his country. There were evil men of every sort, arsonists, rapists, but not one thing did they bring against this man. Not one voice cried any of these evils against the man Paul.

But nevertheless, he stands in chains and makes his defense. And there is superiority here and excellence all over the whole scene. The bearing of the man, even in spite of his chains, and his attitude towards God, and the scriptures, and the people, and the king, and the man who brought him in chains, Festus. And the language he used, the elegance of it, and the modesty, and the boldness, and the entire argument so sound and learned and frank and direct.

Now the substance of this testimony is that he'd been always a strict religious Jew, deeply schooled in the Old Testament scriptures, and following their straitest sect, which was the Pharisee sect of the Jews. And he had followed his Jewish religion straight into the arms of Jesus Christ. This, incidentally, is what we must tell all of our Jewish friends. If they say to us, "Do you want me to change my religion?" Our proper reply is, "No, by no means. We do not want you to change your religion. We want you to follow your religion to its conclusion. And if you follow your Jewish religion to its conclusion, you'll follow it straight into the arms of Jesus Christ the Messiah."

Now this is what Paul said. He said he had not forsaken his Jewish faith but fulfilled it. And he had fulfilled the very religion his accusers claimed to believe in. He admitted that at first he was blind, and in his blindness, he had persecuted Christians. But he said he had met Christ on the road to Damascus and become convinced. And since then, he had gone everywhere, and that he hadn't made up a thing, and he hadn't invented anything, and he hadn't claimed any new revelation or any new religion of any sort. He claimed only that he had taken the step on further than the rest of these Jews had, straight into the arms of the Messiah.

Because the Old Testament, which they believe, taught that the Redeemer should suffer and die and rise again to be the light of all nations. And this is the reason for his changed life. Now Agrippa was deeply moved, there's no question about that. Paul had indirectly set forth in his hearing a powerful proof of the Christian faith. And whatever is a proof of the Christian faith is also a reason why Agrippa and everyone else should turn to Christ and believe it, the gospel, and believe in Christ.

And Agrippa said, now I know the translators have a field day with this, but there's no good reason to change it from what it stands here: "Almost thou persuadest me." Do you think Paul, he said, that in this brief sermon you could change me? You've come close to it. "Almost thou persuadest me" to become a Christian. And the reply of Paul was noble and beautiful. He said, "King, I wish that you and all these others, Festus over here, most noble Festus, and these soldiers that put the chains on me and led me in here, and everyone of you retainers and courtiers, and everyone in all of you, I wish that you were not almost, but altogether such a one as I am." And then with a smile, he said, "Except for these chains. I wouldn't want you to be in chains."

So we have here the way one man got out of becoming a Christian. It was by the use of the word "almost." Now make you see that almost is not enough, and I want to lay before you a little illustration. A contractor took on him the responsibility of building a bridge. And he built that bridge over a great rushing stream far below. It's a long bridge; it runs a great distance, and the great posts clear down into the rock below. And he builds and he builds out from one end, one side of the riverbank, and he builds it on out to within twenty feet of the other side of the river. And then he stops.

And one night a man comes along driving in the rain and in the darkness. He seeing the bridge ahead of him and the highway without markings or without signs forbidding, he drives with his family, the mother with the baby asleep in her lap on the back seat, the little boy and the little girl sitting off to the right. And he, riding in the rain and the darkness and the storm, comes on to this bridge. At a reasonable rate of speed, he travels on across, his headlights showing the bank of the river beyond, the great rocks.

But what he can't show him because of its direction is that that bridge has never been finished. It lacks twenty feet of connecting with the other shore. So he drives his car with his two sleeping children beside him and his wife and baby in the back seat, straight over that end into the roaring waters below, and smashes it all up and all die together. A good bridge, a strong bridge, a worthy bridge, but it wasn't long enough. It stopped short of safety, the other side of the river. And the man and his family perished because they trusted to a short bridge. It didn't quite connect.

Now that is what exactly happened to the man Agrippa. He said to Paul, "This is a powerful argument you've brought to me." And he said, "I'm familiar," as Paul had admitted he was, "with the teachings of the prophets and my position makes me head over all the synagogues, and I know a good deal of the law and the prophets. Much that is written there is familiar to me. And almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian." But he was driving on a short bridge. I don't know how far he went. I cannot read the mind of the man, and all I know is what he said. And I dare not read into what he said any more than is properly there.

