Dr. Barnhouse and the Bible

Guest (Male): The Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals presents the timeless teaching of Dr. Donald Grey Barnhouse.

Dr. Donald Grey Barnhouse: Let those who have never given the gossips of the far country anything to talk about, give humble and hearty thanks for their wonderful preservation. And let those who have provided the gossips with matter for their horrid jests and sinister smirks, come home all the same.

Ashamed as they may feel of their sadly sullied record, their proper place is in the Father's house. If they can devise any means of minimizing or obliterating the stain that they have left upon the lives of others, so much the better.

Guest (Male): Over a half a century ago, the late Dr. Donald Grey Barnhouse, then pastor of Tenth Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia, saw the need to spread God's word beyond the hearing of his local congregation. He started the radio ministry which has become known as Dr. Barnhouse and the Bible.

The application of God's word as taught by Dr. Barnhouse is as relevant today as when he first taught over the radio airwaves decades ago. The message we will be featuring on today's edition of Dr. Barnhouse and the Bible is entitled Is Forgiveness Enough.

You may have seen a bumper sticker or a t-shirt declaring, "Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven." While this is true, there is a danger that believers can come to see Christianity as nothing more than forgiveness of sins. We can be lulled into living carelessly before the Lord, forgetting that we will all stand before the judgment seat of Christ and must give an account of our lives as believers.

Does your Christianity consist of forgiveness and nothing else? Or are you seeking to please and glorify the Lord with your life? The scripture text for this edition of Dr. Barnhouse and the Bible, Romans chapter 14 and verse 10. Here again is Dr. Donald Grey Barnhouse with a message entitled, Is Forgiveness Enough.

Dr. Donald Grey Barnhouse: Through the Lord Jesus Christ, we come unto thee our Father and our God, and in the Holy Spirit. We ask thee today that by thy spirit, thou shalt speak the convicting word to those whose lives bring shame to thee, and that those who walk in thy will may have the comfort and consolation of seeing thy smile. Hear us we ask in Jesus' name, Amen.

We continue now our study in the 14th chapter of Romans, again returning to the same text: for we shall all stand before the judgment seat of God. My mind has been tremendously occupied in recent weeks with thoughts that have grown out of my studies concerning our appearance before the judgment seat of God in Christ.

Shall we all remain so careless if we realize that all our deeds will be reviewed there? The unsettled accounts will appear fully opened and to be settled. The things that we have done as Christians will face us there. I think of the prodigal son and his actions while in the far country.

I want to develop this thought fully, so I must first express my conviction that the experience of the prodigal is not the experience of an unsaved man becoming a believer, but the experience of a son who knows the Father's house and coming back to that house, drawn by the memories of what he had known there.

The taste of the roast beef at his father's table came up in his memory as he snatched a handful of husks away from the swine. While in deep thought concerning these things, I suddenly ran across a sermon written by FW Borham of Australia that said more to me than anything I have ever read or thought on the subject.

Many years ago, Dr. Borham sent me this sermon, and I printed it in our magazine. It was at a time when I was under great pressure of work, and having confidence in Dr. Borham, I gave the manuscript to the printer without reading it. When the magazine was printed, I was too busy to read it then.

And now, after 18 years, my eyes lighted upon it as I was looking through the editor's file copy. Dr. Borham imagines himself on a trip to the town in which the prodigal lived during the time he made the swift descent from riches to rags. But let him tell it.

There is one place on the face of the earth in which the parable of the prodigal son is extremely unpopular. Indeed, he would be a very brave man who, facing an audience in that particular town, would hazard any reference, however oblique, to that most familiar story. The people simply will not listen.

I tried it myself. I paid the inevitable penalty and no persuasion would induce me to repeat the experiment. I set out, whether in the body or out of the body I cannot tell, along the great Phoenician highway. Whenever the way seemed along, I rested under a canopy of green and conjured up visions of the armies that had swept along that broad thoroughfare in the days of long ago.

I heard the rumble of innumerable chariots, the clatter of countless hoofs, and the tramp of hosts of armed men. I saw the cohorts all gleaming in purple and gold. For almost all those marauding and invading hosts of which the Old Testament tells us came marching along this dusty road.

And then, I tried to imagine the feelings of the prodigal as he gazed upon these various landscapes on his way down to the far country, and again on his return journey. After vainly invading many tiny towns and making innumerable fruitless inquiries, I at length came upon an innkeeper in whose mind my questions evidently awakened memories.

