Watson's stirring call to spiritual earnestness. Based on Christ's words that "the violent take it by force," this work challenges believers to pursue God with passion.
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Heaven Taken by Storm is Thomas Watson's energetic exposition of Matthew 11:12: "The kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force." Against spiritual complacency and passive religion, Watson argues that true Christianity requires earnest, passionate pursuit of God. The kingdom of heaven is not for the half-hearted but for those who seek it with all their might.
Watson begins by explaining what this "holy violence" means. It is not physical force or fanaticism but intense spiritual desire and determined effort. Just as soldiers storm a fortress, believers must assault the kingdom of heaven with fervent prayer, vigorous self-denial, and unwavering persistence. This violence is directed not against others but against our own sin and sloth.
The treatise examines the objects of this spiritual violence. We must do violence to our own corrupt nature, crucifying the flesh with its passions and desires. We must violence the kingdom of darkness, actively resisting Satan's temptations. We must even do violence to heaven itself through importunate prayer, pleading with God as Jacob wrestled with the angel.
Watson provides practical guidance for cultivating this holy intensity. He addresses the role of meditation in stirring up spiritual fervor, the importance of setting our affections on heavenly things, and the necessity of breaking with sins that dampen our zeal. He warns against the enemies of spiritual earnestness: worldliness, presumption, and spiritual pride.
The work also addresses why such earnestness is necessary. The Christian life involves real enemies—the world, the flesh, and the devil—who must be overcome. Heaven itself is infinitely valuable and deserves our utmost effort. Moreover, our own natural tendency toward spiritual laziness must be continually combated.
For modern readers, Heaven Taken by Storm offers a bracing tonic against spiritual mediocrity. Watson challenges the assumption that Christianity should be comfortable and undemanding. His call to passionate pursuit of God has lost none of its relevance. In an age of distraction and half-heartedness, his message that the kingdom belongs to those who earnestly seek it deserves fresh hearing.
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Introduction: The Kingdom of Heaven Suffers Violence
The Kingdom of Heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force. (Matthew 11:12)
John the Baptist, hearing in prison about the fame of Christ, sent two of his disciples to him with the question: “Art thou he that should come, or do we look for another?” (Matt 11:3). This was not, as Tertullian supposed, because John did not know that Jesus Christ was the true Messiah. John had been confirmed of this both by the Spirit of God and by a sign from heaven (John 1:33). Rather, John was using the occasion to correct the ignorance of his own disciples, who held him in greater esteem than they held Christ.
In verse 4, Christ answers their question: “Go and shew John again those things which ye do hear and see; the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed.” Jesus Christ demonstrates himself to be the true Messiah through miracles that were real and visible proofs of his divine nature. After John’s disciples departed, Christ broke into a high and generous commendation of John the Baptist. “What went ye out into the wilderness to see?” he asks in verse 7, “a reed shaken with the wind?” Christ’s meaning is that John was no unstable man, shifting in his mind and blown from one opinion to another like a reed. He was no Reuben, unstable as water (Gen 49:4). He was fixed and resolute in religion, and even prison could not change him.
Verse 8 continues: “But what went ye out for to see? a man clothed in soft raiment?” John did not indulge his senses. He wore not silks but camel’s hair, and he chose not the court but the wilderness (Matt 3:3-4).
Christ also commends John as his forerunner, the one who prepared the way before him (verse 10). John was the morning star that preceded the Sun of Righteousness. And to honor this holy man sufficiently, Christ does not merely place him alongside the greatest prophets but sets him above them. “What went ye out for to see? a prophet? yea, I say unto you, and more than a prophet” (verse 9). “Among them that are born of women, there hath not risen a greater than John the Baptist” (verse 11). John was distinguished both by the dignity of his office and the clarity of his teaching. With that, the text is introduced: “From the days of John the Baptist until now, the Kingdom of Heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.” In these words there is:
1. The preface or introduction: “from the days of John the Baptist until now.” John the Baptist was a zealous preacher, a Boanerges, a son of thunder, and after his preaching people began to be awakened out of their sins.
