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The World's Great Sermons, Volume 03: Massillon to Mason

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Title: The World's Great Sermons, Volume 03: Massillon to Mason

Editor: Grenville Kleiser


        
Release date: March 1, 2004 [eBook #11713]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD'S GREAT SERMONS, VOLUME 03: MASSILLON TO MASON ***

THE WORLD'S GREAT SERMONS


_COMPILED BY_

GRENVILLE KLEISER

Formerly of Yale Divinity School Faculty; Author of "How to Speak in
Public," Etc.

With Assistance from Many of the Foremost Living Preachers and Other
Theologians


INTRODUCTION BY LEWIS O. BRASTOW, D.D.

Professor Emeritus of Practical Theology in Yale University


VOLUME III

MASSILLON TO MASON

1908




CONTENTS


VOLUME III


MASSILLON (1663-1742).
The Small Number of the Elect

SAURIN (1677-1730).
Paul Before Felix and Drusilla

EDWARDS (1703-1758).
Spiritual Light

WESLEY (1703-1791).
God's Love to Fallen Man

WHITEFIELD (1714-1770).
The Method of Grace

BLAIR (1718-1800).
The Hour and the Event of all Time

DWIGHT (1752-1817).
The Sovereignty of God

ROBERT HALL (1764-1831).
Marks of Love to God

EVANS (1766-1838).
The Fall and Recovery of Man

SCHLEIERMACHER (1768-1834).
Christ's Resurrection an Image of our New Life

MASON (1770-1829).
Messiah's Throne




MASSILLON

THE SMALL NUMBER OF THE ELECT

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


Jean Baptiste Massillon was born in 1663, at Hyères, in Provence,
France. He first attracted notice as a pulpit orator by his funeral
sermons as the Archbishop of Vienne, which led to his preferment from
his class of theology at Meaux to the presidency of the Seminary
of Magloire at Paris. His conferences at Paris showed remarkable
spiritual insight and knowledge of the human heart. He was a favorite
preacher of Louis XIV and Louis XV, and after being appointed bishop
of Clermont in 1719 he was also nominated to the French Academy. In
1723 he took final leave of the capital and retired to his see, where
he lived beloved by all until his death in 1742.




MASSILLON

1662-1742

THE SMALL NUMBER OF THE ELECT

_And many lepers were in Israel in the time of Eliseus the prophet;
and none of them was cleansed, saving Naaman the Syrian_.--Luke iv.,
27.


Every day, my brethren, you continue to ask of us, whether the road to
heaven is really so difficult, and the number of the saved really so
small as we represent? To a question so often proposed, and still
oftener resolved, our Savior answers you here, that there were many
widows in Israel afflicted with famine; but the widow of Sarepta was
alone found worthy the succor of the prophet Elias; that the number
of lepers was great in Israel in the time of the prophet Eliseus; and
that Naaman was only cured by the man of God.

Were I here, my brethren, for the purpose of alarming, rather than
instructing you, I had only to recapitulate what in the holy writings
we find dreadful with regard to this great truth; and, running over
the history of the just, from age to age, show you that, in all times,
the number of the saved has been very small. The family of Noah alone
saved from the general flood; Abraham chosen from among men to be the
sole depositary of the covenant with God; Joshua and Caleb the only
two of six hundred thousand Hebrews who saw the Land of Promise;
Job the only upright man in the land of Uz; Lot, in Sodom. To
representations so alarming, would have succeeded the sayings of the
prophets. In Isaiah you would see the elect as rare as the grapes
which are found after the vintage, and have escaped the search of the
gatherer; as rare as the blades which remain by chance in the field,
and have escaped the scythe of the mower. The evangelist would still
have added new traits to the terrors of these images. I might have
spoken to you of two roads--of which one is narrow, rugged, and the
path of a very small number; the other broad, open, and strewed with
flowers, and almost the general path of men: that everywhere, in the
holy writings, the multitude is always spoken of as forming the party
of the reprobate; while the saved, compared with the rest of mankind,
form only a small flock, scarcely perceptible to the sight. I would
have left you in fears with regard to your salvation; always cruel to
those who have not renounced faith and every hope of being among the
saved. But what would it serve to limit the fruits of this instruction
to the single point of setting forth how few persons will be saved?
Alas! I would make the danger known, without instructing you how to
avoid it; I would allow you, with the prophet, the sword of the wrath
of God suspended over your heads, without assisting you to escape the
threatened blow; I would alarm but not instruct the sinner.

My intention is, to-day, to search for the cause of this small number,
in our morals and manner of life. As every one flatters himself he
will not be excluded, it is of importance to examine if his confidence
be well founded. I wish not, in marking to you the causes which render
salvation so rare, to make you generally conclude that few will be
saved, but to bring you to ask yourselves if, living as you live, you
can hope to be saved. Who am I? What am I doing for heaven? And what
can be my hopes in eternity? I propose no other order in a matter of
such importance. What are the causes which render salvation so rare?
I mean to point out three principal causes, which is the only
arrangement of this discourse. Art, and far-sought reasonings, would
be ill-timed. Oh, attend, therefore, be ye whom ye may. No subject can
be more worthy your attention, since it goes to inform you what may be
the hopes of your eternal destiny.

Few are saved, because in that number we can only comprehend two
descriptions of persons: either those who have been so happy as to
preserve their innocence pure and undefiled, or those who, after
having lost, have regained it by penitence. This is the first cause.
There are only these two ways of salvation: heaven is only open to
the innocent or to the penitent. Now, of which party are you? Are you
innocent? Are you penitent?

Nothing unclean shall enter the kingdom of God. We must consequently
carry there either an innocence unsullied, or an innocence regained.
Now to die innocent is a grace to which few souls can aspire; and to
live penitent is a mercy which the relaxed state of our morals renders
equally rare. Who, indeed, will pretend to salvation by the chain of
innocence? Where are the pure souls in whom sin has never dwelt, and
who have preserved to the end the sacred treasure of grace confided to
them by baptism, and which our Savior will redemand at the awful day
of punishment?

In those happy days when the whole Church was still but an assembly of
saints, it was very uncommon to find an instance of a believer who,
after having received the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and acknowledged
Jesus Christ in the sacrament which regenerates us, fell back to his
former irregularities of life. Ananias and Sapphira were the only
prevaricators in the Church of Jerusalem; that of Corinth had only one
incestuous sinner. Church penitence was then a remedy almost unknown;
and scarcely was there found among these true Israelites one single
leper whom they were obliged to drive from the holy altar, and
separate from communion with his brethren. But since that time the
number of the upright diminishes in proportion, as that of believers
increases. It would appear that the world, pretending now to have
become almost generally Christian, has; brought with it into the
Church its corruptions and its maxims.

Alas! we all go astray, almost from the breast of our mothers! The
first use which we make of our heart is a crime; our first desires.
are passions; and our reason only expands and increases on the wrecks
of our innocence. The earth, says a prophet, is infected by the
corruption of those who inhabit it: all have violated the laws,
changed the ordinances, and broken the alliance which should have
endured forever: all commit sin, and scarcely is there one to be found
who does the work of the Lord. Injustice, calumny, lying, treachery,
adultery, and the blackest crimes have deluged the earth. The brother
lays snares for his brother; the father is divided from his children;
the husband from his wife: there is no tie which a vile interest does
not sever. Good faith and probity are no longer virtues except among
the simple people. Animosities are endless; reconciliations are
feints, and never is a former enemy regarded as a brother: they tear,
they devour each other. Assemblies are no longer but for the purpose
of public and general censure. The purest virtue is no longer a
protection from the malignity of tongues. Gaming is become either
a trade, a fraud, or a fury. Repasts--those innocent ties of
society--degenerate into excesses of which we dare not speak. Our age
witnesses horrors with which our forefathers were unacquainted.

Behold, then, already one path of salvation shut to the generality of
men. All have erred. Be ye whom ye may, listen to me now, the time
has been when sin reigned over you. Age may perhaps have calmed your
passions, but what was your youth? Long and habitual infirmities
may perhaps have disgusted you with the world; but what use did you
formerly make of the vigor of health? A sudden inspiration of grace
may have turned your heart, but do you not most fervently entreat
that every moment prior to that inspiration may be effaced from the
remembrance of the Lord?

But with what am I taking up time? We are all sinners, O my God! and
Thou knowest our hearts! What we know of our errors is, perhaps, in
Thy sight, the most pardonable; and we all allow that by innocence
we have no claim to salvation. There remains, therefore, only one
resource, which is penitence. After our shipwreck, say the saints, it
is the timely plank which alone can conduct us into port; there is no
other means of salvation for us. Be ye whom ye may, prince or subject,
high or low, penitence alone can save you. Now permit me to ask where
are the penitent? You will find more, says a holy father, who have
never fallen, than who, after their fall, have raised themselves by
true repentance. This is a terrible saying; but do not let us carry
things too far: the truth is sufficiently dreadful without adding new
terrors to it by vain declamation.

Let us alone examine as to whether the majority of us have a right,
through penitence, to salvation. What is a penitent? According to
Tertullian, a penitent is a believer who feels every moment his former
unhappiness in forsaking and losing his God; one who has his guilt
incessantly before his eyes; who finds everywhere the traces and
remembrance of it.

A penitent is a man instrusted by God with judgment against himself;
one who refuses himself the most innocent pleasures because he had
formerly indulged in those the most criminal; one who puts up with the
most necessary gratification with pain; one who regards his body as an
enemy whom it is necessary to conquer--as an unclean vessel which must
be purified--as an unfaithful debtor of whom it is proper to exact to
the last farthing. A penitent regards himself as a criminal condemned
to death, because he is no longer worthy of life. In the loss of
riches or health he sees only a withdrawal of favors that he had
formerly abused: in the humiliations which happen to him, only the
pains of his guilt: in the agonies with which he is racked, only the
commencement of those punishments he has justly merited. Such is a
penitent.

But I again ask you--Where, among us, are penitents of this
description? Now look around you. I do not tell you to judge your
brethren, but to examine what are the manners and morals of those who
surround you. Nor do I speak of those open and avowed sinners who have
thrown off even the appearance of virtue. I speak only of those who,
like yourselves, live as most live, and whose actions present nothing
to the public view particularly shameful or depraved. They are sinners
and they admit it: you are not innocent, and you confess it. Now are
they penitent? or are you? Age, vocation, more serious employments,
may perhaps have checked the sallies of youth. Even the bitterness
which the Almighty has made attendant on our passions, the deceits,
the treacheries of the world, an injured fortune, with ruined
constitution, may have cooled the ardor, and confined the irregular
desires of your hearts. Crimes may have disgusted you even with sin
itself--for passions gradually extinguish themselves. Time, and
the natural inconstancy of the heart will bring these about; yet,
nevertheless, tho detached from sin by incapability, you are no nearer
your God. According to the world you are become more prudent, more
regular, to a greater extent what it calls men of probity, more exact
in fulfilling your public or private duties. But you are not penitent.
You have ceased your disorders but you have not expiated them. You are
not converted: this great stroke, this grand operation on the heart,
which regenerates man, has not yet been felt by you. Nevertheless,
this situation, so truly dangerous, does not alarm you. Sins which
have never been washed away by sincere repentance, and consequently
never obliterated from the book of life, appear in your eyes as no
longer existing; and you will tranquilly leave this world in a state
of impenitence, so much the more dangerous as you will die without
being sensible of your danger.

