Some people are also held back from becoming Christians because they doubt that God would accept them. When we urge those who seek salvation to turn to God, cutting off all other hopes and telling them to repent and believe the Gospel without delay, they often feel troubled, saying they are such great sinners that they doubt God would ever accept them. Such people seek more reassurance than even the Cross of Christ offers. The Cross reveals the fullness and freeness of salvation. By God’s own authority, it invites and urges them to come to Christ to receive life. It shows that the basis of their acceptance lies not in themselves, but entirely in Christ’s work. It promises that the greatest sinner, as well as the least, if he comes to Jesus, will find a warm and ready acceptance with God, because the size of one’s sins does not affect acceptance. God simply requires them to accept His way of mercy and receive Jesus as offered in the Gospel. So, where is there room for the objection, “I don’t know if God will accept me”? Such a person knows that if they go to Christ, they will be accepted, and if they stay away, they will not be accepted. Yet, somehow, this does not satisfy them—in fact, it discourages them. What they really seek is comfort in their sin, wanting assurance that there is some promise in God’s word for those who remain anxious yet unrepentant. This is why they seek more encouragement than the Cross can give. The Cross cannot encourage anyone who stays away from Christ, grieves His Spirit, and continues in a willful rebellion, even if it is an anxious and remorseful one. Such people claim to be seeking the kingdom of heaven, yet often feel unfriendly toward Jesus Christ, even admitting they prefer death over life. Consciously or not, this is their real condition. And still, they are anxious for salvation. But what does the anxiety of those who reject the Gospel really mean, except a desperate desire to avoid hell while still clinging to their distance from God? This is the root of their struggle, and we cannot resolve it—nor should we attempt to if we could. This is their excuse for not becoming Christians. And who can answer it? As long as people continue in this way, their case remains hopeless. The longer they stay in this state, the farther they drift from becoming Christians, and the less likely they are to turn to Christ at all. There are still others who say, “I cannot become a Christian.” But you don’t mean it is impossible, even with God’s help, for you to become a changed person. If that were the case, then all these lessons from the Cross would be in vain; in vain would God have sent His Son to die, His Spirit to convict, His ordinances to awaken, and His Word to urge you to repentance, for then, you must “die in your sins.” More likely, you mean that in your current state of mind, with your present attitude, you find it impossible to repent and believe the Gospel. This is clear enough: as long as you are God’s enemy, you cannot be His friend; as long as you love sin, you cannot turn from it; while you reject Christ, you cannot come to Him. It is truly impossible to love and hate, to accept and reject, at the same time. But is this state of hostility and unbelief a right state of mind, and can it be justified? If not, and if this is your only barrier to becoming a Christian, then why do you hold onto it? Why, despite all instruction, correction, and appeals—all the calls of love and mercy, the promptings of God’s Spirit, and the convictions of your own conscience—do you gather every argument to defend it? Why not yield to these calls, admitting that this sinful mindset is no excuse? God does, and rightly so, call you to embrace a different attitude, one that aligns with what you already know to be your duty. It’s hard to see how anyone could be “condemned out of his own mouth” more clearly than through such reasoning as this. Perhaps you will respond that you are aware of this, and while you know your sinful state of mind is wrong, you feel you cannot overcome it. That is a different matter entirely. If you recognize this truth—that your last and strongest excuse condemns you—then isn’t it astonishing that you still cling to it? Isn’t it astonishing that you try to deceive yourself by defending a position in which you yourself have no confidence? Wouldn’t it be better to stand silent, as you will surely be on the last day, if this is all you have to plead? Wouldn’t it be better to admit you have no excuse, to humble yourself before God in deep self-reproach, and cry out, “Guilty! Guilty! Lost! Lost! Lord, save me, or I perish!” Overcoming this state of mind is difficult—an obstacle that only God’s mighty grace can remove. It’s a tragic truth that the tendency to sin is extremely strong in the human heart, and that no one has ever come to true godliness without painfully sensing the opposition of their own heart to God, and their complete dependence on the Holy Spirit. All genuine conviction rests on this awareness. But this is not your position. Instead, you are using your dependence on the Spirit as an excuse, as a reason