Ezekiel 33:30-33

They hear Thy words, but they will not do them.

The religion of a formalist

I. The extent of a formal religion. There is unquestionably much about the characters here described worthy of respect and admiration. The pity is, so fair a form should conceal so vile a heart.

1. They entertained a high respect for the truth, and the messenger whom God had commissioned to proclaim it. How many treat the message and the messenger with respect, who have no share in the Divine and saving power they are appointed to convey! They have caught a feeble ray of light; it has something of beauty and lustre about it; but it is the cold moonbeam reflected from the church, and not the healing and life-giving ray of the Sun of Righteousness.

2. To respect, may be added a compliance with religious ordinances and duties. Custom, or education, or pride, or respect for the preacher, or the desire to see, and be seen, brought them here. Even their demeanour in the very presence of the eternal God, is not free from hypocrisy.

3. Further, there may be an apparent love for religion, and the doctrines it inculcates; for “with their mouth they show much love.” Religion is talked about and recommended. While it is the topic of conversation you observe an unusual glow of animation, a seeming zeal for its interests. Its doctrines and duties are defended against the cavils and objections of all opposers.

4. There may be the experience of deep and powerful emotions, under the preaching of the truth. The preacher is to them “as a very lovely song,” etc. A thrill of indescribable pleasure vibrates on the chords of feeling as he proceeds; but it is only the excitement of passions which would have been aroused with equal intensity and delight by the harmonies of a concert, or the representations of the stage. Yet is it unusual to mistake these emotions for religious feeling? or, can any impression be more delusive?

II. The deficiencies of a formal religion. The heart is the seat of the defect. It has never been the subject of Divine and regenerating grace; and, where this is the case, there may be every semblance of true religion, but reality there is none. See the objections which a heart-searching God prefers against the characters in consideration. They are these: “they hear Thy words, but they will not do them.” Here the will is at fault. The prime and governing power of the heart does not yield a just submission to the authority of Divine law. A little further on is a second charge: “their heart goeth after their covetousness.” The deficiency is here at once referred to the heart, whose affections have never been surrendered to Him who justly demands them. They remain fixed, with unchanging tenacity, to the creature, but the Creator is forgotten. Again, the first charge is reiterated, though in an altered form of expression: “They hear Thy words, but they do them not.” Wherefore, but because there is no heart to them? The understanding and affections must be renewed; the will become subject; the whole man be created anew in Christ Jesus, until the old nature is trampled under foot, and the love of God alone holds supremacy. If religion is designed to correct the evils and perversities of our nature, to what point should its influence be directed rather than the heart, which is the seat of man’s depravity, and out of which proceeds every thing that is capable of moral or religious impress?

III. The danger of a formal religion. The publication of the Gospel, with its riches of promise, implies the sad alternative, which must overtake all who do not heartily receive and obey its doctrines. No one can seriously imagine a religion of hollow compliments and specious disguises to be acceptable in the sight of God: to offer it in the place of a loving heart is to superadd mockery to rebellion. (John Lyth.)

The formalist and the Christian

I. There is a resemblance between the formalist and the Christian in the spirit of hearing and in the respect which is felt for the temple and the minister of the temple. So marvellous has been the spread of Christianity; so thoroughly has it leavened society with its influence, that that which was formerly a badge of shame has become at once a talisman of safety, and a certificate of honour, and the cross, formerly dishonoured and reproachful, is now the sign beneath which armies march to battle. It glitters as the symbol of our faith on the domes of Christian temples, and is traced in baptismal beauty on the foreheads of kings. The sort of respect which conventionalism bears to Christianity affords indirect encouragement to its formal profession. If there yawned the dungeon before every confessor--if the sword flashed over the head of every saint, as over the head of Damocles at the banquet, there might, perhaps, be fewer professors of Christianity, but they would be braver and more sincere. Men would be chary of entering upon their vows, but constant in their adhesion to the faith of their espousal. But now that the earth has taken upon itself to help the woman--now that a prayerless family, or a churchless household has a kind of disgrace affixed to it, it is not at all an uncommon thing that there should be an attachment to the temple and an eager hearkening to its message, in hearts that are as impervious as granite to the reception of the truth, and as set against its vital and quickening power as the most flippant witling who sits in the seat of the scornful.

II. The second point of resemblance between the formalist and the Christian is that the former complies with and has attachment to the ordinances of religion. “And they come unto thee as the people cometh.” They come into the sanctuary with a religious feeling. There is devotion in their responses; there is for the time sincerity in their approach to God. They come and sit just as the people sit--equally decorous, equally interested, equally attentive, equally impressible, and “with their mouth they show much love.” They pay homage to religion, to godliness, they regard it as the chief thing; they are not ashamed to talk about it as they pass down to the business of the day. They are fluent in its praise and in its advocacy. They talk glibly about a life of piety and the charms and hopes of religion, and the unparalleled attractiveness of the heaven to which it leads. They are ready-handed and open-hearted when distress pleads or benevolence prefers her claims. Oh, there are so many excellences about them that it wrings our hearts to think that they lack the one thing which alone can make those excellences of avail.