Hence we learn what kind of ministry is most likely to do good: namely, one that works upon the consciences of men. John the Baptist lifted up his voice like a trumpet, preaching the doctrine of repentance with power (Matt 3:2). He came cutting down men’s sins, and afterwards preached Christ to them. First, he poured in the vinegar of the law, then the wine of the gospel. This was the kind of preaching that made men earnestly seek after heaven. John did not preach so much to please as to profit; he chose to expose men’s sins rather than display his own eloquence. The best mirror is not the most ornate one, but the one that shows the truest reflection. The preaching most worth having is that which makes the clearest discovery of men’s sins and shows them their own hearts. John the Baptist was a burning and shining light: he burned in his doctrine and shone in his life, and from that time men pressed into heaven. Peter, filled with a spirit of zeal, having humbled his hearers for their sins and opened to them a fountain in Christ’s blood, found that they were then “pricked at their heart” (Acts 2:37). It is the greatest mercy to have a soul-searching ministry. If a man had a desperate wound, he would want it probed to the bottom. Who would not be willing to have his soul searched, if by that means it might be saved?
2. The matter in the text: “the Kingdom of Heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.”
Question: What is meant by the Kingdom of Heaven?
Some interpret it as the doctrine of the gospel, which reveals Christ and heaven. So Erasmus.
But I take the Kingdom of Heaven to mean glory, and in this I follow the learned Beza and others.
This Kingdom “suffereth violence.”
It is a metaphor drawn from a town or castle that holds out in war and cannot be taken except by storm. So the Kingdom of Heaven will not be taken without violence; “the violent take it by force.”
The earth is inherited by the meek (Matt 5:5). Heaven is inherited by the violent. Our life is military: Christ is our captain, the gospel is the banner, the graces are our spiritual artillery, and heaven is taken only by force. The words fall into two parts:
The right way to take heaven is by storm; or to put it plainly, none get into heaven but violent ones. This violence has a twofold aspect. It concerns men as magistrates, who must be violent.
1. In punishing the guilty. When Aaron’s Urim and Thummim will do no good, Moses must come with his rod. The wicked are like the bad humors and excess of the commonwealth, which the care of magistracy must purge out. God has placed governors “for the terror of evil doers” (1 Pet 2:14). They must not be like the swordfish, which has a sword in its head but no heart to use it. They must not hold a sword in their hand while lacking the heart to draw it out against impiety. Tolerance in a magistrate supports vice; by not punishing offenders he adopts other men’s faults and makes them his own. Magistracy without zeal is like a body without its vital spirits. Too much leniency emboldens sin, and does nothing but shave the head that deserves to be cut off.
2. In defending the innocent. The magistrate is the asylum and altar of refuge to which the oppressed may flee. Charles, duke of Calabria, loved doing justice so much that he had a bell hung at his palace gate. Whoever rang it was sure to be admitted immediately into the duke’s presence, or to have officers sent out to hear his case. Aristides was famous for his justice, of whom the historian says he would never favor a man’s cause because he was a friend, nor do injustice to any man because he was an enemy. The magistrate’s scales are the oppressed man’s shield.
This violence concerns men as Christians. Though heaven is given to us freely, we must still contend for it. “What thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might” (Eccles 9:10). Our work is great, our time is short, and our master is urgent. We need therefore to summon all the powers of our souls and strive as in a matter of life and death, so that we may arrive at the kingdom above. We must not only put forth diligence, but violence. To illustrate and clarify the proposition, I will show:
1. What violence is not meant here. This violence in the text excludes:
a) An ignorant violence, which is being violent for something we do not understand. “As I passed by and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this inscription, To the unknown God” (Acts 17:23). These Athenians were violent in their devotion, but it could be said to them, as Christ said to the woman of Samaria, “Ye worship ye know not what” (John 4:22). The Catholics are similarly violent in their religion, as their penances, fasting, and self-laceration until blood flows make plain, but it is a zeal without knowledge; their energy is better than their sight. When Aaron was to burn incense on the altar, he first had to light the lamps (Exod 30:7-8). When zeal burns like incense, the lamp of knowledge must be lit first.