What I say here is not merely a rash expression, or an emotion of
zeal; nothing is more real, or more exactly true: it is the situation
of almost all men, even the wisest and most esteemed of the world.
The morality of the younger stages of life is always lax, if not
licentious. Age, disgust, and establishment for life, fix the
heart and withdraw it from debauchery: but where are those who are
converted? Where are those who expiate their crimes by tears of sorrow
and true repentance? Where are those who, having begun as sinners, end
as penitents? Show me, in your manner of living, the smallest trace of
penitence! Are your graspings at wealth and power, your anxieties
to attain the favor of the great--and by these means an increase of
employments and influence--are these proofs of it? Would you wish
to reckon even your crimes as virtues?--that the sufferings of your
ambition, pride, and avarice, should discharge you from an obligation
which they themselves have imposed? You are penitent to the world, but
are you so to Jesus Christ? The infirmities with which God afflicts
you, the enemies He raised up against you, the disgraces and losses
with which He tries you--do you receive them all as you ought, with
humble submission to His will? Or, rather, far from finding in them
occasions of penitence, do you not turn them into the objects of new
crimes? It is the duty of an innocent soul to receive with submission
the chastisements of the Almighty; to discharge with courage the
painful duties of the station allotted to him, and to be faithful to
the laws of the gospel. But do sinners owe nothing beyond this? And
yet they pretend to salvation! Upon what claim? To say that you are
innocent before God, your own consciences will witness against you. To
endeavor to persuade yourselves that you are penitent, you dare not;
and you would condemn yourselves by your own mouths. Upon what then
dost thou depend, O man! who thus livest so tranquil?

These, my brethren, as I have already told you, are not merely advices
and pious arts; they are the most essential of our obligations. But,
alas! who fulfils them? Who even knows them? Ah! my brethren, did you
know how far the title you bear, of Christian, engages you; could you
comprehend the sanctity of your state, the hatred of the world, of
yourself, and of everything which is not of God that it enjoys, that
gospel life, that constant watching, that guard over the passions, in
a word, that conformity with Jesus Christ crucified, which it exacts
of you--could you comprehend it, could you remember that you ought to
love God with all your heart, and all your strength, so that a single
desire that has not connection with Him defiles you--you would appear
a monster in your own sight. How! you would exclaim. Duties so holy,
and morals so profane! A vigilance so continual, and a life so
careless and dissipated! A love of God so pure, so complete, so
universal, and a heart the continual prey of a thousand impulses,
either foreign or criminal! If thus it is, who, O my God! will be
entitled to salvation? Few indeed, I fear, my dear hearers! At least
it will not be you (unless a change takes place) nor those who
resemble you; it will not be the multitude!

Who shall be saved? Those who work out their salvation with fear and
trembling; who live in the world without indulging in its vices. Who
shall be saved? That Christian woman who, shut up in the circle of her
domestic duties, rears up her children in faith and in piety; divides
her heart only between her Savior and her husband; is adorned with
delicacy and modesty; sits not down in the assemblies of vanity; makes
not a law of the ridiculous customs of the world, but regulates those
customs by the law of God; and makes virtue appear more amiable by her
rank and her example. Who shall be saved? That believer who, in
the relaxation of modern times, imitates the manners of the first
Christian--whose hands are clean and his heart pure--who is
watchful--who hath not lifted up his soul to vanity, but who, in the
midst of the dangers of the great world, continually applies himself
to purify it; just--who swears not deceitfully against his neighbor,
nor is indebted to fraudulent ways for the aggrandizement of his
fortune; generous--who with benefits repays the enemy who sought his
ruin; sincere--who sacrifices not the truth to a vile interest, and
knows not the part of rendering himself agreeable by betraying his
conscience; charitable--who makes his house and interest the refuge of
his fellow creatures, and himself the consolation of the afflicted;
regards his wealth as the property of the poor; humble in
affliction--a Christian under injuries, and penitent even in
prosperity. Who will merit salvation? You, my dear hearer, if you will
follow these examples; for such are the souls to be saved. Now these
assuredly do not form the greatest number. While you continue,
therefore, to live like the multitude, it is a striking proof that you
disregard your salvation.

These, my brethren, are truths which should make us tremble! nor are
they those vague ones which are told to all men, and which none apply
to themselves. Perhaps there is not in this assembly an individual who
may not say of himself, "I live like the great number; like those of
my rank, age, and situation; I am lost, should I die in this path."
Now, can anything be more capable of alarming a soul, in whom some
remains of care for his salvation shall exist? It is the multitude,
nevertheless, who tremble not. There is only a small number of the
just who work out severally their salvation with fear and trembling.
All the rest are tranquil. After having lived with the multitude, they
flatter themselves they shall be particularized at death. Every one
augurs favorably for himself, and vainly imagines that he shall be an
exception.

On this account it is, my brethren, that I confine myself to you who
are now here assembled. I include not the rest of men; but consider
you as alone existing on the earth. The idea which fills and terrifies
me is this--I figure to myself the present as your last hour, and the
end of the world! the heavens opening above your heads--the Savior, in
all His glory, about to appear in the midst of His temple--you only
assembled here as trembling criminals, to wait His coming, and hear
the sentence, either of life eternal, or everlasting death! for it is
vain to flatter yourselves that you shall die more innocent than you
are at this hour. All those desires of change with which you are
amused, will continue to amuse you till death arrives. The experience
of all ages proves it. The only difference you have to expect will
most likely be only a larger balance against you than what you would
have to answer for now; and from what would be your destiny, were you
to be judged in this moment, you may almost decide upon what it will
be at death. Now, I ask you--and, connecting my own lot with yours, I
ask it with dread--were Jesus Christ to appear in this temple, in the
midst of this assembly, to judge us, to make the awful separation
between the sheep and the goats, do you believe that the most of us
would be placed at His right hand? Do you believe that the number
would at least be equal? Do you believe that there would even be found
ten upright and faithful servants of the Lord, when formerly five
cities could not furnish that number? I ask you! You know not! I know
it not! Thou alone, O my God, knowest who belong to Thee.

But if we know not who belong to Him, at least we know that sinners
do not. Now, who are the just and faithful assembled here at present?
Titles and dignities avail nothing; you are stript of all these in the
presence of your Savior! Who are they? Many sinners who wish not to be
converted; many more who wish, but always put it off; many others who
are only converted in appearance, and again fall back to their former
course; in a word, a great number, who flatter themselves they have no
occasion for conversion. This is the party of the reprobate! Ah! my
brethren, cut off from this assembly these four classes of sinners,
for they will be cut off at the great day! And now stand forth ye
righteous:--where are ye? O God, where are Thine elect! What remains
as Thy portion!

My brethren, our ruin is almost certain! Yet we think not of it! If in
this terrible separation, which will one day take place; there should
be but one sinner in the assembly on the side of the reprobate, and a
voice from heaven should assure us of it, without particularizing him,
who of us would not tremble, lest he be the unfortunate and devoted
wretch? Who of us would not immediately apply to his conscience, to
examine if its crimes merited not this punishment? Who of us, seized
with dread, would not demand of our Savior, as did the apostles,
crying out, "Lord, is it I?" And should a small respite be allowed
to our prayers, who of us would not use every effort, by tears,
supplication, and sincere repentance, to avert the misfortune?

Are we in our senses, my dear hearers? Perhaps among all who listen to
me now, ten righteous ones would not be found. It may be fewer still.
What do I perceive, O my God! I dare not, with a fixt eye, regard the
depths of Thy judgments and justice! Not more than one, perhaps,
would be found among us all! And this danger affects you not, my dear
hearer! You persuade yourself that in this great number who shall
perish, you will be the happy individual! You, you have less reason,
perhaps, than any other to believe it! You, upon whom alone the
sentence of death should fall, were only one of all who hear me to
suffer! Great God! how little are the terrors of Thy law known to the
world? In all ages the just have shuddered with dread in reflecting on
the severity and extent of Thy judgments, touching the destinies of
men! Alas! what are they laying up in store for the sons of men!

But what are we to conclude from these awful truths? That all must
despair of salvation? God forbid! The impious alone, to quiet his own
feelings in his debaucheries, endeavors to persuade himself that all
men shall perish as well as he. This idea ought not to be the fruit of
the present discourse. It is intended to undeceive you with regard to
the general error, that any one may do whatever is done by others. To
convince you that, in order to merit salvation, you must distinguish
yourself from the rest; that in the midst of the world you are to live
for God's glory, and not follow after the multitude.

When the Jews were led in captivity from Judea to Babylon, a little
before they quitted their own country, the prophet Jeremiah, whom the
Lord had forbidden to leave Jerusalem, spoke thus to them: "Children
of Israel, when you shall arrive at Babylon, you will behold the
inhabitants of that country, who carry upon their shoulders gods of
silver and gold. All the people will prostrate themselves and adore
them. But you, far from allowing yourselves, by these examples, to be
led to impiety, say to yourselves in secret, It is Thou, O Lord! whom
we ought to adore."

Let me now finish by addressing to you the same words.

At your departure from this temple, you go to enter into another
Babylon. You go to see the idols of gold and silver, before which all
men prostrate themselves. You go to regain the vain objects of human
passions, wealth, glory, and pleasure, which are the gods of this
world and which almost all men adore. You will see those abuses which
all the world permits, those errors which custom authorizes, and those
debaucheries, which an infamous fashion has almost constituted as
laws. Then, my dear hearer, if you wish to be of the small number of
true Israelites, say, in the secrecy of your heart, "It is Thou alone,
O my God! whom we ought to adore. I wish not to have connection with
a people which know Thee not; I will have no other law than Thy holy
law; the gods which this foolish multitude adore are not gods; they
are the work of the hands of men; they will perish with them; Thou
alone, O my God! art immortal; and Thou alone deservest to be adored.
The customs of Babylon have no connection with the holy laws of
Jerusalem. I will continue to worship Thee, with that small number
of the children of Abraham which still, in the midst of an infidel
nation, composes Thy people; with them I will turn all my desires
toward the holy Zion. The singularity of my manners will be regarded
as a weakness; but blest weakness, O my God! which will give me
strength to resist the torrent of customs, and the seduction of
example. Thou wilt be my God in the midst of Babylon, as Thou wilt one
day be in Jerusalem above!"

