This is a very good sermon, rather long but it is worth the time to read it.  I named my son Caleb 18 years ago today and I pray every day that God would create a new heart in him, a heart that  loves Him more than anything else and that he would serve him completely and for the rest of his life!  Happy Birthday to my Caleb!

A Sermon
(No. 538)
Delivered on Sunday Morning, November 1st, 1863, by the
At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington

“But my servant Caleb, because he had another spirit with him, and hath followed me fully, him will I bring into the land whereinto he went; and his seed shall possess it.”—Numbers 14:24.

IT IS A ROUGH NAME that—”Caleb.” Most translators say it signifies “a dog.” But what mattereth a man’s name? Possibly the man himself was somewhat rough: many of the heartiest of men are so. As the unpolished oyster yet beareth within itself the priceless pearl, so ofttimes ruggedness of exterior covereth worth. A dog, moreover, is not all badness, though “Without are dogs and sorcerers.” It hath this virtue, that it followeth its master; and therein this Caleb was well-named; for never dog so followed his master as Caleb followed his God. As we have seen the faithful creature following his master when he is on horseback, through mud, and mire, and dirt, for many a weary mile, even though the horse-heel might wound him, so Caleb keeps close to God; and even if stoning threatens him, yet is he well content to follow the Lord fully. The name, however, has another signification, and we like it rather better: it means “All heart.” Here was a fitting surname for the man, whose whole heart followed his God. He says himself that he brought a report of the land according to all that was in his heart. He was a man of a healthy and mighty spirit; he did nothing heartlessly; his spirit was not the Laodicean lukewarmness, which is neither hot nor cold, but which God spueth out of his mouth—it was a spirit of holy heat, of noble daring. If I may not call him lion-hearted, never lion had a braver heart than he. Many mortals appear to have no heart. They are like corporations of which we are often told, that a corporation has a head; doth it not have a new mayor every year? And yet who ever saw it blush? It certainly hath a mouth, for it swalloweth much—and hands, for it can grasp much—and feet, for it taketh long strides; but whoever heard of a corporation with either bowels, heart, or conscience? In the same manner it may be said of many persons—they have a head to understand and think, and feet to move, and hands to act, but bowels of compassion and a feeling heart they have not. Doubtless you have seen—doubtless you have met persons without hearts. The moment you come into their company you perceive what they are, as readily as the voyager on the Atlantic knows when there is an iceberg in the neighborhood, by the sudden chill which comes over him. You shake the man’s hand—it drops into your hand as cold as a dead fish; the man’s blood is cold as a December frost. You talk with him, but no effort on your part can stir the frozen current of his soul. You begin to speak to him about religion—which he professes to love so much—his words are few, his syllables faint, for his heart is not in the matter. Others we have the privilege of knowing—I trust there are many such in this community—who cannot talk of Jesus without emotion.


“Their pulse with pleasure bounds,
The Master’s name to hear.”

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