b) It excludes a bloody violence, which is twofold.
i. When a person goes to lay violent hands on himself. The body is an earthly prison where God has placed the soul; we must not break out of prison, but wait until God lets us out through death. A sentinel is not to leave his post without leave from his captain, and we must not dare to leave this life without God’s leave. Our bodies are the temples of the Holy Ghost (1 Cor 6:19), and when we do violence to them, we destroy God’s temple. The lamp of life must burn as long as any natural moisture remains, like oil to feed it.
ii. When a person takes away the life of another. There is far too much of this violence today. No sin has a louder voice than blood. “The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground” (Gen 4:10). If there is a curse for the one who strikes his neighbor secretly (Deut 27:24), then the one who kills him is doubly cursed. If a man had slain another unintentionally, he could take sanctuary and flee to the altar; but if he had done it willingly, the holiness of the place was not to protect him. “If a man come presumptuously upon his neighbour to slay him with guile, thou shalt take him from mine altar that he may die” (Exod 21:14). Joab, being a man of blood, King Solomon sought to slay him even though he caught hold of the horns of the altar (1 Kgs 2:28-34). In Bohemia, formerly, the murderer was to be beheaded and placed in the same coffin as the man he had killed. So we see what violence the text excludes.
2. What violence is meant here; it is an holy violence. This is twofold.
a) We must be violent for the truth. Here Pilate’s question will be raised: “What is truth?” Truth is either the blessed word of God, which is called the Word of Truth, or those doctrines deduced from the Word that agree with it as a sundial agrees with the sun, or a copy with its original: the doctrine of the Trinity, the doctrine of creation, the doctrine of free grace, justification by the blood of Christ, regeneration, the resurrection of the dead, and the life of glory. For these truths we must be violent, either by being their advocates or their martyrs.
Truth is the most glorious thing; even the smallest shaving of this gold is precious. What else should we be violent for, if not for truth? Truth is ancient; its grey hairs make it venerable, for it comes from him who is the Ancient of Days. Truth is unerring; it is the star that leads to Christ. Truth is pure (Ps 119:140); it is compared to silver refined seven times (Ps 12:6). There is not the least spot on truth’s face, and it breathes nothing but holiness. Truth is triumphant; it is like a great conqueror who, when all his enemies lie dead, holds the field and raises his trophies of victory. Truth may be opposed, but it can never be fully deposed. In the time of Diocletian, things seemed desperate and truth ran low, but soon after came the golden age of Constantine, and truth lifted up its head again. When the water in the Thames is at its lowest, a high tide is ready to come in. God is on truth’s side, and so long as that is so, there is no fear that truth will not prevail. The heavens being on fire shall be dissolved (2 Pet 3:12), but not that truth which came from heaven (1 Pet 1:25).
Truth has noble effects. Truth is the seed of the new birth. God does not regenerate us by miracles or revelations, but by the word of truth (Jas 1:18). As truth is the breeder of grace, so it is also the feeder of it (1 Tim 4:6). Truth sanctifies: “Sanctify them by thy truth” (John 17:17). Truth is the seal that leaves the print of its own holiness upon us; it is both a mirror to show us our blemishes and a basin to wash them away. Truth makes us free (John 8:32); it strikes off the fetters of sin and brings us into a state of sonship (Rom 8:11) and kingship (Rev 1:6). Truth is comforting; this wine cheers the heart. When David’s harp and viol could give him no comfort, truth did: “This is my comfort in my affliction: for thy word hath quickened me” (Ps 119:50). Truth is an antidote against error. Error is the adultery of the mind; it stains the soul as treason stains the blood. Error damns as surely as vice does. A man may die by poison just as well as by a pistol, and nothing can ward off error but truth. The reason so many have been lured into error is that they either did not know the truth or did not love it. I can never say enough in honor of truth.