But I do know that the bridge was too short. And I do know that there is no place in the scriptures that says King Agrippa was ever saved. King Agrippa never joined any church, never was baptized, never showed himself to be a Christian, never witnessed before the company, never joined the fellowship of the church. He wanted to, and he said, "You almost do it, Paul." But he didn't yield. He told the man who brought Agrippa before the man of God who preached to him, he underwent an experience all taking place quietly within. Only thing emotional or dramatic was that tremendous defense by the manacled man of God.

But Agrippa took it calmly. He was a king and so he had to act like a king. It wouldn't do for royalty to sob or lose control. He had to be poised and control himself, and he did. But this man underwent an experience comparable to shipwreck or to earthquake or to fire or to flood or volcanic eruption. So this man was wiped out forever, wiped out at one stroke, all of his immortal dreams and hopes, our immortal dreams and hopes as well as Jews and Canadians and Americans and Irish people. They're all alike, and rivers and seas and borders don't change it. The dreams and hope and this Roman dreams and hope were all one. But he didn't dream enough.

And his hope were defeated, and he brought calamity on himself. Blindly he drove over a bridge that didn't reach the other side. And he was only one. There may be those here tonight who are certainly doing what he did. Take that man tried for murder. He is charged with capital murder and brought up for trial. The jury is chosen, and the testimony is taken: the defense and the prosecution, crown I think they would say here, sum up. And then the judge gives his charge and the jury files out.

And the man who's charged with murder sits and waits, tries to be flippant about it, but his roving eyes and the sweat on his forehead and nose and neck give him away. Twelve persons beyond that door are deciding whether this man is guilty of capital murder. Back of that door, the jurors debate. They go over the testimony, they're corrected by the head juror. And they change their minds, they take ballot after ballot. One man holds out. He's not sure beyond a reasonable doubt. And they say let us go over the testimony again, they go over it again. And this man nods and says, "I guess I was wrong. It does look as if there was no reason for doubt." "Alright," says the foreman, "let's vote again."

Here sits the man on the other side of the door, wiping his forehead every once in a while and making stick jokes with his lawyer, trying to hide the terror in his heart. The vote is taken; they file back in. The judge says, "Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" Foreman rises and says, "We have, Your Honor." "What is your verdict?" "We find the defendant guilty as charged and offer no recommendation for mercy." The wife screams at his side, and the old mother bows her head and weeps with deep and awful tears. This man almost got off. Almost, but he was guilty, and they carried it up, carry this illustration through, I'd have to go back down across the border because to tell you the truth, I don't know who has the final authority here, but a governor has in the States. So we'll say the governor. We know who he is there and I don't, that's my ignorance. But whatever it is, it's brought before him.

"Yes," he says, "I'll take a look at that case. I understand there were some doubts about it." So long after his wife had gone to bed and the children are asleep and the radio turned off and everything turned off and even the dog is slumbering in the box in the corner, and the traffic quiet outside on the street, the hours pass. This man that we elect so carelessly and think we've done him a favor, on his shoulders, his alone shoulders rests the life of a man made in God's image, a young man, a man who could normally live fifty years more. He reads the testimony, and he says, "I'm going to commute this sentence. There's a doubt here, I'm going to commute this sentence."

And if the young man could hear it back where he is, he'd smile and have hope. And then the great man reads another page, shakes his head and says, "No, this won't do." Go steps to the phone and sends a telegram. He refuses mercy. And they lead the young man out and he goes up those steps and drops eighteen feet to the end of the rope. He almost lived, but he died.

I think of the little girl lost in the storm. This happens often out on your West and out in the Far Northern Central States. A little girl coming home from school, no storm was evident, no warning. She trudges along with her little snowsuit and her little red boots, so proudly with her book under her arm. And suddenly that thing they call a northwester sweeps down. And immediately, nobody can see anymore, nobody. You couldn't find your way with a compass. And the winds out of nowhere and begin to blow that snow.

Cars come to a halt, cattle turn their backs to the wind. And the little girl loses her direction and begins to wander. Within three minutes, the little road ahead is all gone. She knew well how to get home to mama, but it's all white now and she doesn't know which way to go. But she keeps up her little brave spirit the best she can and wanders on, stumbling through the deepening snow until she falls. And after the storm is over and the next day the searching parties have been out, they see a little mound only ten feet from her own door. Almost she slept under warm blankets that night. Almost wasn't enough, the bridge was too short.

Loving hands and with cheerful faces they gather up the darling little thing and carry her in. Almost slept in her little warm bed, but instead of that, she slept under the cold blanket of snow. I think of Judas Iscariot. Judas Iscariot many times debated with himself about Jesus. What the real opinion of Judas had of Jesus came out at the end when he cried out, "I've betrayed a just man." And he committed suicide out of remorse. So Judas had loved Jesus; he couldn't help it. But he loved money too. He was a thief and he kept the bag, and there were natural and sinful reasons why he should not be a Christian.