I told the story of the prodigal as fully and as vividly as I could. And he listened as though it were a romance that held for him no personal interest at all. I was disappointed, and I began to fear that in spite of my premonition, I was still far from the scene of the prodigal's riotings.

I repeated some parts of the story, laying stress on the youth's final engagement as a swineherd. All at once, a look not merely of interest but of anger mantled the olive features of my host. He asked me one or two pertinent questions that left me in no doubt as to the correctness of my assumption, and each succeeding question made it increasingly clear that the memory I had awakened was anything but a pleasant one.

He spoke with a bitterness that accorded strangely with the geniality that usually characterized him. I was rather glad when the tension was relieved by an interruption. He bustled away to render the service required of him, and it was a minute or two before the conversation was resumed.

It was he who reverted to the matter, and he did so by asking a further question. "And does he suppose," inquired the innkeeper, leaning forward over the table and looking me searchingly in the eye, "does he suppose that his father's forgiveness is the only forgiveness that he needs?"

He did not press the matter, nor did I. I could see that my host was feeling strongly. From one or two sentences that he muttered, I inferred that the prodigal had left in the neighborhood a name that was by no means fragrant. Not seeing very clearly how I ought to proceed, I resolved to sleep over the matter.

I therefore changed the subject, and shortly afterwards withdrew for the night. It was, however, one thing to leave the innkeeper but quite another thing to leave the innkeeper's question: is the father's forgiveness the only forgiveness that the prodigal needs?

It said so little and yet suggested so much. I had been accustomed to regard it as a sign of grace on the part of the prodigal that he recognized his behavior abroad, not only as a sin against his father but also as a sin against God. "I have sinned against heaven and before thee."

I had never thought of its bearing on the far country. Nor had he. But the innkeeper's pregnant question opened my eyes to the fact that the sin of each sinner is sin against every other sinner. It is a rebellion against the entire universe, an anarchy against society, an outrage upon everything, a crime against everybody.

Sin contaminates the planet. Even the far country feels itself debauched by the excesses of the prodigal. In the morning, I made up my mind to stroll through the town and to ascertain, if possible, whether the innkeeper's viewpoint was the prevailing one.

I wandered about for some time without discovering anybody to whom I felt free to unburden my mind. At length, I passed a typical Eastern shop, an open apartment of the bazaar type within which a thoughtful-looking man clad in scarlet tunic was squatting on the floor, repairing a damaged sandal.

Two other men, one of them probably the owner of the sandals, were lounging near him. After discussing a variety of matters, I at length approached the theme that was so strongly upon my mind. I told them of the return of the prodigal to his father's house.

I described his contrition and the father's forgiveness, and I enlarged upon the happy and satisfactory termination of the whole adventure. To my surprise, the man standing nearest me turned savagely around and spat upon the floor, almost hissing his disgust at my recital.

"Paying today's accounts doesn't wipe off yesterday's score," he exclaimed fiercely. "It's a pity," added the man who was working on the sandal, "it's a pity that he didn't discover the attractions of his father's house before he came here."

A young woman, whose face seemed robbed of its youthful brightness and in whose eyes there was no suggestion of gaiety, passed at that moment bearing a little child, Eastern fashion, on her hip. The men were silent until she was at a discreet distance, and then the man who had not previously spoken stepped across to me and, pointing up the street, exclaimed, "Go and tell her how happily it all ended."

"There is such a thing as being converted too late. There are men in this town whom your friend led into dishonor. There are women whom he led into shame. He dragged some down who were up, and others who were down, he pushed deeper down. Bah!" His eyes flashed as he turned away, and he resumed his old position with a gesture of disgust.

I spent most of that day pondering the problems started by these conversations. At night, when I returned to the inn, the innkeeper was out, but his wife was there. I engaged her in conversation and found her a kindly and understanding woman.

I decided to unfold to her the purpose of my visit to the town, but I discovered as soon as I broached the theme that she had already been acquainted with my mission by her husband. "Yes," she said, "I know that the men around here feel very bitterly about him, and some of the women too."

"As for myself, I could forgive him if, having discovered his great mistake and obtained his father's forgiveness, he had come back here to try and set right what he had put wrong and to undo as far as he could the damage he had done. After having suffered so much, he could have helped his boon companions down here to make good."

"He must have known, too, that there are lots of young men in this town who are feeling today just as he felt when he first came. He could have disillusioned them. They would have listened to him. But he never lifted a finger to save one of them. That's what puzzles me."