Truth is the ground of our faith; it gives us an exact model of religion and shows us what we are to believe. Take away truth, and our faith becomes mere fancy. Truth is the finest flower in the church’s crown. We have no richer jewel to entrust to God than our souls, and he has no richer jewel to entrust to us than his truth. Truth is a mark of honor; it distinguishes us from the false church as chastity distinguishes a virtuous woman from a harlot. In short, truth is the bulwark of a nation. In 2 Chronicles 11:17 it is said that the Levites, who were the standard-bearers of truth, strengthened the kingdom. Truth may be compared to the Capitol of Rome, which was a place of the greatest strength, or to the Tower of David, on which “there hang a thousand shields” (Song 4:4). Our forts and navies do not strengthen us as much as truth does. Truth is the best militia of a kingdom; if we ever part with truth and embrace error, the lock is cut where our strength lies. What, then, should we be violent for, if not for truth? We are commanded to contend as in an agony “for the faith which was once delivered unto the saints” (Jude 3). If truth is once gone, we may write this epitaph on England’s tombstone: “Thy glory is departed.”
b) This holy violence is also seen when we are violent for our own salvation: “Give all diligence to make your calling and election sure” (2 Pet 1:10). The Greek word here signifies an anxious carefulness, a serious turning of one’s thoughts toward the business of eternity, the kind of care that sets both head and heart to work. Into this channel of religion all a Christian’s zeal should flow.
What Holy Violence Is
The third thing is, what is implied in this holy violence. It implies three things:
1. Resolution of the will (Ps 119:106). “I have sworn and will perform it, that I will keep thy righteous judgments.” Whatever stands in the way to heaven, though there be a lion in the path, I will face it. Like a resolute commander who charges through the whole body of the enemy’s army, the Christian is determined that, come what may, he will have heaven. Where this resolution exists, danger must be despised, difficulties trampled upon, and terrors scorned. This is the first thing in holy violence: resolution of will. I will have heaven whatever it costs me, and this resolution must be sustained in the strength of Christ.
Resolution is like the bias in a bowl, which carries it powerfully in one direction. Where there is only half a resolution, a will to be saved alongside a will to follow sin, it is impossible to be violent for heaven. If a traveler is irresolute, he will sometimes ride one way and sometimes another; he is violent for neither.
2. Vigor of the affections. The will proceeds upon reason. When the judgment has been informed of the excellence of a state of glory, and the will has resolved upon a voyage to that holy land. The affections follow, and they are set on fire with passionate longing after heaven. The affections are violent things (Ps 42:2). “My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God.” The Rabbis note here that David does not say “My soul hungereth” but “thirsteth,” because we are naturally more impatient of thirst than of hunger. See with what a rapid, violent motion David’s affections were carried after God. The affections are like the wings of a bird, which make the soul swift in its flight after glory. Where the affections are stirred up, there is violence being offered toward heaven.
3. This violence implies strength of endeavor, when we strive for salvation as though it were a matter of life and death. It is easy to talk of heaven, but not easy to get there. We must put forth all our strength, and indeed call in the help of heaven itself for this work.