to justify your refusal to become a Christian. A person who is truly sincere in their need never does this. The very fact that you’re using it as a main excuse for remaining in unbelief reveals that you’re not sincerely feeling its humbling reality. Would to God that you truly felt this—so deeply that it would strip you of self-confidence, turn your strength to weakness, and your hopes to utter reliance on almighty grace. Only then would you understand the truth of “Without Christ, I can do nothing.” Heaven is far beyond your reach, but there is a way, like the ladder Jacob saw, by which you can ascend—even as lowly as you are—to God’s dwelling place. Christ Himself has opened the way into the holiest place through His blood. “I am the way,” He says; “no one comes to the Father except through me.” If you say you cannot come to Christ without divine help, this is true as well. The Savior Himself says, “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him.” You cannot feel this truth too deeply. God “will have mercy on whom He will have mercy.” He is not obligated to make you “willing in the day of His power.” You are in His hands, like clay in the hands of the potter. He may leave you to your own chosen path of destruction. He has every right to do so and may be provoked to do so by your repeated excuses. Only when you recognize this sovereign right of God will you have a true view of yourself as a lost sinner and a defiant rebel against the King of the universe. If you could grasp this—if you truly felt your own vileness, guilt, and helplessness, so that you were humbled to the dust before God, feeling that you are sinking in deep waters and that only almighty grace can lift you from the “horrible pit” and place your feet on solid ground—then these flimsy excuses would appear to you as “refuges of lies.” Then there would be hope for you; you would not be far from the kingdom of heaven. If you could once “glory in your weakness,” so that the power of Christ might rest upon you, you would no longer complain about the difficulty of becoming a Christian. Instead, you would wonder why you had not come to Him sooner.
The work is done when you truly realize that, though you are utterly weak, you have God’s omnipotence to rely on. Burdened by sin, oppressed with doubt and fear, blinded by spiritual darkness, and deeply troubled—if, under these burdens and struggles, you can come to the Cross, you will not be turned away empty. Tears, sighs, and a broken heart are welcome at the throne of grace. “When the poor and needy seek water and there is none, and their tongue fails for thirst, I the Lord will hear them; I the God of Israel will not forsake them.”
These are some of the sinner’s excuses for continuing in unbelief. Do they hold up in view of the Cross? Do they satisfy his own conscience? Will they stand at the bed of death? Will he be able to plead them at the judgment? Can he truly find any valid reason for not becoming a Christian? Isn’t it clear that the most reasonable thing he could do is to stop resisting God and to yield to the claims of redeeming love? Isn’t there some strange, blinding delusion clouding his mind? When he reasons this way, isn’t it because his understanding is darkened, his judgment blurred, his reason misled? No reasonable person makes such mistakes when it comes to their earthly interests, so why are they so irrational when it comes to eternal matters? Could it be that the great adversary has more influence over this mindset than people realize? Is he not actively working to prevent the Gospel’s impact, to blind the minds of those who refuse to believe? It’s hard to understand how people who are capable of sound reasoning stray so far from the truth and arrive at such strange conclusions about personal faith. The Cross of Christ solemnly warns against these self-deceptions. In the next life, being led astray by these delusions will offer no comfort; instead, you will wonder how your usual caution and wisdom could have failed you so completely. It is a fearful thing to harden your heart, adding sin to sin, until you become a vessel of wrath set for destruction. Soon, you must pass from these days of mercy to the day of judgment, from the light of time to the brighter light of eternity. Abandon, then, these indefensible fortresses, these weak defenses of the carnal mind, these “refuges of lies,” and flee to the hope set before you in the Gospel. Submit to the authority of the Cross, be drawn by its love, and receive the Savior. Instead of resisting Omnipotence and grieving His Spirit, lift your eyes to Him in hope and desire. Then the dark clouds will lift, the Sun of Righteousness will shine, and you will find peace with God through Jesus Christ. No longer will you embody what should never exist in a world of rational beings—a wicked person rebelling against a good God, a frail creature contending with an all-powerful Creator, a miserable soul rejecting its only path to joy, a lost sinner turning away from the only Savior, a rational mind questioning the wisdom of a salvation that honors the infinite love and wisdom of God.