Of all the strictures and the criticisms to which I listened in the far country, none moved me so deeply as those of the innkeeper's wife. This brings us face to face with one of the most poignant problems in the universe. A man does not shake himself free from the authority of the far country by the simple expedient of turning his back upon it.

His sins are still hard at work. They are seething and fermenting and effervescing in the hearts of his old companions. His excesses continue to corrupt and debauch the far country long after he has been restored to his old place in the father's home.

George MacDonald, the Scotch preacher, in his book Wilfrid Cumbermede, relates a confidential conversation between two of his characters. "Do you know, Wilfrid," says one, "I once shot a little bird. For no good, but just to shoot at something. It wasn't that I didn't think of it; don't say that. I did think of it. I knew it was wrong. When I had leveled my gun, I thought of it quite plainly and yet, I drew the trigger."

"It dropped, a heap of ruffled feathers. I shall never get that little bird out of my head. And the worst of it is that to all eternity I can never make any atonement." "But God will forgive you, Charlie." "What do I care for that?" he rejoined almost fiercely. "When the little bird cannot forgive me?"

That's the point, the point raised by the innkeeper's question: is the father's forgiveness the only forgiveness that the prodigal needs? In his Christmas Carol, Dickens shows that poor Mr. Scrooge was haunted by three ghosts: the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present, and the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come.

Every prodigal who returns to the father's house is confronted by three precisely similar specters. On the very threshold of the new life, these three tyrannical figures arise and endeavor to drive him back into bondage. The Ghost of Yesterday points out with terrible emphasis that the past is absolutely indelible.

What's done can never be undone. There are some things that even God cannot do, and this is one of them: God cannot undo our past even though he may forgive it. Wounds of the soul, though healed, will ache. The reddening scars remain and make confession. Lost innocence returns no more. We are not what we were before transgression.

JB Gough, the temperance orator and evangelist, used to tell his audiences of the tortures he endured as he recalled the years that preceded his conversion. "I have suffered," he cried, "and I come out of the fire scorched and scathed with the marks upon my person and with a memory of it burnt right into my soul."

He likened his life to a snowdrift that had been sadly stained. No former purity and whiteness. "The scars remain, the scars remain," he used to say with bitter self-reproach. The Ghost of Yesterday points to the black, black past derisively, holds it as a threat over the poor penitent's bowed and contrite head, and tells him in tones that sound like a thunderclaps that there is no escape.

The Ghost of Today points to things as they are. The prodigal, pardoned and restored, is not the man he would have been. Although disgraced and disillusioned, he leaves something of himself in the far country, and he will carry the smears and the smudges and the stains of the far country on his soul to his dying day.

And the Ghost of Tomorrow speaks with an ugly and malicious sneer. "It's easy enough to be religious today," it says, "but what of tomorrow, and the next day, and all the days that are coming? What of the moments in which the instincts and impulses developed and inflamed in the far country imperatively claim their own? What of the hour in which the old urge rushes back and clamors for gratification? What of tomorrow?" asks this third ghost knowingly. "What of tomorrow?"

These are the three hideous specters that haunt the prodigal in his father's house, as the three Christmas ghosts haunted poor Mr. Scrooge. There are only two classes of Christians in the world: those who have set wagging the tongues of the gossips of the far country, and those who have not.

It's a good thing to be able to walk the highway of life haunted by no such fearful phantoms as those that confronted the prodigal on his return. That engaging old Puritan Ralph Erskine has a choice little poem of which Professor Henry Drummond in his Ideal Life makes excellent use. It's entitled "Strife in Heaven."

It imagines the glorified spirits arguing as to which of them all is the greatest monument to redeeming grace. Each tells his story. Vote after vote is taken. At length, only two competitors are left in the contest. The first of the two is a very old man whose whole life had been spent in the most diabolical wickedness.

Yet at the 11th hour, on his deathbed, he was forgiven. It was an amazing escape. His rival was also an old man, but he was led to Christ when quite a little boy and had been saved from all the sins which the other had committed.

The vote was taken, and all heaven acclaimed the second competitor the winner. The one, says Henry Drummond, required just one great act of love at the close of life. The other had a life full of love. It was a greater salvation by far.

Let those who have never given the gossips of the far country anything to talk about, give humble and hearty thanks every day of their lives for their wonderful preservation. And let those who have provided the gossips with matter for their horrid jests and sinister smirks, come home all the same.

Ashamed as they may feel of their sadly sullied record, their proper place is in the father's house. If after their return, they can devise any means of minimizing or obliterating the stain that they have left upon the lives of others, so much the better.

