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TEXT: “Son, remember.”
I
S THERE soul - consciousness in
hell? There are many people
who rush forward with an answer
to this question; some of them say,
“No,” and we ask them, “Why do
you say no, and say it so readily?”
and they answer, “Because there is
no such thing as hell.” We ask,
“Why do you say that so boldly?”
and they say, “Because I do not believe it.”
Don’t you know that your belief does not
change any fact? That a fact is a fact, whether
you believe it or not? And then I say, “Don’t
you know that the Bible teaches that there is
such a place as hell? That the Bible has more
to say about hell than heaven; do you believe
in heaven?” And he says, “Yes, I believe in
heaven.” “Why?” “Just because I believe in
it.” But, again, we say that your belief does
not make a fact any sooner than it destroys
one.
PURGATORY.
Then there is another class of people who
come at once with the answer, “Yes, I believe
there is a hell; I believe the Bible teaches it;
but I believe that hell is a kind of probation
place from which it is possible for one to
emerge and enter heaven. I believe it is pos
sible for one to be prayed out of this place.”
That reminds me of thing a man told me the
other day. He declared that he knew this to
be a fact. lam not responsible for it. He said
that there was a bad man who had a cork leg;
he was a very bad man; and he died and his
friends thought perhaps he had gone to hell
and they went to the priest and paid a certain
sum of money and asked that he be prayed out.
After a certain length of time they came back
and the priest told them he was partly out,
and they put up more money. They went
again and he said, “He is all out now but one
leg.” They said, “Which leg is it?” “It is
the left one,” said the priest. “Well, the devil
can have that; it is his cork leg,” answered
his friends.
There are other people who come and say,
“Yes, I believe there is such a place as hell,
and that it is a place of mere banishment from
all that is good, and from God.” and my an
swer at once to that is, if that is all, that would
be the worst of punishment for me; for, my
friends, if there is one thing in all this world
that makes me miserable it is to be in the com
pany of bad people. I was in a railroad train
coming home the other day and there was a
fellow who kept swearing, and I finally said to
the man, who sat in front of me, “If I had to
live with that man and hear him swear like
that, I would go to the mad house.” I simply
cannot stand that kind of association, and if
that is hell, God forbid that I should go there.
But this question isn’t settled by what men
say about it; it is for God to settle, and in this
terrible picture our Lord draws for us, we have
one of the most serious and solemn pictures
that ever the eye of man looked upon. It is a
picture of two men, a rich man, who is known
as Dives, and a poor man, who is known as
Lazarus. We see here a great mansion, and
in this great mansion Dives is living. We see
on the street a poor beggar with sores from
head to feet, and while this rich man is sitting
here in his comfortable chair in his great man
sion, perhaps at his meal, his servant comes
in and interrupts him, and tells him that out
yonder at the gate of his house there is a poor
beggar that has sores from head to heel and he
wants something to eat. The rich man drives
his servant from his presence and refuses to
give the beggar bread; the servant perhaps
makes a second attempt. He tells him about
how this poor man is being licked by the dogs;
but the pitiful picture does not penetrate the
SOUL CONSCIOUSNESS IN HELL
The Golden Age for March 2, 1911.
Tabernacle Sermon by Reb. Len G. roughton, D.D.
Stenographically reported for The Golden Age.—Copyright applied for.
heart of that rich man, and Lazarus is ordered
to leave, and he goes, dragging his sore and
suppurating limbs down the street.
In the next picture the scene changes. I
fancy the news is brought to the little town
where they lived that out yonder upon a bleak
field is found the remains of a poor beggar,
who had died, and a swarm of dogs had gath
ered about him to devour his flesh. Not even
was he thought enough of to be buried. He
was just left out there on the ground for the
vultures and the dogs to fight over.
We walk a little further up the street, after
hearing this sad news, and pass by the gate of
this rich man and see crepe upon the door and
venture up to the door and ask what is
the matter; we find that the rich man died last
night, and there he is, laid out in the very finest
casket that can be obtained. In a little while
the whole town is in mourning; business houses
are closed and everybody is making his way
up to this rich man’s palace, and there are
flowers and carriages on hand; and perhaps
there are gathered there ministers to speak
kind words about his life.
SCENE 111.