There must have been moments when Judas almost turned to Christ. Or times when as he lay and heard the quiet soft breathing of those men around him under the trees there as Jesus traveled with His little crowd from city to city to other cities also that He might win some. Judas woke and looked up and saw the stars and some a little bit of the streak of good that's in every man along with all the evil that damns. Very likely woke and Judas reached down and felt that lump there that was the bag that kept the money that he had stolen, out of which he had stolen.

And there must have been tender times when Judas said to himself, "Soon this morning when Jesus wakes, I'm going to crawl over beside him and whisper in his ear the awful story. I know he'll forgive me and I know he'll give me another start. I've been a dirty thief, a dirty thief." And he lay there in the darkness and listened to the breathing and sound of the night birds. He almost became Saint Judas that night. Over there around beside him lay the man whom we call Saint Andrew. Saint Peter was there and Saint John was there and the saints were all about him there; they didn't know, but later they became Saint This and Saint That.

And he almost became Saint Judas. For if he had gone crawling on his knees across and touched Jesus on the shoulder and Christ had awakened and shook his head and smiled at Judas, and Judas had poured into His tender ear the story of betrayal and deception and dishonesty and thievery, Christ would have said, "Go and sin no more." And Judas would have been on the way to be called Saint Judas. He almost did it. You can read that out of what he did. But he died with a curse on his head. Almost wasn't enough, the bridge was too short.

And I think of the living dead. Toronto is a beautiful city, I've always said that, always thought that before I ever came here. I thought this city was one of the most attractive cities on this continent. I still think so. But you know there are many of the living dead around here. They're not all down in skid row, and they're not all down in the Victor whatever it is mission. Not all down at Harbor Light Mission, no no. They're not all down in those houses we don't talk about in mixed company, not all there, no no. Out here, fine big homes, with big cars sitting out in front.

There are men and women, dead inside, disillusioned, embittered, defeated, lost. And they'll go down one at a time like the great trees on the mountain that have been eaten by termites until they're hollow shells. On the outside they look all right, but inside they're rotten. And when there's nothing left but the thin shell, just a wind comes and down they go and dust flies as the tree breaks apart and breaks into bits as I've seen it, breaks all to pieces because it's dry dust inside. There are many of them here.

Some of them have children. Tomorrow morning they'll get in a car, long as one of these halls, and a uniform man up in front, he'll drive them down to the precinct and they will vote or sure vote. And people see them through them and they stand respectfully and say, "Did you know that so-and-so voted here today? Yes." But disillusioned and embittered, staying together only because they don't want the disgrace of having a divorce or going apart, or they're younger staying together because there are children and they love the children and they don't want to leave them.

Keeping up a front, but I say disillusioned. Those same people maybe long ago once stood near the door of the kingdom. Maybe back in Alberta or back in British Columbia or out in Nova Scotia or down in one of the States. Those same people before the big cars could be afforded, they had gone to old fashioned meetings and heard old fashioned songs. And the preacher's grammar might not have been the best; he might have been a little bit emotional, but he was preaching the word nevertheless, gave the invitation. And the young wife held his hand hard; she wanted to go, and her husband clapped the great hand over hers and said, "Don't be a fool." And she shook herself and got up.

And Paul, when the meeting was over, they were on their way back home, nothing was said, they were both embarrassed. But she'd almost been saved that night. Almost wasn't enough, the bridge was too short. All about us, businessmen, politicians, there'll be men tomorrow night with their ears glued to the radio or the TV or down at some political center, eagerly watching the charts and the graphs and the numbers. Don't take this political now because I don't care one party from another, but a lot of those men whose pictures appear around here, if we knew the facts about them, they died long time ago. They're still interested in politics, they're still interested in their country, you give them honor for that. But I think most of them are more interested in themselves.

But they haven't got a soul, not a soul, or an empty shell. And there may be some that are otherwise. I hope they're the ones that are elected incidentally. But a lot of them, a lot of men down here at the stock exchange, a lot of men who are selling and buying real estate, teachers who have little ones come in and they smile that waxen smile. They've been smiling for thirty years, and they say, "Now children," same old thing class after class for thirty years. Long ago they're gone too. Years ago they stood at a little church, heard the scene, didn't go in, or they went in, they didn't yield.