Ah! the time of the captivity will at last expire. Thou wilt call to
Thy remembrance Abraham and David. Thou wilt deliver Thy people. Thou
wilt transport us to the holy city. Then wilt Thou alone reign over
Israel, and over the nations which at present know Thee not. All being
destroyed, all the empires of the earth, all the monuments of human
pride annihilated, and Thou alone remaining eternal, we then shall
know that Thou art the Lord of hosts, and the only God to be adored.

Behold the fruit which you ought to reap from this discourse! Live
apart. Think, without ceasing, that the great number work their own
destruction. Regard as nothing all customs of the earth, unless
authorized by the law of God, and remember that holy men in all ages
have been looked upon as a peculiar people.

It is thus that, after distinguishing yourselves from the sinful on
earth, you will be gloriously distinguished from them in eternity!




SAURIN

PAUL BEFORE FELIX AND DRUSILLA

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


Jacques Saurin, the famous French Protestant preacher of the
seventeenth century, was born at Nismes in 1677. He studied at Geneva
and was appointed to the Walloon Church in London in 1701. The scene
of his great life work was, however, the Hague, where he settled in
1705. He has been compared with Bossuet, tho he never attained the
graceful style and subtilty which characterize the "Eagle of Meaux."
The story is told of the famous scholar Le Clerc that he long refused
to hear Saurin preach, on the ground that he gave too much attention
to mere art. One day he consented to hear him on the condition that he
should be permitted to sit behind the pulpit where he could not see
his oratorical action. At the close of the sermon he found himself in
front of the pulpit, with tears in his eyes. Saurin died in 1730.




SAURIN

1677--1730

PAUL BEFORE FELIX AND DRUSILLA

_And before certain days, when Felix came with his wife Drusilla,
which was a Jewess, he sent for Paul, and heard him concerning the
faith of Christ. And as he reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and
judgment to come, Felix trembled, and answered, Go thy way for this
time; when I have a convenient season, I will call for thee_.--Acts
xxiv., 24, 25.


My brethren, tho the kingdoms of the righteous be not of this world,
they present, however, amidst their meanness, marks of dignity and
power. They resemble Jesus Christ. He humbled Himself so far as to
take the form of a servant, but frequently exercised the rights of a
sovereign. From the abyss of humiliation to which He condescended,
emanations of the Godhead were seen to proceed. Lord of nature, He
commanded the winds and seas. He bade the storm and tempest subside.
He restored health to the sick, and life to the dead. He imposed
silence on the rabbis; He embarrassed Pilate on the throne; and
disposed of Paradise at the moment He Himself was pierced with the
nails, and fixt on the cross. Behold the portrait of believers! "They
are dead. Their life is hid with Christ in God." (Col. iii., 3.) "If
they had hope only in this life, they were of all men most miserable."
(I Cor. xv., 19.) Nevertheless, they show I know not what superiority
of birth. Their glory is not so concealed but we sometimes perceive
its luster! just as the children of a king, when unknown and in
a distant province, betray in their conversation and carriage
indications of illustrious descent.

We might illustrate this truth by numerous instances. Let us attend to
that in our text. There we shall discover that association of humility
and grandeur, of reproach and glory, which constitutes the condition
of the faithful while on earth. Behold St. Paul, a Christian, an
apostle, a saint. See him hurried from tribunal to tribunal, from
province to province; sometimes before the Romans, sometimes before
the Jews, sometimes before the high-priest of the synagog, and
sometimes before the procurator of Caesar. See him conducted from
Jerusalem to Caesarea, and summoned to appear before Felix. In all
these traits, do you not recognize the Christian walking in the narrow
way, the way of tribulation, marked by his Master's feet? But consider
him nearer still. Examine his discourse, look at his countenance;
there you will see a fortitude, a courage, and a dignity which
constrain you to acknowledge that there was something really grand in
the person of St. Paul. He preached Jesus Christ at the very moment
he was persecuted for having preached Him. He preached even when in
chains. He did more; he attacked his judge on the throne. He reasoned,
he enforced, he thundered. He seemed already to exercise the function
of judging the world, which God has reserved for His saints. He made
Felix tremble. Felix felt himself borne away by a superior force.
Unable to hear St. Paul any longer without appalling fears, he sent
him away. "After certain days, when Felix came with his wife Drusilla,
he sent for Paul, and heard him concerning the faith in Christ," etc.

We find here three considerations which claim our attention: An
enlightened preacher, who discovers a very peculiar discernment in the
selection of his subject; a conscience appalled and confounded on the
recollection of its crimes and of that awful judgment where they must
be weighed, a sinner alarmed, but not converted; a sinner who desires
to be saved, but delays his conversion: a case, alas! of but too
common occurrence.

You perceive already, my brethren, the subject of this discourse:
first, that St. Paul reasoned before Felix and Drusilla of
righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come; second, that Felix
trembled; third, that he sent the apostle away; three considerations
which shall divide this discourse. May it produce on your hearts, on
the hearts of Christians, the same effects St. Paul produced on the
soul of this heathen; but may it have a happier influence on your
lives. Amen.

Paul preached before Felix and Drusilla "on righteousness, temperance,
and judgment to come." This is the first subject of discussion.
Before, however, we proceed further with our remarks, we must first
sketch the character of this Felix and this Drusilla, which will serve
as a basis to the first proposition.

After the scepter was departed from Judah, and the Jewish nation
subjugated by Pompey, the Roman emperors governed the country by
procurators. Claudius filled the imperial throne while St. Paul was
at Caesarea. This emperor had received a servile education from his
grandmother Lucia, and from his mother Antonia; and having been
brought up in obsequious meanness, evinced, on his elevation to the
empire, marks of the inadequate care which had been bestowed on his
infancy. He had neither courage nor dignity of mind. He who was raised
to sway the Roman scepter, and consequently to govern the civilized
world, abandoned his judgment to his freedmen, and gave them a
complete ascendency over his mind. Felix was one of those freedmen.
"He exercised in Judea the imperial functions with a mercenary soul."
Voluptuousness and avarice were the predominant vices of his heart. We
have a proof of his avarice immediately after our text, where it is
said he sent for Paul,--not to hear him concerning the truth of the
gospel which this apostle had preached with so much power; not to
inquire whether this religion, against which the Jews raised the
standard, was contrary to the interest of the State; but because he
hoped to have received money for his liberation. Here is the effect of
avarice.

Josephus recited an instance of his voluptuousness. It is his marriage
with Drusilla. She was a Jewess, as is remarked in our text. King
Azizus, her former husband, was a heathen; and in order to gain her
affections, he had conformed to the most rigorous ceremonies of
Judaism. Felix saw her, and became enamored of her beauty. He
conceived for her a violent passion; and in defiance of the sacred
ties which had united her to her husband, he resolved to become master
of her person. His addresses were received. Drusilla violated her
former engagements, and chose rather to contract with Felix an
illegitimate marriage than to adhere to the chaste ties which united
her to Azizus. Felix the Roman, Felix the procurator of Judea and the
favorite of Caesar appeared to her a noble acquisition. It is indeed a
truth, we may here observe, that grandeur and fortune are charms which
mortals find the greatest difficulty to resist, and against which the
purest virtue has need to be armed with all its constancy. Recollect
these two characters of Felix and Drusilla. St. Paul, before those
two personages, treated concerning "The faith in Christ"; that is,
concerning the Christian religion, of which Jesus Christ is the sum
and substance, the author and the end: and from the numerous doctrines
of Christianity, he selected "righteousness, temperance, and judgment
to come."

Here is, my brethren, an admirable text; but a text selected with
discretion. Fully to comprehend it, recollect the character we have
given of Felix. He was covetous, luxurious, and governor of Judea. St.
Paul selected three subjects, correspondent to the characteristics.
Addressing an avaricious man, he treated of righteousness. Addressing
the governor of Judea, one of those persons who think themselves
independent and responsible to none but themselves for their conduct,
he treated of "judgment to come."

But who can here supply the brevity of the historian, and report the
whole of what the apostle said to Felix on these important points? It
seems to me that I hear him enforcing those important truths he has
left us in his works, and placing in the fullest luster those divine
maxims interspersed in our Scriptures. "He reasoned of righteousness."
There he maintained the right of the widow and the orphan. There he
demonstrated that kings and magistrates are established to maintain
the rights of the people, and not to indulge their own caprice; that
the design of the supreme authority is to make the whole happy by the
vigilance of one, and not to gratify one at the expense of all; that
it is meanness of mind to oppress the wretched, who have no defense
but cries and tears; and that nothing is so unworthy of an enlightened
man as that ferocity with which some are inspired by dignity, and
which obstructs their respect for human nature, when undisguised by
worldly pomp; that nothing is so noble as goodness and grandeur,
associated in the same character; that this is the highest felicity;
that in some sort it transforms the soul into the image of God; who,
from the high abodes of majesty in which He dwells, surrounded with
angels and cherubim, deigns to look down on this mean world which we
inhabit, and "Leaves not Himself without witness, doing good to all."

"He reasoned of temperance." There he would paint the licentious
effects of voluptuousness. There he would demonstrate how opposite is
this propensity to the spirit of the gospel; which everywhere enjoins
retirement, mortification, and self-denial. He would show how it
degrades the finest characters who have suffered it to predominate.
Intemperance renders the mind incapable of reflection. It debases
the courage. It debilitates the mind. It softens the soul. He would
demonstrate the meanness of a man called to preside over a great
people, who exposes his foibles to public view; not having resolution
to conceal, much less to vanquish them. With Drusilla, he would make
human motives supply the defects of divine; with Felix, he would
make divine motives supply the defects of human. He would make this
shameless woman feel that nothing on earth is more odious than a woman
destitute of honor, that modesty is an attribute of the sex; that an
attachment, uncemented by virtue, can not long subsist; that those who
receive illicit favors are the first, according to the fine remark of
a sacred historian, to detest the indulgence: "The hatred wherewith
'Ammon, the son of David,' hated his sister, after the gratification
of his brutal passion, was greater than the love wherewith he had
loved her" (II Sam. xiii., 15). He would make Felix perceive that,
however the depravity of the age might seem to tolerate a criminal
intercourse with persons of the other sex, with God, who has called us
all to equal purity, the crime was not less heinous.

"He reasoned," in short, "of judgment to come." And here he would
magnify his ministry. When our discourses are regarded as connected
only with the present period, their force, I grant, is of no avail.
We speak for a Master who has left us clothed with infirmities, which
discover no illustrious marks of Him by whom we are sent. We have only
our voice, only our exhortations, only our entreaties. Nature is not
averted at our pleasure. The visitations of Heaven do not descend at
our command to punish your indolence and revolts: that power was
very limited, even to the apostle. The idea of a future state, the
solemnities of a general judgment, supply our weakness, and St. Paul
enforced this motive; he proved its reality, he delineated its luster,
he displayed its pomp. He resounded in the ears of Felix the noise,
the voices, the trumpets. He showed him the small and the great, the
rich man and Lazarus, Felix the favorite of Caesar, and Paul the
captive of Felix, awakened by that awful voice: "Arise, ye dead, and
come to judgment."

