Another "moment in life" which may be specially noticed, is that in which we are tempted to evil. Temptations are no doubt "common to man." Our whole life in a sense is a temptation, for whatever makes a demand upon our choice as moral beings, involves a trial of character, and tests the "spirit we are of." But nevertheless there do occur periods in our lives when such trials are peculiarly testing; when large bribes are offered to the sin that doth so easily beset us, tempting us to betray conscience, give up principle, lose faith in the right and in God, and to serve the devil, the world, or the flesh. Such moments may be very brief, yet decisive of our future life. They may come suddenly upon us, though possibly many notes of warning have announced their approach. For they are often but the apex of the pyramid to which many previous steps have gradually and almost imperceptibly led; the beginning of a battle, which must at last be fought, and very shortly decided, but yet the ending of many previous skirmishings. Be this as it may, that moment of life does come to us all, when evil like the enemy appears to concentrate against us its whole force, and when we must fight, conquer, or die; when like a thief it resolves to break into our home and take possession; when as a deceiver it promises happiness, and demands immediate acceptance or rejection of the splendid offer,—"All these will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me!"
What a moment is this in the life of many a young person. How unutterably solemn is the first deliberate act which opposes conscience, rebels against the authority of God and of His law, shuts out the light, and prefers darkness. Future character, and the life and happiness of years, may be determined by it. The step taken in that brief moment, the lie uttered, the dishonesty perpetrated, the drunkenness or debauchery indulged in, the prayers for the first time given up, and the father's home left for the far country. Who can realise the consequences of those first acts, or estimate the many links of evil, and the endless chain itself, that may connect themselves with the one link of sin fashioned in that moment of life! Who can foresee the streams ever increasing in breadth and depth which may flow from this letting in of water! Would God that my readers, young men especially, would but believe in the possibility even of the choice they make at such a time determining their future destiny. The thought of this might at least make them pause and consider.
There is no exaggeration in this language. To realise the danger, all we need assume is the law of habit; for, according to that law, we know that any act of the will, good or bad, has a tendency to repeat itself with increasing ease and decreasing consciousness, until it becomes a "second nature." Hence the first resistance of evil is much less difficult than any subsequent attempt; and he who in one moment of life could by a manly effort become a conqueror, and enter on a life of principle and peace, may, by yielding, very soon sink down into a degraded slave, who is held fast by the iron chain of habit, each link of which he has himself forged by his own self-will.
What a moment was that in the life of Herod when he permitted evil desire for Herodias to enter his soul. That desire conceived sin, and sin when finished brought forth death. Acts passed into habits, and habits into a life of abandoned passion. Then came the festive birthday, and the dancing before him of the daughter of his paramour; and then the foul murder, with the spectacle of the bloody head, closed eyes, and sealed lips of the greatest and noblest man of his time; and then followed the hour when Jesus Himself was brought before the murderer, when the Lord spoke not one word of warning, rebuke, or mercy to him, but smote the wretch with the terrible wrath and righteous judgment of silence!
What a moment in life was that, too, when Judas welcomed covetousness into his heart as a most profitable guest. Then one day Covetousness offered him thirty pieces of silver if he would betray his Lord; and Judas agreed to the proposal. A whole eternity of misery was involved in that moment of his life: for the night soon arrived when the bargain was to be kept. A few moments more, and the history will end here to begin elsewhere. Yet there is not a sign on earth or heaven to indicate the importance of that brief hour to Judas! He forms one among the most distinguished company that ever sat at the same table since the earth began; and never did mortal ears listen to such words uttered by human lips, nor did mortal eyes ever contemplate such a scene of peace and love as was witnessed in that upper room in Jerusalem. But the hour has struck, and Judas rises to depart. The deed of darkness must now be done. It is late, and he has made a most important appointment; unless he keeps it, he may lose his money; and what a loss to the poor follower of a man who had nowhere to lay His head! Judas leaves that company; and what was there in things visible to make him suspect even that an awful moment of life—his last—had come? All was calm within that upper room,—all was peace in the world without. The naked heavens shone in the calm brilliancy of an Eastern night The streets of Jerusalem, along which the traitor passed on his dreadful errand, echoed his footsteps in their silence. Yet Judas, "the son of perdition," was at that moment on his way "to his own place!"
And thus it is with many a man in the hour of temptation. The voice of sin speaks not loudly, but whispers to his inner spirit. He pursues his path of evil without alarm being given by sight or sound from heaven or earth. There is nothing in the world without to disturb the thoughts and purposes of the world within his false and unprincipled soul. The moment of his life brings the temptation, and he yields his soul to its power, and the moment passes with as noiseless a step; and soon the last moment comes, and passes away; but he too has noiselessly passed away with it "to his own place!"
The "moment in life" when we are called upon to perform some positive duty, is one which is often very critical and full of solemn consequences to us. The duty may appear to be a very trifling one,—such as writing a letter, visiting a friend, warning some brother against evil, aiding another, or sympathising with a sufferer in his sorrow. But whatever the work may be, and in whatever way it is to be performed, whether by word or deed, by silence or by speech, yet there is a time given us for doing it, very brief perhaps, and unaccompanied by any sign to mark its significance,—a time, nevertheless, when whatever has to be done must be done quickly, "now or never."
Such a moment in life was that in the history of the three apostles who accompanied our Lord, at His own request, in order to watch with Him in His last agony. As a man, He deserved their thoughtful presence, their watchful sympathy, when enduring the dread sorrow which filled His cup, from realising by anticipation all that was before Him. Thrice He came to them from the spot, not far off, where He wrestled in prayer with His terrible agony.
Thrice He found them asleep. "What!" he asked, "could ye not watch with me one hour?" Ah! they knew not what an hour that was!—what it was to Him—what it was and might have been to them! They might have had the joy, the exalted privilege, which for ever would have been as a very heaven of glory in their memory, of sharing, through the power of sympathising love, the burden of their Lord's anguish. But they yielded to the flesh, and permitted that moment of time to pass; and when they at last roused themselves from their slumber, it was too late. That moment in life had come and gone, and could return no more. "Sleep on, and take your rest; behold, he who betrayeth me is at hand!"
And thus it often happens in the life of us all. An hour is given us when something may be done for our Lord or our brethren, which cannot possibly be done if that hour is permitted to pass away unimproved. Then we may teach an ignorant soul, or rouse a slothful one to action; we may alarm one who is lethargic, worldly, sensual, "without God or Christ in the world," so as to win him to both; or we may comfort the feeble-minded, and support the weak. Circumstances may give us the opportunity, and the "moment in life," when such works may be done. The persons to be helped are perhaps inmates of our dwelling; they are our relations: they are sick or dying; or they have cast themselves upon our aid. But we let the moment pass. The work given us is not done. We have neglected it from sloth, procrastination, thoughtlessness, or selfishness. And we may become awake to our culpable negligence, and rouse ourselves to duty. But, alas! those whom we could have aided are past help. They are dead, or are removed from our influence, or in some way "past remedy." And so the moment in life given us is gone, and gone for ever, except to meet us and to accuse us before the bar of God. And thus it is with duty in countless forms. What our hands find to do must be done quickly, if done at all, and in the time given us. If not, a night comes, and may come soon and come suddenly, in which either we ourselves cannot work, or in which, though at last willing to do it, it is no longer given us to do.