In the next picture the scene has changed
completely. Yonder upon Abraham’s bosom
we find Lazarus, looking into the face of old
father Abraham and smiling, and Abraham pet
ting him like a mother would pet a child. His
sorrowful plight is a thing of the past. As
we are rejoicing with him over his changed
condition, a cry conies from the pit. It is the
cry of the rich man who never had reason to
cry before. It is more than a cry; it is a prayer,
and he had never prayed before: “Father
Abraham, send Lazarus down here that he
may dip the tip of his finger in water and
cool my parched tongue; for I am tormented in
these flames;” and Abraham answers, “Son,
remember, in thy lifetime thou hadst thy good
things, and Lazarus had evil things; now he is
comforted and thou art tormented.” In other
words, “Things are evening up,” that is all,
and that is what the judgment means; it
means the evening up of things. And then he
says, Well, then, I have four brothers
still on the earth that have not died. Send
Lazarus to preach to them that they may not
come to this place of torment.” But Abraham
says, “Even if one went to them from the
grave they would not repent.”
Now, my friends, to my way of thinking, that
is the saddest picture drawn in the Word of
God. It does not simply set forth the differ
ence between these two men; it sets forth
the character of hell, and the most conspicuous
thing about it is this —its consciousness, “Son,
remember.” The fires of hell cannot destroy
memory. In the first place, he had the con
sciousness of the fact that he was in a place.
I do not know where that place is. I hope I
shall never know, but somewhere there is such
a place, with geographic evironments and loca
tion. He had the consciousness of being in it.
Then, there was the consciousness of a missed
opportunity. He looked up into Abraham’s
bosom and saw Lazarus and remembered him;
he thought of the day when he turned him
down and it haunted him—the consciousness
of a missed opportunity to do good. Every
opportunity that he ever had came flashing
like the pictures of a moving picture film before
his eyes as he saw Lazarus, and remembered
the day when he would not give him a mouth
ful of bread, and he was forced to pick up
the crumbs that were thrown out. And. oh,
my friends, if we are so unfortunate as to be
lost in hell, will there come before us the
opportunities of this night as a part of mem
ory?
There was also the consciousness of his
brethren, who were not prepared for death. He
remembered the movements of men on this
earth and I believe if we could tonight uncap
that pit and hear what is being said in the pit
we call hell, we would hear men and women
wailing and weeping, lest their loved ones on
this earth should come to that place of tor
ment. Fathers who went down lost, writhing
and wailing and pleading with a plea that can
not get higher than their heads, for something
to be done that will stop the career of their boy
or girl that tonight may be in this house,
He remembered his brethren; oh, that he had
remembered them before! If he had remem
bered them enough to have gone to them and
talked with them, prayed with and for them
and tried to lead them to be saved, it would
have done some good. But he is remembering
his brothers too late. He cannot help them
now.
A GUILTY CONSCIENCE.
Then, there was the consciousness of suffer
ing torment in those flames. If you ask me,
are these flames of literal fire, I will say, I do
not know; I know just what it says and it is
enough; suppose they were merely the flames
of a guilty and hideous conscience; that is bad
enough, for I know of nothing more exasperat
ing, more terrible to deal with than a guilty
conscience. How it makes us roll and. toss
when we think of the things we might have
left undone, or the things we have done. It
may be that the flames that are spoken of here
are the flames of personal contact with that
which is vile and evil and slimy and unholy.
That is bad enough. It is spoken of in the
Greek as “anguish of pain,” whatever that
may be. If it is a figure of speech, and the
figure is fire, rest assured the actual thing is
more terrible than the figure, for a figure is
always used because it is impossible to convey
thoughts concerning the real thing, and if this
is a figure of fire consuming throughout count
less ages, then we may rest assured that the
actual thing is no improvement.
Or somebody says to me, “Do you think
that a just and loving God would make a soul
and then dump it in such a place as that?”
What is your conception of justice? What is
your definition of it? Would you think it
would be just on the part of God to refuse
to pay wages commensurate with the work that
is done? Is that a principle of ethics and
justice that the laborer is worthy of his hire,
and are you expecting, therefore, that a just
God would reward a bad man with the same
reward that He would reward a good man?
Then, I say to you, that such a God would not
be just, for that is not justice. Justice will not
pay the good and the bad the same wage.
And again, do you think that it would be a
just act on the part of God to take a man who
has lived a clean life and a woman who has
passed through unsullied and who has tried
to do good and has done it, whose chief aim
has been to reach up and bless the world,- do
you think that it would be just on the part of
God to take a man like that, that has stood
’the fiery darts and passed through unsinged,
and put him in a place and shut him up to
live forever and forever, with a wicked, slimy
ungodly character? Is that justice? Is it jus
tice for God to take you with your thoughts
of purity and aspirations for God and lock you
up with a man that is reaching out like an
octopus, dragging men down to hell and ruin?
That would not be heaven to me. God does
not send a man to hell. God merely puts be
fore a man one of two things—to choose a
life of sin that leads to hell, or a life of right
eousness that leads to heaven —and at the point
of choosing is where the decision is made that
settles the doom. Decide for heaven and you
are admitted. Decide for hell and you are
admitted.
(Continued on Page 14.)