The fourth thing is, how many ways a Christian must offer violence: four ways. He must offer violence to:
Holy Violence Against Ourselves: Mortifying Sin
He must offer violence to himself: this self-violence consists in two things:
1. Offering violence to oneself in a spiritual sense consists in the mortification of sin: self is the flesh, and this we must offer violence to. Jerome, Chrysostom, and Theophylact all interpret taking heaven by force as the mortifying of the flesh. The flesh is a traitor in our own bosom; it is like the Trojan horse inside the walls, doing all the damage from within. The flesh is a subtle enemy: at first it is a sweet poison, and afterward a stinging scorpion; it kills by embracing. The flesh's embrace is like ivy embracing an oak, drawing out the oak's very strength to feed its own leaves and berries. In the same way, the flesh through its soft embrace sucks out all heart for what is good (Gal 5:17): “The flesh lusteth against the spirit.” To pamper the flesh is to quench God's Spirit. The flesh chokes and stifles holy impulses, takes Satan's side, and serves his interests faithfully. There is a faction within us that will not pray and will not believe. The flesh inclines us to trust a temptation sooner than a promise. No wind needs to blow us toward sin when this inward tide runs so strongly in that direction. Because the flesh is so close to us, its counsel is all the more persuasive; no chain of iron binds as tightly as the chain of lust. Alexander, who was conqueror of the world, was himself led captive by vice. A man must therefore offer violence to his fleshly desires if he is to be saved (Col 3:5): “Mortify therefore your members which are upon the earth.” To mortify and kill sin at the root means not only refraining from sinful acts but hating sin's very presence within us. As Bernard observed, most people scrape away their sins rather than pulling them out by the root.
Indeed, even where sin has received its deadly wound and has been partly subdued, the work of mortification must not be set aside. The apostle urges the believing Romans to “mortify the deeds of the flesh” (Rom 8:13). In the best of saints there is still something that needs mortifying: much pride, envy, and passion. This is why mortification is called crucifixion (Gal 5:24), which is not accomplished in a moment; every day some limb of the “body of death” must drop away. Cyril observes that nothing is harder than rock, yet weeds will fasten their roots in its clefts. No one is stronger than a believer, yet do what he will, sin will fasten its roots in him and spring up at times through disordered desires. There is always something that needs mortifying. This is why Paul “beat down his body” through prayer, watching, and fasting (1 Cor 9:27).
Objection: But is it not said in Ephesians 5:29 that “no man ever hated his own flesh”?
Answer: When flesh is understood in its physical sense, as the body's constitution, it is indeed to be cared for. But when flesh is understood in its theological sense, as the impure lustings of the flesh, a man must hate his own flesh. The apostle says, “Fleshly lusts war against the soul” (1 Pet 2:11). If the flesh wages war against us, we have every reason to wage war against the flesh.
Question: How may one offer violence to oneself in mortifying the flesh?
1. Withdraw the fuel that makes lust burn. Avoid all temptations, and take care of whatever nourishes sin. A person who wants to suppress gout or kidney stones avoids the foods that aggravate them. Those who pray that they may not be led into temptation (Matt 6:13) must not lead themselves into temptation.
2. Fight against fleshly lusts with spiritual weapons: faith and prayer. The best way to fight sin is on our knees. Run to the promise of Romans 6:14, “Sin shall not have dominion over you,” or as the Greek has it, sin shall not lord it over you. Beg strength from Christ (Phil 4:13). Samson's strength lay in his hair; ours lies in our head, which is Christ. This is one way of offering violence to oneself through mortification. It remains a mystery to most of the world, who would rather gratify the flesh than mortify it.
2. The second thing in which offering violence to oneself consists is in provocation to duty. We offer holy violence to ourselves when we excite and provoke ourselves toward what is good. Scripture calls this “stirring up ourselves to take hold of God” (Isa 64:7). Consider:
a) What absolute need there is to stir ourselves up to holy duties.
Our hearts are sluggish toward spiritual things; blunt tools need sharpening, and a dull creature needs spurs. Because our hearts are heavy and slow in the things of God, we need to spur them on and provoke them toward what is good. The flesh resists duty: when we would pray, the flesh pushes back; when we should suffer, the flesh draws back. How hard it sometimes is to get our own hearts to seek God! Jesus Christ went more willingly to the cross than we go to the throne of grace. Don't we need, then, to provoke ourselves to duty? If our hearts are so out of tune in religion, we need to prepare them and bring them back into tune.