But not to be precipitate in commending the apostle's preaching. Its
encomiums will best appear by attending to its effects on the mind of
Felix. St. Jerome wished, concerning a preacher of his time, that the
tears of his audience might compose the eulogy of his sermons. We
shall find in the tears of Felix occasion to applaud the eloquence
of our apostle. We shall find that his discourses were thunder and
lightning in the congregation, as the Greeks used to say concerning
one of their orators. While St. Paul preached, Felix felt I know not
what agitations in his mind. The recollection of his past life; the
sight of his present sins; Drusilla, the object of his passion and
subject of his crime; the courage of St. Paul--all terrified him.
His heart burned while that disciple of Jesus Christ expounded the
Scriptures. The word of God was quick and powerful. The apostle,
armed with the two-edged sword, divided the soul, the joints, and the
marrow, carried conviction to the heart. Felix trembled, adds
our historian, Felix trembled! The fears of Felix are our second
reflection.

What a surprizing scene, my brethren, is here presented to your view.
The governor trembled, and the captive spoke without dismay. The
captive made the governor tremble. The governor shuddered in the
presence of the captive. It would not be surprizing, brethren, if we
should make an impression on your hearts (and we shall do so, indeed,
if our ministry is not, as usual, a sound of empty words); it would
not be surprizing if we should make some impression on the hearts of
our hearers. This sanctuary, these solemnities, these groans, this
silence, these arguments, these efforts,--all aid our ministry, and
unite to convince and persuade you. But here is an orator destitute of
these extraneous aids: behold him without any ornament but the truth
he preached. What do I say? that he was destitute of extraneous aids?
See him in a situation quite the reverse,--a captive, loaded with
irons, standing before his judge. Yet he made Felix tremble. Felix
trembled! Whence proceeded this fear, and this confusion? Nothing is
more worthy of your inquiry. Here we must stop for a moment: follow
us while we trace this fear to its source. We shall consider the
character of Felix under different views; as a heathen, imperfectly
acquainted with a future judgment, and the life to come; as a prince,
or governor, accustomed to see every one humble at his feet; as an
avaricious magistrate, loaded with extortions and crimes; in short, as
a voluptuous man, who has never restricted the gratification of his
senses. These are so many reasons of Felix's fears.

First, we shall consider Felix as a heathen, imperfectly acquainted
with a future judgment and the life to come: I say, imperfectly
acquainted, and not as wholly ignorant, the heathens having the "work
of the law written in their hearts" (Rom. ii., 15). The force of habit
had corrupted nature, but had not effaced its laws. They acknowledged
a judgment to come, but their notions were confused concerning its
nature.

Such were the principles of Felix, or rather such were the
imperfections of his principles, when he heard this discourse of St.
Paul. You may infer his fears from his character. Figure to
yourselves a man hearing for the first time the maxims of equity and
righteousness inculcated in the gospel. Figure to yourselves a man who
heard corrected the immorality of pagan theology; what was doubtful,
illustrated; and what was right, enforced. See a man who knew of no
other God but the incestuous Jupiter, the lascivious Venus, taught
that he must appear before Him, in whose presence the seraphim veil
their faces, and the heavens are not clean. Behold a man, whose
notions were confused concerning the state of souls after death,
apprized that God shall judge the world in righteousness. See a man
who saw described the smoke, the fire, the chains of darkness, the
outer darkness, the lake of fire and brimstone; and who saw them
delineated by one animated by the Spirit of God. What consternation
must have been excited by these terrific truths!

This we are incapable adequately of comprehending. We must surmount
the insensibility acquired by custom. It is but too true that our
hearts--instead of being imprest by these truths, in proportion to
their discussion--become more obdurate. We hear them without alarm,
having so frequently heard them before. But if, like Felix, we had
been brought up in the darkness of paganism, and if another Paul had
come and opened our eyes, and unveiled those sacred terrors, how
exceedingly should we have feared! This was the case with Felix. He
perceived the bandage which conceals the sight of futurity drop in a
moment. He heard St. Paul, that herald of grace and ambassador to the
Gentiles, he heard him reason on temperance and a judgment to come.
His soul was amazed; his heart trembled; his knees smote one against
another.

Amazing effects, my brethren, of conscience! Evident argument of the
vanity of those gods whom idolatry adorns after it has given them
form! Jupiter and Mercury, it is true, had their altars in the temples
of the heathens; but the God of heaven and earth has His tribunal in
the heart: and, while idolatry presents its incense to sacrilegious
and incestuous deities, the God of heaven and earth reveals His
terrors to the conscience, and there loudly condemns both incest and
sacrilege.

Secondly, consider Felix as a prince; and you will find in this second
office a second cause of his fear. When we perceive the great men of
the earth devoid of every principle of religion, and even ridiculing
those very truths which are the objects of our faith, we feel that
faith to waver. They excite a certain suspicion in the mind that our
sentiments are only prejudices, which have become rooted in man,
brought up in the obscurity of humble life. Here is the apology of
religion. The Caligulas, the Neros, those potentates of the universe,
have trembled in their turn as well as the meanest of their subjects.
This independence of mind, so conspicuous among libertines, is
consequently an art,--not of disengaging themselves from prejudices,
but of shutting their eyes against the light, and of extinguishing the
purest sentiments of the heart. Felix, educated in a court fraught
with the maxims of the great instantly ridicules the apostle's
preaching. St. Paul, undismayed, attacks him, and finds a conscience
concealed in his bosom: the very dignity of Felix is constrained to
aid our apostle by adding weight to his ministry. He demolishes
the edifice of Felix's pride. He shows that if a great nation was
dependent on his pleasure, he himself was dependent on a Sovereign in
whose presence the kings of the earth are as nothing. He proves that
dignities are so very far from exempting men from the judgment of God
that, for this very reason, their account becomes the more weighty,
riches being a trust which Heaven has committed to the great: and
"where much is given, much is required." He makes him feel this awful
truth, that princes are responsible, not only for their own souls,
but also for those of their subjects; their good or bad example
influencing, for the most part, the people committed to their care.

See then Felix in one moment deprived of his tribunal. The judge
became a party. He saw himself rich and in need of nothing; and yet he
was "blind, and naked, and poor." He heard a voice from the God of the
whole earth, saying unto him, "Thou profane and wicked prince, remove
the diadem and take off the crown. I will overturn, overturn, overturn
it, and it shall be no more" (Ezekiel xxi., 25-27). "Tho thou exalt
thyself as the eagle, and tho thou set thy nest among the stars,
thence will I bring thee down, saith the Lord" (Obadiah, 4). Neither
the dignity of governor, nor the favor of Caesar, nor all the glory of
empire shall deliver thee out of My hand.

Thirdly, I restrict myself, my brethren, as much as possible in order
to execute without exceeding my limits the plan I have conceived;
and proceed to consider Felix as an avaricious man: to find in this
disposition a further cause of his fear. Felix was avaricious, and St.
Paul instantly transported him into a world in which avarice shall
receive its appropriate and most severe punishment. For you know that
the grand test by which we shall be judged is charity. "I was hungry,
and ye gave me meat"; and of all the constructions of charity
covetousness is the most obstinate and insurmountable.

This unhappy propensity renders us insensible of our neighbor's
necessities. It magnifies the estimate of our wants; it diminishes the
wants of others. It persuades us that we have need of all, that others
have need of nothing. Felix began to perceive the iniquity of this
passion, and to feel that he was guilty of double idolatry: idolatry,
in morality, idolatry in religion; idolatry in having offered incense
to gods, who were not the makers of heaven and earth; idolatry in
having offered incense to Mammon. For the Scriptures teach, and
experience confirms, that "covetousness is idolatry." The covetous man
is not a worshiper of the true God. Gold and silver are the divinities
he adores. His heart is with his treasure. Here then is the portrait
of Felix: a portrait drawn by St. Paul in the presence of Felix, and
which reminded this prince of innumerable prohibitions, innumerable
frauds, innumerable extortions; of the widow and the orphan he
opprest. Here is the cause of Felix's fears. According to an
expression of St. James, the "rust of his gold and silver began to
witness against him, and to eat his flesh as with fire" (James v., 3).

Fourthly, consider Felix as a voluptuous man. Here is the final cause
of his fear. Without repeating all we have said on the depravity of
this passion, let one remark suffice, that, if the torments of hell
are terrible at all, they must especially be so to the voluptuous. The
voluptuous man never restricts his sensual gratification; his soul
dies on the slightest approach of pain. What a terrific impression
must not the thought of judgment make on such a character. Shall I,
accustomed to indulgence and pleasure, become a prey to the worm that
dieth not and fuel to the fire which is not quenched? Shall I, who
avoid pain with so much caution, be condemned to eternal torments?
Shall I have neither delicious meats nor voluptuous delights? This
body, my idol, which I habituate to so much delicacy, shall it be
"cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, whose smoke ascendeth up
forever and ever?" And this effeminate habit I have of refining on
pleasure, will it render me only the more sensible of my destruction
and anguish?

Such are the traits of Felix's character; such are the causes of
Felix's fear. Happy, if his fear had produced that "godly sorrow, and
that repentance unto salvation not to be repented of." Happy if the
fear of hell had induced him to avoid its torments. But, ah no! he
feared, and yet persisted in the causes of his fear. He trembled,
yet said to St. Paul, "Go thy way for this time." This is our last
reflection.

How preposterous, my brethren, is the sinner! What absurdities does
he cherish in his heart! For, in short, had the doctrines St. Paul
preached to Felix been the productions of his brain:--had the thought
of a future judgment been a chimera, whence proceeded the fears of
Felix? Why was he so weak as to admit this panic of terror? If, on the
contrary, Paul had truth and argument on his side, why did Felix send
him away? Such are the contradictions of the sinner. He wishes; he
revolts; he denies; he grants; he trembles; and says, "Go thy way for
this time." Speak to him concerning the truths of religion, open hell
to his view, and you will see him affected, devout, and appalled:
follow him in life, and you will find that these truths have no
influence whatever on his conduct.

But are we not mistaken concerning Felix? Did not the speech of St.
Paul make a deeper impression upon him than we seem to allow? He sent
the apostle away, it is true, but it was "for this time" only. And
who can censure this delay? The infirmities of human nature require
relaxation and repose. Felix could afterward recall him. "Go thy way
for this time; when I have a convenient season, I will send for thee."