And lastly, I believe in hell. I don't preach very much about hell. I don't like to preach about hell. D.L. Moody said no man ought to preach about hell except he preaches with tears in his eyes. And I never feel good when a man rises and clenches his fist and grinds his teeth and screams at his audience that they're going to hell. I don't like that. It would be to me like going to death row and seeing those prison and screaming at all of those men that they were going to be executed. They are, but I'd hate to say that to them.

But I don't say much about hell but I believe in hell. I believe in it as surely as I believe in heaven above or earth below. I believe there's a place where God puts people that won't go where God is. Those who would not by life while they were on earth, or at the time of death even, who would not turn to Christ. So there are men in hell, a lot of them, and women, God forgive me but there are women there too. Beautiful young women, strong young men who were lost while they lived, but they're there.

A man there who's heard a thousand sermons. He wasn't raised in the slums. He did not habitual the saloon and the dens of vice. He was brought up in the better part of Toronto, or Montreal, or Toledo, or London, or Berlin, who knows. There he is, he knows exactly where he is. And if you could get to him now, he could recite it for us. For I think there are as many people who know about scripture in hell as there are who know scripture on earth. They know scores of Bible verses; they learned them when he was a little boy in Sunday school back in Ontario.

And he even planned and promised and said to himself after the lights were out and things were quiet many nights, he said, "If tomorrow morning I'm going down and tell mama that I want to be a Christian. Tomorrow I'm going down and tell her." But he didn't. When the light came he wasn't scared anymore. Some boy yelled and he dressed in a hurry and grabbed his breakfast and disappeared. Went from bad to worse and now he's there. He almost became an usher. He almost became a song director, a song leader, a pastor. But he's in hell now.

All I'm trying to say to you tonight is that almost isn't enough, the bridge is too short. It looks all right and it'll take you a while, but it doesn't reach the other shore. You're going to have to make it altogether. Paul said, "I wish that you were not almost but altogether." What about you who are here? Some of you almost yielded yourself to God and got filled with the Holy Ghost and help start a revival in Toronto. But your carnal flesh got the better of you. Almost wasn't enough. It didn't reach the land of brightness and glory.

Some of you drifted away from Him and backslidden. Your business got in your way. You used to have family prayer, but you haven't had family prayer for years. You haven't got the courage. One day you read a book or you heard a testimony or you heard a sermon and you said to yourself, "I'm going home and tell my wife. Tomorrow morning we begin family prayer." Almost did it, but you got up the next morning, the wife was a little bit grouchy, you hurried, breakfast was late, you sulkily left the place and was no family prayer. You almost had family prayer, but you didn't have it.

You work with somebody and you say, "I'm going to witness to that person. I'm going to tell them that Jesus died for them." You meant well but you didn't do it. You almost did it but you didn't do it. Almost is a short bridge, doesn't enough. And some of you said, "Now I've had a bad year, but I remember Bob LeTourneau and many others that I've heard about say that if nine tenths goes further than ten tenths and I'm going to tithe this year if I go to the poorhouse. I'm going to start this year." You almost did it too, but you didn't do it. You gave rags and gave rags you don't know where you are. You almost did it but you didn't do it. Almost isn't enough.

Somebody says, "I'm going to start my prayer every day. I'm going to pray, I'm going to wait on God, I'm going to take some time before God no matter what." You meant well but you didn't do it. Almost but not altogether. Some of you that are not yourselves now born of the Spirit and washed in the blood and said how many times, "I'm going to, I mean to, I want to, I intend to," but you haven't. The bridge is short. Almost isn't sufficient. I tell you dear friends tonight here's a great story about a great man and a greater God Almighty, who put it here for your instruction.

And the voice of the Lord Jesus is calling out, "I would that thou wert not almost but altogether." What about it? Are you going to get old and grey and tired and hollow? Let life defeat you and beat you down and wear you out? Almost, when you could be altogether one? We're going to sing a song I happen to think is one of the sweetest songs that we have. It's not what you'd call a great song. I've never seen it listed among the great songs. But it's a sweet song and a good song. "Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow."

And while we're singing it, we're going to stand. Dr. McNally will lead us in the first couple of stanzas. And I want you to stand, and just as soon as we begin to sing, I want those of you who are going to say, "Not almost tonight, but God help me it'll be altogether," I want you to come down here to the front and stand. A little later, we'll go together into the chapel. Now in that chapel last week, we had thirty-two person there. Some of them came to pray, but most of them were there for themselves. And there were tears and confessions and wonderful blessings, from what I can understand it showed up again tonight in the prayer meeting. And it will continue to show up. God did it last week and He can do it this week. And I invite you to come. First stanza. Come down here quietly and stand, and then we're going to go together into the chapel. Alright.