Convicted Through Ryle

My heart doubts, and still it wishes to sin, and still it wishes to acquiesce to that weakness which will continue from time to time to overpower it till the day I die. Shall I repent of my Lord’s Day theatre-going, and shall I commend one day in seven to true rest? Bishop Ryle’s sermon on the Christian Sabbath exposes me, and perhaps his eye is not alarmist, and perhaps all society is in far poorer a condition of ungodliness than we think.

Shabbat dinner table. Photograph by feministjulie on Flickr.

Let no practical impediment stand in the way of my submission to the great King above all gods. Though I live in no visible commonwealth of the Lord whose constitution’s rooted in Zion’s glory, though the law pays Christ no word-homage, though I am but a stranger within the gates, let me do as holy Scripture tells me, and perhaps I may also be spared from mental shipwreck. Read the sermon to your ears, and tell me what you think.

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