It pains me, I confess, my brethren, in entering on this head of my
discourse, that I should exhibit to you in the person of Felix the
portrait of whom? Of wicked men? Alas! of nearly the whole of this
assembly; most of whom seem to us living in negligence and vice,
running with the children of this world "to the same excess of riot."
One would suppose that they had already made their choice, having
embraced one or the other of these notions: either that religion is
a fantom, or that, all things considered, it is better to endure the
torments of hell than to be restricted to the practise of virtue. Oh
no! that is not their notion. Ask the worse among them. Ask whether
they have renounced their salvation. You will not find an individual
who will say that he has renounced it. Ask them again whether they
think it attainable by following this way of life. They will answer,
No. Ask them afterward how they reconcile things so opposite as their
life and their hopes. They will answer that they are resolved to
reform, and by and by they will enter on the work. They will say,
as Felix said to St. Paul, "Go thy way for this time; when I have a
convenient season, I will call for thee." Nothing is less wise than
this delay. At a future period I will reform. But who has assured me
that at a future period I shall have opportunities of conversion? Who
has assured me that God will continue to call me, and that another
Paul shall thunder in my ears?

I will reform at a future period. But who has told me that God at a
future period will accompany His word with the powerful aids of grace?
While Paul may plant and Apollos may water, is it not God who gives
the increase? How then can I flatter myself that the Holy Spirit
will continue to knock at the door of my heart after I shall have so
frequently obstructed His admission?

I will reform in future. But who has told me that I shall ever desire
to be converted? Do not habits become confirmed in proportion as they
are indulged? And is not an inveterate evil very difficult to cure? If
I can not bear the excision of a slight gangrene, how shall I sustain
the operation when the wound is deep?

I will reform in future! But who has told me that I shall live to
a future period? Does not death advance every moment with gigantic
strides? Does he not assail the prince in his palace and the peasant
in his cottage? Does he not send before him monitors and messengers:
acute pains, which wholly absorb the soul; deliriums, which render
reason of no avail; deadly stupors, which benumb the brightest and
most piercing geniuses? And what is still more awful, does He not
daily come without either warning or messenger? Does He not snatch
away this man without allowing him time to be acquainted with the
essentials of religion; and that man, without the restitution of
riches ill acquired; and the other, before he is reconciled to his
enemy?

Instead of saying "Go thy way for this time" we should say, Stay for
this time. Stay, while the Holy Spirit is knocking at the door of my
heart; stay, while my conscience is alarmed; stay, while I yet live;
"while it is called to-day." The arguments confounded my conscience:
no matter. "Thy hand is heavy upon me": no matter still. Cut, strike,
consume; provided it procure my salvation.

But, however criminal this delay may be, we seem desirous to excuse
it. "Go thy way for this time; when I have a convenient season, I will
call for thee." It was Felix's business then which induced him to
put off the apostle. Unhappy business! Awful occupation! It seems
an enviable situation, my brethren, to be placed at the head of a
province; to speak in the language of majesty; to decide on the
fortunes of a numerous people; and in all cases to be the ultimate
judge. But those situations, so happy and so dazzling in appearance,
are in the main dangerous to the conscience. Those innumerable
concerns, this noise and bustle, entirely dissipate the soul. While so
much engaged on earth, we can not be mindful of heaven. When we have
no leisure we say to St. Paul, "Go thy way for this time; when I have
a convenient season, I will call for thee."

Happy he who, amid the tumult of the most active life, has hours
consecrated to reflection, to the examination of his conscience, and
to insure the "one thing needful." Or, rather, happy he who, in the
repose of the middle classes of society,--places between indigence and
affluence, far from the courts of the great, having neither poverty
nor riches according to Agur's wish,--can in retirement and quietness
see life sweetly glide away, and make salvation, if not the sole, yet
his principal, concern.

Felix not only preferred his business to his salvation, but he
mentions it with evasive disdain. "When I have a convenient season, I
will call for thee." "When I have a convenient season!" Might we not
thence infer that the truths discust by St. Paul were not of serious
importance? Might we not infer that the soul of Felix was created
for the government of Judea; and that the grand doctrines of
righteousness, temperance, and a judgment to come ought to serve
at most but to pass away the time, or merely to engross one's
leisure--"when I have a convenient season?" ...

Yes, Christians, this is the only moment on which we can reckon. It
is, perhaps, the only acceptable time. It is, perhaps, the last day of
our visitation. Let us improve a period so precious. Let us no
longer say by and by--at another time; but let us say to-day--this
moment--even now. Let the pastor say: I have been insipid in my
sermons, and remiss in my conduct; having been more solicitous, during
the exercise of my ministry, to advance my family than to build up the
Lord's house, I will preach hereafter with fervor and zeal. I will be
vigilant, sober, rigorous, and disinterested. Let the miser say: I
have riches ill acquired. I will purge my house of illicit wealth. I
will overturn the altar of Mammon and erect another to the supreme
Jehovah. Let the prodigal say: I will extinguish the unhappy fires by
which I am consumed and kindle in my bosom the flame of divine love.
Ah, unhappy passions, which war against my soul; sordid attachments;
irregular propensities; emotions of concupiscence; law in the
members,--I will know you no more. I will make with you an eternal
divorce, I will from this moment open my heart to the eternal Wisdom,
who condescends to ask it.

If we are in this happy disposition, if we thus become regenerate, we
shall enjoy from this moment foretastes of the glory which God has
prepared. From this moment the truths of religion, so far from casting
discouragement and terror on the soul, shall heighten its consolation
and joy; from this moment heaven shall open to this audience, paradise
shall descend into your hearts, and the Holy Spirit shall come and
dwell there. He will bring that peace, and those joys, which pass all
understanding.




EDWARDS

SPIRITUAL LIGHT

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


Jonathan Edwards, the New England divine and metaphysician, was born
at East Windsor, Connecticut, in 1703. He was graduated early from
Yale College, where he had given much attention to philosophy, became
tutor of his college, and at nineteen began to preach. His voice and
manner did not lend themselves readily to pulpit oratory, but his
clear, logical, and intense presentation of the truth produced a
profound and permanent effect upon his hearers. He wrote what were
considered the most important philosophical treatises of his time. His
place among the thinkers of the world is high and indisputable. He had
many gifts of intellect and imagination, and a uniform gravity that
left no doubt as to his deeply earnest nature. He was one of the
greatest preachers of his age. His most widely quoted sermon, "Sinners
in the Eyes of an Angry God," while powerful and impressive, does not
do him justice. It is believed the sermon presented here discloses to
greater advantage the tender and saintly side of his character. He
died in 1758.




EDWARDS

1703-1758

SPIRITUAL LIGHT

_And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon
Barjona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my
Father which is in heaven._--Matthew xvi., 17.


Christ says these words to Peter upon occasion of his professing
his faith in Him as the Son of God. Our Lord was inquiring of His
disciples, who men said He was; not that He needed to be informed, but
only to introduce and give occasion to what follows. They answer,
that some said He was John the Baptist, and some Elias, and others
Jeremias, or one of the prophets. When they had thus given an account
of who others said He was, Christ asks them, who they said He was?
Simon Peter, whom we find always zealous and forward, was the first to
answer: he readily replied to the question, Thou art Christ, the Son
of the living God.

Upon this occasion Christ says as He does to him, and of him in the
text: in which we may observe,

1. That Peter is pronounced blest on this account. "Blessed art
Thou."--"Thou art a happy man, that thou art not ignorant of this,
that I am Christ, the Son of the living God. Thou art distinguishingly
happy. Others are blinded, and have dark and deluded apprehensions, as
you have now given an account, some thinking that I am Elias, and some
that I am Jeremias, and some one thing and some another; but none of
them thinking right, all of them misled. Happy art thou, that art so
distinguished as to know the truth in this matter."

2. The evidence of this his happiness declared; viz., that God, and He
only, had revealed it to him. This is an evidence of his being blest.

First. As it shows how peculiarly favored he was of God above others:
"How highly favored art thou, that others that are wise and great men,
the scribes, Pharisees, and rulers, and the nation in general, are
left in darkness, to follow their own misguided apprehensions; and
that thou shouldst be singled out, as it were, by name, that my
heavenly Father should thus set His love on thee, Simon Barjona. This
argues thee blest, that thou shouldst thus be the object of God's
distinguishing love."

Secondly. It evidences his blessedness also, as it intimates that this
knowledge is above any that flesh and blood can reveal. "This is such
knowledge as my Father which is in heaven only can give: it is too
high and excellent to be communicated by such means as other knowledge
is. Thou art blest, that thou knowest that which God alone can teach
thee."

The original of this knowledge is here declared, both negatively and
positively. Positively, as God is here declared the author of it.
Negatively, as it is declared, that flesh and blood had not revealed
it. God is the author of all knowledge and understanding whatsoever.
He is the author of the knowledge that is obtained by human learning:
He is the author of all moral prudence, and of the knowledge and skill
that men have in their secular business. Thus it is said of all in
Israel that were wise-hearted, and skilful in embroidering, that God
had filled them with the spirit of wisdom. (Exod. xxviii., 3.)

God is the author of such knowledge; but yet not so but that flesh and
blood reveals it. Mortal men are capable of imparting that knowledge
of human arts and sciences, and skill in temporal affairs. God is the
author of such knowledge by those means: flesh and blood is made use
of by God as the mediate or second cause of it; he conveys it by the
power and influence of natural means. But this spiritual knowledge,
spoken of in the text, is that God is the author of, and none else:
he reveals it, and flesh and blood reveals it not. He imparts this
knowledge immediately, not making use of any intermediate natural
causes, as he does in other knowledge. What has passed in the
preceding discourse naturally occasioned Christ to observe this;
because the disciples had been telling how others did not know Him,
but were generally mistaken about Him, and divided and confounded in
their opinions of Him: but Peter had declared his assured faith, that
He was the Son of God. Now it was natural to observe, how it was not
flesh and blood that had revealed it to him, but God: for if this
knowledge were dependent on natural causes or means, how came it to
pass that they, a company of poor fishermen, illiterate men, and
persons of low education, attained to the knowledge of the truth;
while the scribes and Pharisees, men of vastly higher advantages
and greater knowledge and sagacity in other matters, remained in
ignorance? This could be owing only to the gracious distinguishing
influence and revelation of the Spirit of God. Hence, what I would
make the subject of my present discourse from these words, is this
doctrine. That there is such a thing as a spiritual and divine light,
immediately imparted to the soul by God, of a different nature from
any that is obtained by natural means.