They can certainly help neither themselves nor their boon companions by prolonging their career of prodigality. Let them turn their faces to the father's house, and even though memory is sometimes haunted by those three gruesome ghosts, they will find that their restoration puts an end to a mass of misery and marks the beginning of a new life in which they can spend themselves in gracious ministries for the reclamation and the redemption of others.

The parable about the parable is done. The man who reads deeply in the Bible discovers that God teaches that the main thrust of sin is against himself. This he forgives, once and for all and forever. The Holy Spirit will then move the one who has been forgiven to love much and to seek to right all wrongs which the sinner remembers and can in anywise touch.

When this has been done, the sinner will know that the sin aspect of his deeds has been dealt with once and for all. He will never even ask for forgiveness the second time. But he will face the works aspect of his deeds at the judgment bar of God.

Are we to live in fear concerning that over which we have no control? The answer is that we are to forget the things that are behind in one sense and press toward the goal, seeking that all the remainder of life shall be such that men shall take knowledge of us that we have been with Jesus Christ.

And our awareness of the effects of sins that are past is such that it keeps us walking very closely with our Lord. We shall know a godly fear, a fear of displeasing him. And this is the fear of the Lord that is the beginning, not only of wisdom but of true holiness in our daily living.

And if we follow this path of wisdom, we find that it is the path of the justified one which shines more and more unto the perfect day. And our God and Father, we pray thee that the Holy Spirit shall touch the heart of each listener.

If there are those who are yet in the far country, may they make the swift break and come home to the Father. If there are those who are back from the far country, may they not only rejoice in the warmth and forgiveness of the Father's house, but be willing to go back and undo whatever they can do that was wrong while they live a life of praise and love toward all those roundabout them. We ask it in Jesus' name, Amen.

Guest (Male): Christianity encompasses so much more than receiving forgiveness of sins. We must diligently pursue lives of genuine holiness and service to God and seek to glorify and enjoy him in all we do. We hope you have benefited from today's message by Dr. Barnhouse entitled, Is Forgiveness Enough.

Listen to additional teachings by Dr. Barnhouse via the Internet. Visit us online at alliancenet.org. An audio copy of today's teaching is available by calling us toll-free, 1-800-488-1888. Today's message again is entitled, Is Forgiveness Enough, or simply request message number R14-14.

Would you like to build your own audio library of Dr. Barnhouse's timeless messages so you can listen to them anytime, anywhere? Then you will be interested in our Dr. Barnhouse and the Bible audio commentary series. Visit our website, www.alliancenet.org, or call us at 1-800-488-1888 and find out how you can sign up for the Dr. Barnhouse and the Bible audio commentary series.

We would also like to make available to you a free copy of our booklet entitled, The Gospel We Like To Hear. The Bible warns us against following teachers who will tickle our ears with false doctrines that appeal to our fleshly nature. This free booklet clearly states forth the true biblical gospel and sounds a warning against ear-tickling, people-pleasing distortions of the good news, including the false religion of signs and wonders, salvation without lordship, and the health, wealth, and prosperity gospel.

Ask for your free copy of The Gospel We Like To Hear when you call or write. Dr. Barnhouse and the Bible is a radio ministry of the Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals, headquartered in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. We exist to promote a biblical understanding and worldview.

Drawing upon the insight and wisdom of Reformation theologians from decades and even centuries gone by, we seek to provide contemporary Christian teaching which will equip believers to understand and meet the challenges and opportunities of our time and place. We also produce the radio broadcast, The Bible Study Hour, featuring the teachings of the late Dr. James Montgomery Boice, and Every Last Word, featuring the Bible teaching of Dr. Philip Graham Ryken.

For a full list of radio stations carrying our programs, visit our website at alliancenet.org. Dr. Barnhouse and the Bible comes to you through the generous gifts of listeners like you. If you have benefited from the broadcast and would like it to continue, please prayerfully consider a donation to help us keep this ministry on the air.

For more information or to make a contribution to further our work, contact us by calling toll-free 1-800-488-1888. Again, that's 1-800-488-1888. Call us today. You may also write to us at Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals, Box 2000, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 19103. Visit us online at alliancenet.org.

Don't forget to request a free resource catalog featuring books, audio teachings, commentaries, booklets, videos, and a wealth of other materials from outstanding reformed teachers and theologians, including Doctors Donald Grey Barnhouse, James Montgomery Boice, Martin Lloyd-Jones, and Philip Graham Ryken. Thanks for listening. Join us again next time for more classic teaching on Dr. Barnhouse and the Bible.