The worm tunnelled its way under the bark. The next summer the leaves of the tree dropped off, very early. This year the tree has not put out a single green leaf. It is a dead tree. That one worm killed it.
Here we see the power of one sin. The third lesson taught us by the history of the betrayal and desertion, is—the power of sin.
The fourth lesson taught us by this history is—the growth of sin.
Solomon says, “The beginning of strife”—and the same is true of all sin—“is as when one letteth out water.” Prov. xvii: 14. There is a bank of earth that keeps the water of a mill-dam in its place. You notice one particular spot where the bank seems weak. The water is beginning to make its way through. At first, it only just trickles down, drop by drop. By and by, the drops come faster. Now, they run into each other, and make a little rill. Every moment the breach grows wider and deeper, till, at last, there is a roaring torrent rushing through that nothing can stop.
Every sin is like a seed. If it be planted in the heart and allowed to spring up, no one can tell what it will grow into. Suppose, that you and I knew nothing about the growth of trees. We are sitting under the wide-spreading branches of a vast oak tree. A friend picks up a tiny, little acorn, and holding it up before us, says—“This giant tree, under whose shade we are sitting, has all grown out of a little acorn, like this.” It would seem impossible to us. We could hardly be made to believe it. But we need no argument to prove this. We know it is so.
But the growth of sin in the hearts and lives of men is quite as surprising as the growth of trees in the forest. We see this in the case of Judas. Suppose that we could have seen him when he first let his love of money lead him to do wrong. Perhaps he only stole a penny or two, at first. That was not much. And then, suppose we had not seen Judas again till the night in which he had made up his mind to commit that greatest and most awful of all sins—the sin of betraying his Master! what a wonderful change we should have seen in him! The growth of a river from a rill—of a giant oak from a tiny acorn—would not be half so surprising as the monstrous growth in wickedness that we should have seen in Judas. When we saw him committing his first sin, he was like a little child. When we saw him committing his last awful sin—the child had sprung up into a huge, horrible giant. Jesus said he had become a devil. St. John vi: 70. How fearful it is to think of such growth in wickedness! And yet, if we allow the seed of sin to be sown in our hearts, and to spring up there, we cannot tell but what its growth may be as fearful in us as it was in Judas.
Let us look at some illustrations of the growth of sin.
“The Growth of Lying.” Some time ago a little boy told his first falsehood. It was like a solitary little thistle seed, sown in the mellow soil of his heart. No eye but that of God saw him as he planted it. But, it sprung up—O, how quickly! and, in a little time, another seed dropped from it into the ground, and then another, and another, each in its turn bearing more and more of those troublesome thistles. And now, his heart is like a field of which the weeds have taken entire possession. It is as difficult for him to speak the truth as it is for the gardener to clear his land of the ugly thistles that have once gained a rooting in the soil.
“The Snake and the Spider.” A black snake, about a foot long, lay sunning itself on a garden-bed one summer’s day. A spider had hung out his web on the branches of a bush, above where the snake lay. He saw the huge monster lying there, for huge indeed he was compared to the little spider, and he concluded to take him prisoner. But, you ask, is not the snake a thousand times stronger than the spider? Certainly he is. Then how can he take him prisoner? Well, let us see how he did it. The spider spun out a fine, slender thread. He slipped down, and touched the snake with it. It stuck. He took another, and touched him with that, and that stuck too. He went on industriously. The snake lay quiet. Another, and another thread, was fastened to him, till there were hundreds and thousands of them. And, by and by, those feeble threads, not one of which was strong enough to hold the smallest fly, when greatly multiplied, were strong enough to make the snake a prisoner. The spider webbed him round and round, till, at last, when the snake tried to move, he found it was impossible. The web had grown strong out of its weakness. By putting one strand here, and another there, and drawing, first on one, and then on another, the spider had the snake bound fast, from head to tail, to be a supply of food for himself and family for a long while.
And so, if we give way even to little sins, they may make us their prisoner as the spider did the snake, and before we are aware of it, we may be bound hand and foot and unable to help ourselves.