Ruins

Narrate the actual circumstances. Ahaz turned away from Jehovah to serve the gods of Damascus, because Syria enjoyed prosperity. “For he sacrificed unto the gods of Damascus, which smote him: and he said, Because the gods of the kings of Syria help them, therefore will I sacrifice to them, that they may help me. But they were the ruin of him, and of all Israel.”

The consequent introduction of false deities and defilement of the worship of God became the ruin of Ahaz and his kingdom.

We fear lest this should be the ruin of England; for the idols of the Papists and the doctrines of Rome are again being set up in our land. Though no country prospers in which these prevail, yet besotted minds are laboring to restore the gods of the Vatican. This subject deserves many faithful sermons.

At this time we shall turn the text to more general use.

I. THE MAN RUINING HIMSELF. Ahaz is the type of many self-destroyers. “O Israel, you have destroyed yourself.” Hosea 13:9.

He would be his own master. This ruined the prodigal, and will ruin millions more.

He was high-handed in sin. “He walked in the way of the kings of Israel”: 2 Kings 16:3, 4. This is a race to ruin.

He lavished treasure upon it. He spent much but gained little. Profligacy and many other wrong ways are expensive and ruinous.

He defied chastisement. “In the time of his distress did he trespass yet more against the Lord”: 2 Chronicles 28:22. This defiance of correction leads to sure ruin.

He was exceedingly clever, and curried favor with the great. He made a copy of a classic altar, and sent it home. More men perish through being too clever than by being simple.

He was a man of taste. He admired the antique, and the aesthetic in religion.

He had officials to back him. “Urijah, the priest, built an altar according to all that king Ahaz had sent from Damascus”: 2 Kings 16:11. Bad ministers are terrible destroyers.

He imitated prosperous sinners. The king of Assyria became his type. This is ruinous conduct.

He abandoned all worship of God. “He shut up the doors of the house of the Lord” (verse 24). This is the climax of rebellion, and the seal of ruin.

But he did not prosper; the false gods were the ruin of him.

II. THE MAN IN RUINS. We leave Ahaz to think of some around us.

The man becomes eaten up with secret vice. A rotting ruin haunted by bats and owls, and foul creatures of the night.

The man of drinking habits, not fit for society, a brute, a fiend.

The man of evil company and foul speech: likely to be soon in prison, or an outcast.

The man of unbelieving notions and blasphemous conversation, lost to God, to goodness, and moral sense.

All around us we see such spiritual ruins.

Turned from holy uses to be moldering wastes.

The man is ruined in—

Peace, character, usefulness, prospects. Worst of all, he is himself a ruin, and will be so forever.

A ruin suggests many reflections.

What it was! What it might have been!

What it is! What it will be!

Meditations among ruins may be useful to those who are inclined to repeat the experiment of Ahaz.

III. OTHERS RUINED WITH HIM. “They were the ruin of him, and of all Israel.”

Designedly. Some men by example create drunkards, by teaching make infidels, by seduction ruin virtue, by their very presence destroy all that is good in their associates.

Incidentally; even without intent they spread the contagion of sin. Their irreligion ruins the young, their conduct influences the unsettled, their language inflames the wicked.

Sin will ruin you if persisted in.

Your downfall will drag down others.

Will you not endeavor to escape from ruin?

Jesus is the Restorer of the wastes.

Relics

There is an Australian missile called the boomerang, which is thrown so as to describe singular curves, and to return at last to the hand of the thrower. Sin is a kind of boomerang, which goes off into space curiously, but turns again upon its author, and with tenfold force strikes the guilty soul that launched it.

We might illustrate the evil of sin by the following comparison:—“Suppose I were going along a street, and were to dash my hand through a large pane of glass, what harm would I receive?” “You would be punished for breaking the glass.” “Would that be all the harm I should receive?” “Your hand would be cut by the glass.” “Yes; and so it is with sin. If you break God’s laws, you shall be punished for breaking them; and your soul is hurt by the very act of breaking them.”—J. Inglis.

I have heard that a shepherd once stood and watched an eagle soar out from a cliff. The bird flew far up into the air, and presently became unsteady, and reeled in its flight. First one wing dropped, and then the other; presently, with accelerated speed, the poor bird fell rapidly to the ground. The shepherd was curious to know the secret of its fall. He went and picked it up. He saw that when the eagle lighted last on a cliff, a little serpent had fastened itself upon him; and as the serpent gnawed in farther and farther, the eagle in its agony reeled in the air. When the serpent touched its heart, the eagle fell. Have you never seen a man or woman in the church, or in society, rising and rising; the man becoming more and more influential, apparently strong, widely known, asserting power far and near; but, by and by, growing unsteady, uncertain, reeling, as it were, in uncertainty and inconsistency, and at last falling to the earth, and lying there in hopeless disgrace, a spectacle for angels to weep over, and scoffers and devils to jeer at? You do not know the secret of the fall, but the omniscient eye of God saw it. That neglect of prayer, that secret dishonesty in business, that stealthy indulgence in the intoxicating cup, that licentiousness and profligacy unseen of men, that secret tampering with unbelief and error, was the serpent at the heart that brought the eagle down.—T. Cuyler.

Sages of old contended that no sin was ever committed whose consequences rested on the head of the sinner alone; that no man could do ill and his fellows not suffer. They illustrated it thus:—“A vessel, sailing from Joppa, carried a passenger, who, beneath his berth, cut a hole through the ship’s side. When the men of the watch expostulated with him, saying, ‘What do you, O miserable man?’ the offender calmly replied, ‘What matters it to you? The hole I have made lies under my own berth.’ ” This ancient parable is worthy of the utmost consideration. No man perishes alone in his iniquity; no man can guess the full consequences of his transgression.