1. Those convictions that natural men may have of their sin and misery
is not this spiritual and divine light. Men in a natural condition may
have convictions of the guilt that lies upon them, and of the anger of
God, and their danger of divine vengeance. Such convictions are from
light or sensibleness of truth. That some sinners have a greater
conviction of their guilt and misery than others, is because some have
more light, or more of an apprehension of truth than others. And
this light and conviction may be from the Spirit of God; the Spirit
convinces men of sin: but yet nature is much more concerned in it than
in the communication of that spiritual and divine light that is spoken
of in the doctrine; it is from the Spirit of God only as assisting
natural principles, and not as infusing any new principles. Common
grace differs from special, in that it influences only by assisting
of nature; and not by imparting grace, or bestowing anything above
nature. The light that is obtained is wholly natural, or of no
superior kind to what mere nature attains to, tho more of that kind be
obtained than would be obtained if men were left wholly to themselves:
or, in other words, common grace only assists the faculties of the
soul to do that more fully which they do by nature, as natural
conscience or reason will by mere nature, make a man sensible of
guilt, and will accuse and condemn him when he has done amiss.
Conscience is a principle natural to men; and the work that it doth
naturally, or of itself, is to give an apprehension of right and
wrong, and to suggest to the mind the relation that there is between
right and wrong and a retribution. The Spirit of God, in those
convictions which unregenerate men sometimes have, assist conscience
to do this work in a further degree than it would do if they were left
to themselves: He helps it against those things that tend to stupify
it, and obstruct its exercise. But in the renewing and sanctifying
work of the Holy Ghost, those things are wrought in the soul that are
above nature, and of which there is nothing of the like kind in the
soul by nature; and they are caused to exist in the soul habitually,
and according to such a stated constitution or law that lays such
a foundation of exercises in a continued course, as is called a
principal of nature. Not only are remaining principles assisted to do
their work more freely and fully, but those principles are restored
that were utterly destroyed by the fall; and the mind thenceforward
habitually exerts those acts that the dominion of sin has made it as
wholly destitute of, as a dead body is of vital acts.

The Spirit of God acts in a very different manner in the one case,
from what He doth in the other. He may indeed act upon the mind of a
natural man, but He acts in the mind of a saint as an indwelling vital
principle. He acts upon the mind of an unregenerate person as an
extrinsic, occasional agent; for in acting upon them, He doth not
unite Himself to them; for notwithstanding all His influences that
they may be the subjects of, they are still sensual, having not the
Spirit (Jude 19). But He unites Himself with the mind of a saint,
takes him for his temple, actuates and influences him as a new
supernatural principle of life and action. There is this difference,
that the Spirit of God, in acting in the soul of a godly man, exerts
and communicates Himself there in his own proper nature. Holiness is
the proper nature of the spirit of God. The Holy Spirit operates in
the minds of the godly, by uniting Himself to them, and living in
them, and exerting His own nature in the exercise of their faculties.
The Spirit of God may act upon a creature, and yet not in acting
communicate Himself. The Spirit of God may act upon inanimate
creatures; as, the Spirit moved upon the face of the waters, in the
beginning of the creation; so the Spirit of God may act upon the minds
of men many ways, and communicate Himself no more than when He acts
upon an inanimate creature. For instance, He may excite thoughts in
them, may assist their natural reason and understanding, or may assist
other natural principles, and this without any union with the soul,
but may act, as it were, as upon an external object. But as He acts
in His holy influences and spiritual operations, He acts in a way
of peculiar communication of Himself; so that the subject is thence
denominated spiritual.

This spiritual and divine light does not consist in any impression
made upon the imagination. It is no impression upon the mind, as tho
one saw anything with the bodily eyes: it is no imagination or idea of
an outward light or glory or any beauty of form or countenance, or a
visible luster or brightness of any object. The imagination may be
strongly imprest with such things; but this is not spiritual light.
Indeed, when the mind has a lively discovery of spiritual things, and
is greatly affected by the power of divine light, it may, and probably
very commonly doth, much affect the imagination; so that impressions
of an outward beauty or brightness may accompany those spiritual
discoveries. But spiritual light is not that impression upon the
imagination, but an exceeding different thing from it. Natural men
may have lively impressions on their imaginations; and we can not
determine but the devil, who transforms himself into an angel of
light, may cause imaginations of an outward beauty, or visible glory,
and of sounds and speeches, and other such things; but these are
things of a vastly inferior nature to spiritual light.

This spiritual light is not the suggesting of any new truths or
propositions not contained in the Word of God. This suggesting of
new truths or doctrines to the mind, independent of any antecedent
revelation of those propositions, either in word or writing, is
inspiration; such as the prophets and apostles had, and such as some
enthusiasts pretend to. But this spiritual light that I am speaking
of is quite a different thing from inspiration; it reveals no new
doctrine, it suggests no new proposition to the mind, it teaches no
new thing of God, or Christ, or another world, not taught in the
Bible, but only gives a due apprehension of those things that are
taught in the Word of God.

It is not every affecting view that men have of the things of religion
that is this spiritual and divine light. Men by mere principles of
nature are capable of being affected with things that have a special
relation to religion as well as other things. A person by mere nature,
for instance, may be liable to be affected with the story of Jesus
Christ, and the sufferings He underwent, as well as by any other
tragical story; he may be the more affected with it from the interest
he conceives mankind to have in it; yea, he may be affected with it
without believing it; as well as a man may be affected with what he
reads in a romance, or sees acted in a stage play. He may be affected
with a lively and eloquent description of many pleasant things that
attend the state of the blest in heaven, as well as his imagination
be entertained by a romantic description of the pleasantness of
fairy-land, or the like. And that common-belief of the truth of the
things of religion, that persons may have from education or otherwise,
may help forward their affection. We read in Scripture of many that
were greatly affected with things of a religious nature, who yet are
there presented as wholly graceless, and many of them very ill men. A
person therefore may have affecting views of religion, and yet be very
destitute of spiritual light. Flesh and blood may be the author of
this; one man may give another an affecting view of divine things but
common assistance: but God alone can give a spiritual discovery of
them.

But I proceed to show positively what this spiritual and divine light
is.

And it may be thus described: a true sense of the divine excellency of
the things revealed in the Word of God, and a conviction of the truth
and reality of them thence arising.

This spiritual light primarily consists in the former of these--viz.,
a real sense and apprehension of the divine excellency of things
revealed in the Word of God. A spiritual and saving conviction of the
truth and reality of these things arises from such a sight of their
divine excellency and glory; so that this conviction of their truth is
an effect and natural consequence of this sight of their divine glory.
There is therefore in this spiritual light,

1. A true sense of the divine and superlative excellency of the things
of religion; a real sense of the excellency of God and Jesus Christ,
and of the work of redemption, and the ways and works of God revealed
in the gospel. There is a divine and superlative glory in these
things; an excellency that is of a vastly higher kind, and more
sublime nature than in other things; a glory greatly distinguishing
them from all that is earthly and temporal. He that is spiritually
enlightened truly apprehends and sees it, or has a sense of it. He
does not merely rationally believe that God is glorious, but he has
a sense of the gloriousness of God in his heart. There is not only a
rational belief that is holy, and that holiness is a good thing, but
there is a sense of the loveliness of God's holiness. There is not
only a speculative judging that God is gracious, but a sense how
amiable God is upon that account, or a sense of the beauty of this
divine attribute.

There is a twofold understanding or knowledge of good that God has
made the mind of man capable of. The first, that which is merely
speculative and notional; as when a person only speculatively judges
that anything is, which, by the agreement of mankind, is called good
or excellent, viz., that which is most to general advantage, and
between which and a reward there is a suitableness, and the like. And
the other is, that which consists in the sense of the heart: as when
there is a sense of the beauty, amiableness, or sweetness of a thing;
so that the heart is sensible of pleasure and delight in the presence
of the idea of it. In the former is exercised merely the speculative
faculty, or the understanding, strictly so called, or as spoken of in
distinction from the will or disposition of the soul. In the latter,
the will, or inclination, or heart is mainly concerned.

Thus there is a difference between having an opinion that God is holy
and gracious, and having a sense of the loveliness and beauty of that
holiness and grace. There is a difference between having a rational
judgment that honey is sweet, and having a sense of its sweetness. A
man may have the former that knows not how honey tastes; but a man can
not have the latter unless he has an idea of the taste of honey in
his mind. So there is a difference between believing that a person is
beautiful and having a sense of his beauty. The former may be obtained
by hearsay, but the latter only by seeing the countenance. There is a
wide difference between mere speculative rational judging anything
to be excellent, and having a sense of its sweetness and beauty. The
former rests only in the head, speculation only is concerned in it;
but the heart is concerned in the latter. When the heart is sensible
of the beauty and amiableness of a thing, it necessarily feels
pleasure in the apprehension. It is implied in a person's being
heartily sensible of the loveliness of a thing, that the idea of it is
sweet and pleasant to his soul; which is a far different thing from
having a rational opinion that it is excellent.

2. There arises from this sense of divine excellency of things
contained in the word of God a conviction of the truth and reality of
them; and that either directly or indirectly.

First, indirectly, and that two ways.

(1) As the prejudices that are in the heart, against the truth of
divine things, are hereby removed; so that the mind becomes susceptive
of the due force of rational arguments for their truth. The mind
of man is naturally full of prejudices against the truth of divine
things: it is full of enmity against the doctrines of the gospel;
which is a disadvantage to those arguments that prove their truth, and
causes them to lose their force upon the mind. But when a person has
discovered to him the divine excellency of Christian doctrines, this
destroys the enmity, removes those prejudices, and sanctifies the
reason, and causes it to lie open to the force of arguments for their
truth.

Hence was the different effect that Christ's miracles had to convince
the disciples from what they had to convince the scribes and
Pharisees. Not that they had a stronger reason, or had their reason
more improved; but their reason was sanctified, and those blinding
prejudices, that the scribes and Pharisees were under, were removed by
the sense they had of the excellency of Christ and His doctrine.

(2) It not only removes the hindrances of reason, but positively helps
reason. It makes even the speculative notions the more lively. It
engages the attention of the mind, with the more fixedness and
intenseness to that kind of objects; which causes it to have a
clearer view of them, and enables it more clearly to see their mutual
relations, and occasions it to take more notice of them. The ideas
themselves that otherwise are dim and obscure, are by this means
imprest with the greater strength, and have a light cast upon them, so
that the mind can better judge of them; as he that beholds the objects
on the face of the earth, when the light of the sun is cast upon them,
is under greater advantage to discern them in their true forms and
mutual relations, than he that sees them in a dim starlight or
twilight.

The mind having a sensibleness of the excellency of divine objects,
dwells upon them with delight; and the powers of the soul are more
awakened and enlivened to employ themselves in the contemplation of
them, and exert themselves more fully and much more to the purpose.
The beauty and sweetness of the objects draw on the faculties, and
draw forth their exercises; so that reason itself is under far greater
advantages for its proper and free exercises, and to attain its proper
end, free of darkness and delusion.

