convicted of sin by the Spirit, but it is the Spirit working through the preaching of Spirit-filled men.  “And he, when he is come, will convict the world [the Jewish world or age] in respect of sin, because they believe not on me.”  They called him a blasphemer, they rejected him, they took him with wicked hands and crucified and slew him; and the first thrust of the Spirit on the day of Pentecost was at this sinful act of the world:  “This same Jesus whom ye took with wicked hands and crucified and slew, God hath raised him up and made him both Lord and Christ.”

(2) “Of righteousness, because I go to the Father, and ye behold me no more.”  If this passage teaches that men are individually convicted of sin, it also teaches that they are individually convicted of righteousness, and this would be a most herculean task, even for the Spirit, to perform.  It is a contradiction of terms to say that the Spirit convicts a man of sin, then, in the next breath, that he convicts the same man of righteousness.  And yet, the Spirit was to convict men “of righteousness”; but whose righteousness? The righteousness of Jesus Christ.  “Of righteousness, because I go to the Father, and ye behold me no more.”  When Jesus was on earth he claimed to be the Son of God; he claimed to come down from heaven; he claimed to be God manifest in the flesh; but, at the same time, he was a “man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.”  “There was no beauty that we should desire him.”  On this account the Jews refused to accept him as the Son of God; they denied his claim to divinity and called him a blasphemer for making himself equal with God; they believed that he was unrighteous in making that claim, and Jesus died because his claims were not accepted by his people; but after his death he was crowned with glory and honor at the right hand of the Majesty on high, and the Spirit came to demonstrate the righteous claims Jesus made while on earth.  The Spirit came to convict men of the righteousness of Christ, and not their own righteousness.  A simple illustration will probably throw light upon this thought.  Forty years ago my father lived in a little village in the State of Illinois, midway between St. Louis and Indianapolis.  One afternoon two young lads, covered with dust and toilworn, came to his house and told him they were sons of an elder of a Christian Church in Indiana; that they had been robbed in St. Louis, and were making their way home on foot; they asked for something to eat.  My father doubted their claims; he felt that they were impostors; but my mother, who had boys of her own out in the world, and who always believed the best of everybody, said:  “We will feed them and care for them during the night.”  Their wants were supplied, and they were given lodging for the night, and sent on their way the next morning with a good lunch for the day.  Six months afterward, I preached in Monroe County, Indiana, and, stopping with one of the elders of the church, two young lads