August 8, Morning

C. H. Spurgeon · Modern retelling

"They weave the spider's web." — Isaiah 59:5 · KJV

See the spider's web, and behold in it a telling picture of the hypocrite's religion. It is meant to catch his prey: the spider fattens on flies, and the Pharisee has his reward. Foolish people are easily trapped by the loud professions of pretenders, and even the wiser cannot always escape — Philip baptized Simon Magus, whose crafty profession of faith was so soon exposed by Peter's stern rebuke. Custom, reputation, praise, and advancement are the small game the hypocrite takes in his net. A spider's web is a marvel of skill; look and admire the cunning hunter's craft. Is a deceiver's religion not just as wonderful? How does he make so bare a lie look like truth, and make his tinsel serve so well for gold? A spider's web comes wholly from the creature's own body. The bee gathers her wax from flowers; the spider draws from no flower, yet spins out her thread to any length. So the hypocrite finds his trust and hope within himself; his anchor was forged on his own anvil, his cable twisted by his own hands. He lays his own foundation and hews the pillars of his own house, scorning to be indebted to the sovereign grace of God. But a spider's web is very frail — curiously wrought, yet not made to last, no match for the servant's broom or the traveler's staff. The hypocrite needs no cannon to blow his hope to pieces; a mere puff of wind will do it. Such cobwebs come down quickly when the broom of destruction begins its cleansing work. And this reminds us of one thing more: such cobwebs are not to be endured in the Lord's house; He will see to it that they, and those who spin them, are destroyed for ever. O my soul, rest on something better than a spider's web: be the Lord Jesus your eternal hiding place.