Secondly. A true sense of the divine excellency of these things is so
superlative as more directly and immediately to convince of the
truth of them; and that because the excellency of these things is so
superlative. There is a beauty in them that is so divine and godlike,
that it greatly and evidently distinguishes them from things merely
human, or that men are the inventors and authors of; a glory that is
so high and great, that when clearly seen, it commands assent to their
divinity and reality. When there is an actual and lively discovery of
this beauty and excellency, it will not allow of any such thought
as that it is a human work, or the fruit of men's invention. This
evidence that they who are spiritually enlightened have of the truth
of the things of religion, is a kind of intuitive and immediate
evidence. They believe the doctrines of God's word to be divine,
because they see divinity in them; _i.e._, they see a divine, and
transcendent, and most evidently distinguishing glory in them; such a
glory as, if clearly seen, does not leave room to doubt of their being
of God, and not of men.

Such a conviction of the truth of religion as this, arising, these
ways, from a sense of the divine excellency of them, is that true
spiritual conviction that there is in saving faith. And this original
of it, is that by which it is most essentially distinguished from that
common assent, which unregenerated men are capable of.

I proceed now to show how this light is immediately given by God, and
not obtained by natural means.

1. It is not intended that the natural faculties are not made use of
in it. The natural faculties are the subject of this light: and they
are the subject in such a manner that they are not merely passive,
but active in it; the acts and exercises of men's understanding are
concerned and made use of in it. God, in letting in this light into
the soul, deals with man according to his nature, or as a rational
creature; and makes use of his human faculties. But yet this light is
not the less immediately from God for that; tho the faculties are made
use of, it is as the subject and not as the cause; and that acting of
the faculties in it is not the cause, but is either implied in the
thing itself (in the light that is imparted) or is the consequence of
it; as the use that we make of our eyes in beholding various objects,
when the sun arises, is not the cause of the light that discovers
those objects to us.

2. It is not intended that outward means have no concern in this
affair. As I have observed already, it is not in this affair, as it is
in inspiration, where new truths are suggested: for here is by this
light only given a due apprehension of the same truths that are
revealed in the word of God; and therefore it is not given without
the word. The gospel is made use of in this affair: this light is the
light of the glorious gospel of Christ. (II Cor. iv., 4.) The gospel
is as a glass, by which this light is conveyed to us (I Cor. xiii.,
12). Now we see through a glass.

3. When it is said that this light is given immediately by God, and
not obtained by natural means, hereby is intended that it is given by
God without making use of any means that operate by their own power,
or a natural force. God makes use of means; but it is not as mediate
causes to produce this effect. There are not truly any second causes
of it; but it is produced by God immediately. The Word of God is no
proper cause of this effect: it does not operate by any natural force
in it. The Word of God is only made use of to convey to the mind the
subject matter of this saving instruction, and this indeed it doth
convey to us by natural force or influence. It conveys to our minds
these and those doctrines; it is the cause of the notion of them in
our heads, but not of the sense of the divine excellency of them in
our hearts. Indeed, a person can not have spiritual light without the
Word. But that does not argue that the Word properly causes the light
The mind can not see the excellency of any doctrine unless that
doctrine be first in the mind; but the seeing of the excellency of the
doctrine may be immediately from the Spirit of God; tho the conveying
of the doctrine or proposition itself may be by the Word. So that the
notions that are the subject-matter of this light are conveyed to the
mind by the Word of God; but that due sense of the heart, wherein this
light formally consists, is immediately by the Spirit of God. As for
instance, that notion that there is a Christ, and that Christ is holy
and gracious, is conveyed to the mind by the Word of God; but the
sense of the excellency of Christ by reason of that holiness and
grace, is nevertheless immediately the work of the Holy Spirit.

This is the most excellent and divine wisdom that any creature is
capable of. It is more excellent than any human learning; it is far
more excellent than all the knowledge of the greatest philosophers or
statesmen. Yea, the least glimpse of the glory of God in the face of
Christ doth more exalt and ennoble the soul than all the knowledge of
those that have the greatest speculative understanding in divinity
without grace. This knowledge has the most noble object that is or
can be, viz., the divine glory or excellency of God and Christ. The
knowledge of these objects is that wherein consists the most excellent
knowledge of the angels, yea, of God himself.

This knowledge is that which is above all others sweet and joyful.
Men have a great deal of pleasure in human knowledge, in studies of
natural things; but this is nothing to that joy which arises from this
divine light shining into the soul. This light gives a view of those
that are immensely the most exquisitely beautiful, and capable of
delighting the eye of the understanding. This spiritual light is
the dawning of the light of glory in the heart. There is nothing so
powerful as this to support persons in affliction, and to give the
mind peace and brightness in this stormy and dark world.

This light is such as effectually influences the inclination, and
changes the nature of the soul. It assimilates the human nature to the
divine nature, and changes the soul into an image of the same glory
that is beheld (II Cor. iii., 18), "But we all with open face,
beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the
same image, from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord."
This knowledge will wean from the world, and raise the inclination
to heavenly things. It will turn the heart to God as the fountain of
good, and to choose him for the only portion. This light, and this
only, will bring the soul to a saving close with Christ. It conforms
the heart to the gospel, mortifies its enmity and opposition against
the schemes of salvation therein revealed: it causes the heart to
embrace the joyful tidings, and entirely to adhere to, and acquiesce
in the revelation of Christ as our Savior: it causes the whole soul
to accord and symphonize with it, admitting it with entire credit and
respect; cleaving to it with full inclination and affection; and it
effectually disposes the soul to give up itself entirely to Christ.

This light, and this only, has its fruit in a universal holiness of
life. No merely notional or speculative understanding of the doctrines
of religion will ever bring us to this. But this light, as it
reaches the bottom of the heart, and changes the nature, so it
will effectually dispose to a universal obedience. It shows God's
worthiness to be obeyed and served. It draws forth the heart in a
sincere love to God, which is the only principle of a true, gracious,
and universal obedience; and it convinces of the reality of those
glorious rewards that God has promised to them that obey him.




WESLEY

GOD'S LOVE TO FALLEN MAN

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


John Wesley was born at Epworth rectory in Lincolnshire, England,
in 1703. He was educated at Charterhouse school and in 1720 entered
Christ Church College, Oxford, where he graduated in 1724. He was
noted for his classical taste as well as for his religious fervor, and
on being ordained deacon by Bishop Potter, of Oxford, he became his
father's curate in 1727. Being recalled to Oxford to fulfil his duties
as fellow of Lincoln he became the head of the Oxford "Methodists," as
they were called. He had the characteristics of a great general, being
systematic in his work and a lover of discipline, and established
Methodism in London by his sermons at the Foundery. His speaking style
suggested power in repose. His voice was clear and resonant, his
countenance kindly, and his tone extremely moderate. His sermons wore
carefully written, altho not read in the pulpit. They moved others
because he was himself moved. At an advanced age he preached several
times a day, and traveled many miles on horseback. At seventy years
of age he had published thirty octavo volumes. He composed hymns on
horseback, and studied French and mathematics in spare hours, and was
never a moment idle until his death, in 1791.




WESLEY

1703--1791

GOD'S LOVE TO FALLEN MAN

_Not as the transgression, so is the free gift_.--Romans v., 15.


How exceedingly common, and how bitter is the outcry against our first
parent, for the mischief which he not only brought upon himself, but
entailed upon his latest posterity! It was by his wilful rebellion
against God "that sin entered into the world." "By one man's
disobedience," as the apostle observes, the many, as many as were then
in the loins of their forefathers, were made, or constituted sinners:
not only deprived of the favor of God, but also of His image; of all
virtue, righteousness, and true holiness, and sunk partly into the
image of the devil, in pride, malice, and all other diabolical
tempers; partly into the image of the brute, being fallen under the
dominion of brutal passions and groveling appetites. Hence also death
entered into the world, with all his forerunners and attendants; pain,
sickness, and a whole train of uneasy as well as unholy passions and
tempers.

"For all this we may thank Adam," has been echoed down from generation
to generation. The self-same charge has been repeated in every age and
every nation where the oracles of God are known, in which alone this
grand and important event has been discovered to the children of men.
Has not your heart, and probably your lips too, joined in the general
charge? How few are there of those who believe the Scriptural relation
of the Fall of Man, and have not entertained the same thought
concerning our first parent? severely condemning him, that, through
wilful disobedience to the sole command of his Creator,

  Brought death into the world and all our wo.

Nay, it were well if the charge rested here: but it is certain it does
not. It can not be denied that it frequently glances from Adam to his
Creator. Have not thousands, even of those that are called Christians,
taken the liberty to call His mercy, if not His justice also, into
question, on this very account? Some indeed have done this a little
more modestly, in an oblique and indirect manner: but others have
thrown aside the mask, and asked, "Did not God foresee that Adam would
abuse his liberty? And did He not know the baneful consequences which
this must naturally have on all his posterity? And why then did He
permit that disobedience? Was it not easy for the Almighty to have
prevented it?" He certainly did foresee the whole. This can not be
denied. "For known unto God are all His works from the beginning of
the world." And it was undoubtedly in His Power to prevent it; for He
hath all power both in heaven and earth. But it was known to Him at
the same time, that it was best upon the whole not to prevent it. He
knew that, "not as the transgression, so is the free gift"; that the
evil resulting from the former was not as the good resulting from the
latter, not worthy to be compared with it. He saw that to permit
the fall of the first man was far best for mankind in general; that
abundantly more good than evil would accrue to the posterity of Adam
by his fall; that if "sin abounded" thereby over all the earth, yet
grace "would much more abound"; yea, and that to every individual of
the human race, unless it was his own choice.

It is exceedingly strange that hardly anything has been written, or
at least published, on this subject: nay, that it has been so little
weighed or understood by the generality of Christians: especially
considering that it is not a matter of mere curiosity, but a truth of
the deepest importance; it being impossible, on any other principle,

  To assert a gracious Providence,
  And justify the ways of God with men:

and considering withal, how plain this important truth is, to all
sensible and candid inquirers. May the Lover of men open the eyes
of our understanding, to perceive clearly that by the fall of Adam
mankind in general have gained a capacity,

First, of being more holy and happy on earth, and,

Secondly, of being more happy in heaven than otherwise they could have
been.

And, first, mankind in general have gained by the fall of Adam a
capacity of attaining more holiness and happiness on earth than it
would have been possible for them to attain if Adam had not fallen.
For if Adam had not fallen, Christ had not died. Nothing can be more
clear than this: nothing more undeniable: the more thoroughly we
consider the point, the more deeply shall we be convinced of it.
Unless all the partakers of human nature had received that deadly
wound in Adam it would not have been needful for the Son of God to
take our nature upon Him. Do you not see that this was the very ground
of His coming into the world? "By one man sin entered into the world,
and death by sin. And thus death passed upon all" through him, "in
whom all men sinned." (Rom. v., 12.) Was it not to remedy this very
thing that "the Word was made flesh"? that "as in Adam all died, so
in Christ all might be made alive"? Unless, then, many had been made
sinners by the disobedience of one, by the obedience of one many would
not have been made righteous (ver. 18); so there would have been no
room for that amazing display of the Son of God's love to mankind.
There would have been no occasion for His "being obedient unto death,
even the death of the cross." It would not then have been said, to the
astonishment of all the hosts of heaven, "God so loved the world,"
yea, the ungodly world, which had no thought or desire of returning to
Him, "that he gave his Son" out of His bosom, His only begotten Son,
to the end that "whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but
have everlasting life." Neither could we then have said, "God was in
Christ reconciling the world to himself"; or that He "made him to be
sin," that is, a sin-offering "for us, who know no sin, that we might
be made the righteousness of God through him." There would have been
no such occasion for such "an advocate with the Father" as "Jesus
Christ the Righteous"; neither for His appearing "at the right hand of
God, to make intercession for us."