The exercises of God's worship are contrary to nature, so we must provoke ourselves to them. The soul's motion toward sin is natural, but its motion toward heaven is forced. A stone moves easily toward the center; it has an inborn tendency downward. But to lift a millstone into the air requires force, because it goes against nature. In the same way, lifting the heart to heaven in duty is done by force, and we must provoke ourselves to it.
b) What it means to provoke ourselves to duty.
i. It means to awaken ourselves and shake off spiritual sloth. Holy David awakened his tongue and heart when he went about God's service: “Awake up my glory, I myself will awaken early” (Ps 57:9). He felt a drowsiness and dullness in his soul, and so provoked himself to duty. Christians, though raised from the death of sin, often fall asleep.
ii. Provoking ourselves to duty also means uniting and rallying all the powers of our soul and setting them to work in the exercises of religion. A man says to his thoughts, “Be fixed on God in this duty,” and to his affections, “Serve the Lord without distraction.” The things of religion are to be done with intensity of spirit.
Holy Violence in Reading the Word
The third thing is to show the several duties of Christianity, in which we must provoke and offer violence to ourselves; I shall name seven.
We must provoke ourselves to reading of the word. What infinite mercy it is that God has honored us with the Scriptures! The barbarous Indians have not the oracles of God made known to them: they have the golden mines, but not the Scriptures, which are more to be desired “than much fine gold” (Ps 19:10). Our Savior bids us “search the Scriptures” (John 5:39). We must not read these holy lines carelessly, as if they did not concern us, or run through them hastily, as Israel ate the Passover in haste; but study them with reverence and seriousness. The noble Bereans “searched the Scriptures daily” (Acts 17:11). Scripture is the great compendium of divine knowledge; it is the rule and touchstone of truth; from this well we draw the water of life. To stir up diligent reading of the word, labor to have a right understanding of what Scripture is.
Read the word as a book made by God himself. It is given “by divine inspiration” (2 Tim 3:16). It is the library of the Holy Spirit. The prophets and apostles were simply God's secretaries, writing down his law at his dictation. The word is of divine origin, and it reveals the deep things of God to us. That there is a God is engraved in the human heart and can be read in the book of creation, where every blade of grass speaks of him. But who this God is, and the Trinity of persons in the Godhead, lies infinitely beyond the reach of reason. Only God himself could make these things known. So too with the incarnation of Christ, God and man personally united in one person; the mystery of imputed righteousness; the doctrine of faith: what angel in heaven (who but God himself) could have revealed these things to us? How powerfully this should provoke us to diligence and seriousness in reading the word, which is divinely inspired. Other books may be written by holy men, but this book was composed by the Holy Spirit himself.
Read the word as a perfect rule of faith; it contains everything essential to salvation. “I adore the fullness of Scripture,” says Tertullian. The word teaches us how to please God and how to order our lives in the world; it instructs us in everything that belongs to either wisdom or godliness. How carefully and reverently we should read the word, when it contains a perfect pattern of religion and is able to “make us wise to salvation” (2 Tim 3:15).
When you read the word, look on it as a treasury that enriches the soul. Search here as for “a vein of silver” (Prov 2:4). Scattered throughout this word are many divine truths; gather them up as so many jewels. This blessed book enriches you: it fills your head with knowledge and your heart with grace, and it stores you with promises. A man may be rich in bonds. In this field the pearl of great price is yours (Matt 13:46). What are all the world's riches compared to these? Islands of spices, coasts of pearl, rocks of diamonds? These are only the riches that even the reprobate may possess, but the word gives us those riches which belong to angels.