III. The resemblance between the formalist and the Christian is that the former feels under the minister’s discourse. They are neither heedless nor dissatisfied hearers. They hang upon the minister’s lips, they feast upon his discourse in all the luxury of intellectual pleasure. They have a delight in listening to him as great as when they were enraptured by the tones of some enchantress of song, or as when they sat breathless while the organ swelled out some psalmist’s inner soul. And I think when you consider the sort of ministry under which these people sat you will find there was a deeper emotion roused within them than ever mere elocutionary gratification produced. Ezekiel certainly was no carpet wizard, he was no dealer in literary millinery. He had a soul too brave and a purpose too strong to labour for tropes or to be content with platitudes. Under such a preacher there must have been the stirring of conscience, the convulsions of the heart, the agitation of the whole moral nature, as he brought home conviction of guilt, and launched against them the threatenings of doom. Yes, and so it is now. So it may be now. There may be, or there may not be, connected with the administration of the truth a refinement of intellectual pleasure. Paul may argue forcibly, or Barnabas tenderly win; Elijah may be imperial in his irony, and Ezekiel scorching in his rebuke, for there are diversities of gifts yet, and God hath given to everyone as it hath pleased Him. But there must be--it is inevitable--there must be wherever the Gospel is faithfully and evangelically preached--and I am bold to affirm that there has been faithful preaching, and preaching of the pure Gospel here--there must be impression and conviction--all the works of the accompanying Spirit. If you have felt the song to be sweet and the player to be skilful, you have felt the burning words, the power of the thoughts that have been expressed and impressed by the power of the Spirit upon your heart.

IV. The difference is that in the formalist the heart is not right in the sight of God. They are conscious that while they listen, and that while they are impressed, there is within them a stubborn and a resisting soul which has not been renewed by the washing of regeneration, and by the renewing of the Holy Ghost. They are not only attentive to the Word, but they acknowledge its reality and its momentousness, and yet there is a stubborn will that refuses submission, and an imagination that revels in the unclean chambers of its guilt. And the man, alas, is only beautiful outwardly, like a fair damsel whose cheek rivals the peach bloom, but in whose heart the pale fires burn, or like a gothic sepulchre whose gorgeous architecture conceals the habitations of death. You may alter the pointers and touch the regulators of a watch without ceasing, but if the mainspring is broken you can have no accurate note of time. Every stone in an arch may be proportioned and in its place, but if the keystone is wanting you will never rear it in strength. Bone may come to his bone, and skin may cover them, and it may be fenced with sinew and covered with flesh as the skeleton, but unless the quick pulses are alive with the flowing blood there will be no lighted house of life. Religion is a thing of the heart; it is not a mere dogmatism of creed; it is not a mere timorous morality; it is not even a flatteringly faultless observance of devotion: it is a warm life welling up from a renewed heart; it is a new affection expelling or controlling the old; it is the embodiment of a passion which is neither sordid nor servile, but which in deep gratitude for its deliverance offers itself a living sacrifice, and in the generosity of its ungrudging service can never say, “It is enough.” Do you see the point of difference now? How is it with yourselves? Have you turned to the Lord with full purpose of heart? (W. M. Punshon.)

A false people and a true prophet; or, an old picture of modern life

1. Some people have true prophets. What is it that constitutes a true prophet? Is it superiority of native power? This we hold to be a necessary element. A man must have more brain and heart force than I before he can become my prophet. The man in the pulpit, whose mind is constitutionally inferior to his congregation, is not their true prophet. But although this is necessary, it is not all. There must be, in connection with this, a reigning sympathy with God’s truth, character, and will. This is the inspiration of the true prophet.

2. Some true prophets have false people. People in all ages have wrongly treated the true prophets. Jewish history abounds with examples; and even now, I think, we shall find men treating God’s ministers as Ezekiel was treated by his hearers.

I. They conversed much concerning their prophet.

1. This practice is very common now. To church-going people the minister is one of their most constant themes of conversation.

(1) In some cases this habit implies ignorance.

(2) In some cases it implies depreciation--to find fault with his reasoning, or impugn his motives. By doing so they blunt the edge of his appeal to their conscience.

(3) In some cases it implies pride. Their minister, perhaps, has won some sort of fame.

(4) In some cases it implies superstition. The minister’s virtues and talents are exaggerated. There is no one like him. He has “bewitched” them.

2. This practice is frequently very injurious. It tends to neutralise the power of the ministry. A minister of God is not an individual who is to appear before people merely to be looked at, admired, and talked about; or who is to utter opinions which are to be submitted to criticism, or become points of social converse and debate. But he is an ambassador from God; “in Christ’s stead” he is to beseech men to be reconciled to their Maker.

II. They were interested in the ministry of their prophet They invited each other to his ministrations. “Come, I pray you,” etc. Strangers, observing them pressing their way to the scenes of devotion, or sitting with solemn face and rapt attention in the assembly, or hearing them speak so lovingly and admiringly of the servant of God, might infer that they were saints of the first type. A deep interest in the ministry of a true and talented prophet is no proof of piety. There are many things in such a ministry to interest a man. It meets many of the native cravings of the soul. It meets the desire for excitement. It meets the desire for knowledge. A desire for information and intellectual exercise is common to us all. It meets the desire for happiness. “Who will show us any good?” This is the most vehement cry of humanity, and it is the cry of an impulse that keeps the world in action. The ministry of Divine truth meets it. Its every aim is to reveal “the way of life.”

III. They were spiritually unreformed by the ministry of their prophet.

1. Divine truth is preached, that it may be practised. Unless ideas lead to actions, they have no influence upon character; and unless our character is changed we can never reach happiness, nor obtain the approbation of God.

2. It will never be practised, if the heart go after covetousness.

IV. They were destined to discover, when too late, their terrible mistake in relation to the ministry of their prophet. All attendants on a true ministry will one day feel this--feel that a true prophet had been amongst them. This will be felt by all, in one of three ways--

1. in the reproaches of a guilty conscience.

2. In the felicities of experimental religion.

3. In the mysterious horrors of retribution.

All true prophets will one day be valued; their words will burn in the experience of every soul to whom they have spoken. (Homilist.)

The prophet and the people

I. A beautiful picture. Man is saying to man, “Come, let us hear the word of the Lord.” That is the only thing worth doing. All other things derive their value and importance from that central thought, that vital action. How charming, then, is the idea that man is saying to man, Come, and hear what God the Lord will say; come, and listen to the true music, the only music, and your hearts will be made glad. This invitation expresses the action of a very profound instinct in human nature; not only so, it expresses a need, an aching yearning need of the heart. The heart needs a voice other than human; the soul says, I have not seen all my relatives: I hear their voices, and I like them; some of the tones are good: but the tones are more suggestive than final: I hear the ocean in the shell. Where is that ocean? Where is that mighty roar? I am not content with the shell; I want to go and see the instrument out of which there comes such thunderous, solemn music. So give the soul fair play, let it talk itself right out in all its native frankness, under the inspiration of necessity, rather than under the force of merely mechanical instruction, and the soul cries out for the living God. When the soul is no longer conscious of an aching, a gnawing hunger, the man is dead: he may try to talk himself into a kind of spasmodic life, but in the secret of him he is dead; when the earth satisfies him, when time is enough, when the senses alone bring him all the contentment or all the joy he needs, he is a dead man.

II. A distressing possibility (verse 31). The people come to hear the letter only, and there is no letter so disappointing as the letter of the Bible. If you stop at a certain point you miss everything; you are surrounded by mountains, but they are so high that you cannot see any sky beyond them, and therefore they become by their very hugeness prison walls. Ezekiel’s hearers were formal, not vital. With their mouth they show much love, but their heart goeth after their covetousness. This is not ancient history, whatever else it may be. If Ezekiel could have lived upon “loud cheers” he would have been living now; if he could have satisfied himself with popular applause, he would have reigned as a king: but he said, I do not want your mouth worship, I want to find you at the Cross.

III. Misdirected admiration (verse 32). What is wanted in every congregation is earnestness. No man should come to church except to hear God’s word, and so to hear it as to be compelled to do it. Many men who cannot understand Christian metaphysics can do Christian charities, can exemplify Christian tempers, and so can interpret concretely the subtlest, profoundest metaphysics of Divine thinking. The true metaphysician will by the degree of his truthfulness be compelled to be earnest as well as subtle, and the hero who knows nothing about spiritual metaphysics will see that in doing God’s will he is becoming a great scholar in God’s school.

IV. A too late discovery (verse 33). Who has not heard men complain that they have neglected their educational advantages? They played truant when they were children; they did not attend to the instruction that was given to them; they had an opportunity of becoming really well informed and highly instructed, but they allowed the opportunity to pass by without improvement. Too late! the greatest realisation of loss is that a prophet has vanished, a prophet has been here and gone. Will he not return? Never. Foolish are they who stretch their necks to look over the horizon to see if the prophet is not coming. The prophet is never far away if you really want him. Your mother could be a prophetess to you if you wanted to pray; your father, who is probably not a great scholar in the literal sense, could speak things to you that would open your imagination to new universes if you really wanted to be guided in upward thinking and heavenly action. (J. Parker, D. D.)