Read the word as a book of evidences. How carefully does one read over his evidences? Would you know whether God is your God? Search the records of Scripture: “Hereby we know he abides in us by his spirit he hath given us” (1 John 3:24). Would you know whether you are heirs of the promise? You must find it in these sacred writings: “He hath chosen us to salvation through sanctification” (2 Thes 2:13). Those who are vessels of grace shall be vessels of glory.
Look upon the word as a spiritual armory, from which you draw all your weapons to fight against sin and Satan.
1. Here are weapons to fight against sin. The word of God is a consecrated sword that cuts through the lusts of the heart. When pride begins to rise, the sword of the Spirit destroys it: “God resists the proud” (1 Pet 5:5). When passion breaks out, the word of God beats down that angry fury: “Anger rests in the bosom of fools” (Eccl 7:9). When lust boils over, the word of God cools that intemperate heat: “No unclean person hath any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ” (Eph 5:5).
2. Here are weapons to fight against Satan. The word fends off temptation. When the devil tempted Christ, he three times wounded the old serpent with the sword of the Spirit: “It is written” (Matt 4:7). Satan never defeats a Christian more easily than when that Christian is unarmed and without the weapons of Scripture.
Look upon the word as a spiritual mirror to dress yourselves by. It is a looking-glass for the blind (Ps 19:8). In ordinary mirrors you may see your faces; in this mirror you may see your hearts: “Through thy precepts I get understanding” (Ps 119:104). This looking-glass of the word clearly reflects Christ, setting him forth in his person, nature, and offices as most precious and worthy of our choice: “He is altogether lovely” (Song 5:16). He is a wonder of beauty, a paradise of delight. Christ, who was veiled in types, is clearly revealed in the mirror of Scripture.
Look upon the word as a book of spiritual remedies. Basil compares the word to an apothecary's shop, stocked with every kind of medicine and antidote. If you find yourselves lifeless in duty, here is a remedy: “Thy word hath quickened me” (Ps 119:50). If you find your hearts hard, the word melts and softens them, which is why it is compared to fire for its power to make hard things yield (Jer 23:29). If you are poisoned with sin, here is an herb to expel it.
Look upon the word as a sovereign remedy to comfort you in distress. It comforts you against all your sins, temptations, and afflictions. What are the promises but divine tonics to revive fainting souls? A gracious heart feeds on a promise as Samson fed on the honeycomb (Judg 14:9). The word comforts against sickness and death: “O death, where is thy sting?” (1 Cor 15:55). A Christian dies embracing the promise, as Simeon embraced Christ (Heb 11:16).
Read the word as the last will and testament of Christ. Many legacies are given here to those who love him: pardon of sin, adoption, consolation. This will is in force, having been sealed in Christ's blood. Consider how carefully a child reads over his father's will and testament to see what has been left to him.
Read it as a book by which you will be judged (John 12:48). “The word I have spoken shall judge him at the last day.” Those who live according to the rules of this book will be acquitted; those who live contrary to them will be condemned. There are two books God will go by: the book of Conscience and the book of Scripture. One will serve as the witness, and the other as the judge. How earnestly, then, should every Christian stir himself to read this book of God with care and devotion! This is the book by which God will proceed at the last. Those who flee from the word as a guide will be forced to submit to it as a judge.
Thomas Watson (c. 1620-1686) was an English Puritan preacher and author known for his practical, warm, and accessible theological writings. Educated at Cambridge, he served as rector of St. Stephen's Walbrook in London for sixteen years before being ejected in 1662 for refusing to conform to the Act of Uniformity. He continued to preach privately until the Declaration of Indulgence in 1672 allowed him to obtain a license. Watson's works, including A Body of Divinity, The Doctrine of Repentance, and All Things for Good, are characterized by memorable illustrations, practical applications, and warm piety. His ability to make profound truths accessible to ordinary believers made him one of the most beloved Puritan authors. His writings have remained continuously in print and continue to nourish Christians across denominational lines.
I really enjoyed this book. Watson's advice was practical. The editors really made this accessible.