What is the necessary consequence of this? It is this: there could
then have been no such thing as faith in God, thus loving the world,
giving His only Son for us men, and for our salvation. There could
have been no such thing as faith in the Son of God, as loving us and
giving Himself for us. There could have been no faith in the Spirit of
God, as renewing the image of God in our hearts, as raising us from
the death of sin unto the life of righteousness. Indeed, the whole
privilege of justification by faith could have no existence; there
could have been no redemption in the blood of Christ: neither could
Christ have been "made of God unto us," "wisdom, righteousness,
sanctification, or redemption."

And the same grand blank which was in our faith, must likewise have
been in our love. We might have loved the Author of our being, the
Father of angels and men, as our Creator and Preserver: we might have
said, "O Lord our Governor, how excellent is Thy name in all the
earth!" But we could not have loved Him under the nearest and dearest
relation, as delivering up His Son for us all. We might have loved
the Son of God, as being the "brightness of his Father's glory," the
express image of His person (altho this ground seems to belong rather
to the inhabitants of heaven than earth). But we could not have loved
Him as "bearing our sins in his own body on the tree," and "by
that one oblation of himself once offered, making a full oblation,
sacrifice, and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world." We would
not have been "made conformable to his death," nor have known "the
power of his resurrection." We could not have loved the Holy Ghost as
revealing to us the Father and the Son, as opening the eyes of our
understanding, bringing us out of darkness into His marvelous light,
renewing the image of God in our soul, and sealing us unto the day of
redemption. So that, in truth, what is now "in the sight of God, even
the Father," not of fallible men "pure religion and undefiled," would
then, have had no being: inasmuch as it wholly depends on those grand
principles, "By grace ye are saved through faith"; and "Jesus Christ
is of God made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification,
and redemption."

We see then what unspeakable advantage we derive from the fall of our
first parent, with regard to faith: faith both in God the Father,
who spared not His own Son, His only Son, but wounded Him for our
transgressions and bruised Him for our iniquities; and in God the Son,
who poured out His soul for us transgressors, and washed us in His own
blood. We see what advantage we derive therefrom with regard to the
love of God, both of God the Father and God the Son. The chief ground
of this love, as long as we remain in the body, is plainly declared
by the apostle, "We love him, because he first loved us." But the
greatest instance of His love had never been given if Adam had not
fallen.

And as our faith, both in God the Father and the Son, receives an
unspeakable increase, if not its very being, from this grand event, as
does also our love both of the Father and the Son: so does the love of
our neighbor also, our benevolence to all mankind: which can not but
increase in the same proportion with our faith and love of God. For
who does not apprehend the force of that inference drawn by the loving
apostle, "Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to love one
another." If God so loved us--observe, the stress of the argument lies
on this very point: so loved us! as to deliver up His only Son to die
a curst death for our salvation. "Beloved, what manner of love is
this," wherewith God hath loved us? So as to give His only Son! In
glory equal with the Father: in majesty coeternal! What manner of love
is this wherewith the only begotten Son of God hath loved us, as to
empty Himself, as far as possible, of His eternal Godhead; as to
divest Himself of that glory, which He had with the Father before the
world began; as to take upon Him "the form of a servant, being found
in fashion as a man"! And then to humble Himself still further, "being
obedient unto death, even the death of the cross"! If God so loved us,
how ought we to love one another? But this motive to brotherly love
had been totally wanting if Adam had not fallen. Consequently we could
not then have loved one another in so high a degree as we may now.
Nor could there have been that height and depth in the command of our
blest Lord. "As I have loved you, so love one another."

Such gainers may we be by Adam's fall, with regard both to the love of
God and of our neighbor. But there is another grand point, which, tho
little adverted to, deserves our deepest consideration. By that one
act of our first parent, not only "sin entered into the world," but
pain also, and was alike entailed on his whole posterity. And herein
appeared, not only the justice, but the unspeakable goodness of God.
For how much good does He continually bring out of this evil! How much
holiness and happiness out of pain!

How innumerable are the benefits which God conveys to the children of
men through the channel of sufferings! so that it might well be said,
"What are termed afflictions in the language of men, are in the
language of God styled blessings." Indeed, had there been no suffering
in the world, a considerable part of religion, yea, and in some
respects, the most excellent part, could have no place therein: since
the very existence of it depends on our suffering: so that had there
been no pain it could have had no being. Upon this foundation, even
our suffering, it is evident all our passive graces are built; yea,
the noblest of all Christian graces, love enduring all things. Here is
the ground for resignation to God, enabling us to say from the heart,
and in every trying hour, "It is the Lord: let him do what seemeth him
good." "Shall we receive good at the hand of the Lord, and shall we
not receive evil?" And what a glorious spectacle is this? Did it not
constrain even a heathen to cry out, "_Ecce spectaculum Deo dignum!_
See a sight worthy of God: a good man struggling with adversity, and
superior to it." Here is the ground for confidence in God, both with
regard to what we feel, and with regard to what we should fear, were
it not that our soul is calmly stayed on him. What room could there
be for trust in God if there was no such thing as pain or danger? Who
might not say then, "The cup which my Father hath given me, shall
I not drink it?" It is by sufferings that our faith is tried, and,
therefore, made more acceptable to God. It is in the day of trouble
that we have occasion to say, "Tho he slay me, yet will I trust in
him." And this is well pleasing to God, that we should own Him in the
face of danger; in defiance of sorrow, sickness, pain, or death.

Again: Had there been neither natural nor moral evil in the
world, what must have become of patience, meekness, gentleness,
long-suffering? It is manifest they could have had no being: seeing
all these have evil for their object. If, therefore, evil had never
entered into the world, neither could these have had any place in it.
For who could have returned good for evil, had there been no evil-doer
in the universe? How had it been possible, on that supposition, to
overcome evil with good? Will you say, "But all these graces might
have been divinely infused into the hearts of men?" Undoubtedly they
might: but if they had, there would have been no use or exercise for
them. Whereas in the present state of things we can never long want
occasion to exercise them. And the more they are exercised, the
more all our graces are strengthened and increased. And in the same
proportion as our resignation, our confidence in God, our patience and
fortitude, our meekness, gentleness, and long-suffering, together
with our faith and love of God and man increase, must our happiness
increase, even in the present world.

Yet again: As God's permission of Adam's fall gave all his posterity
a thousand opportunities of suffering, and thereby of exercising all
those passive graces which increase both their holiness and happiness,
so it gives them opportunities of doing good in numberless instances,
of exercising themselves in various good works, which otherwise could
have had no being. And what exertions of benevolence, of compassion,
of godlike mercy, had then been totally prevented! Who could then have
said to the lover of men,

  Thy mind throughout my life be shown,
    While listening to the wretches' cry,
  The widow's or the orphan's groan;
    On mercy's wings I swiftly fly
  The poor and needy to relieve;
    Myself, my all, for them to give?

It is the just observation of a benevolent man,

  --All worldly joys are less,
  Than that one joy of doing kindnesses.

Surely in keeping this commandment, if no other, there is great
reward. "As we have time, let us do good unto all men;" good of every
kind and in every degree. Accordingly the more good we do (other
circumstances being equal), the happier we shall be. The more we deal
our bread to the hungry, and cover the naked with garments; the more
we relieve the stranger, and visit them that are sick or in prison;
the more kind offices we do to those that groan under the various
evils of human life; the more comfort we receive even in the present
world; the greater the recompense we have in our own bosom.

To sum up what has been said under this head: As the more holy we are
upon earth, the more happy we must be (seeing there is an inseparable
connection between holiness and happiness); as the more good we do to
others, the more of present reward rebounds into our own bosom:
even as our sufferings for God lead us to rejoice in Him "with joy
unspeakable and full of glory"; therefore, the fall of Adam, first, by
giving us an opportunity of being far more holy; secondly, by giving
us the occasions of doing innumerable good works, which otherwise
could not have been done; and, thirdly, by putting it into our power
to suffer for God, whereby "the spirit of glory and of God rests upon
us": may be of such advantage to the children of men, even in the
present life, as they will not thoroughly comprehend till they attain
life everlasting.

It is then we shall be enabled fully to comprehend not only the
advantages which accrue at the present time to the sons of men by the
fall of their first parent, but the infinitely greater advantages
which they may reap from it in eternity. In order to form some
conception of this, we may remember the observation of the apostle,
"As one star differeth from another star in glory, so also is the
resurrection of the dead." The most glorious stars will undoubtedly
be those who are the most holy; who bear most of that image of God
wherein they were created. The next in glory to these will be those
who have been most abundant in good works: and next to them, those
that have suffered most, according to the will of God. But what
advantages in every one of these respects will the children of God
receive in heaven, by God's permitting the introduction of pain upon
earth, in consequence of sin? By occasion of this they attained many
holy tempers, which otherwise could have had no being: resignation
to God, confidence in him in times of trouble and danger, patience,
meekness, gentleness, long-suffering, and the whole train of passive
virtues. And on account of this superior holiness they will then
enjoy superior happiness. Again: every one will then "receive his
own reward, according to his own labor." Every individual will
be "rewarded according to his work." But the Fall gave rise to
innumerable good works, which could otherwise never have existed, such
as ministering to the necessities of the saints, yea, relieving the
distrest in every kind. And hereby innumerable stars will be added to
their eternal crown. Yet again: there will be an abundant reward in
heaven, for suffering as well as for doing, the will of God: "these
light afflictions, which are but for a moment, work out for us a far
more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." Therefore that event,
which occasioned the entrance of suffering into the world, has thereby
occasioned to all the children of God, an increase of glory to all
eternity. For altho the sufferings themselves will be at an end: altho

  The pain of life shall then be o'er,
    The anguish and distracting care;
  The sighing grief shall weep no more;
    And sin shall never enter there:--

yet the joys occasioned thereby shall never end, but flow at God's
right hand for evermore.

There is one advantage more that we reap from Adam's fall, which is
not unworthy our attention. Unless in Adam all had died, being in the
loins of their first parent, every descendant of Adam, every child of
man, must have personally answered for himself to God: it seems to
be a necessary consequence of this, that if he had once fallen, once
violated any command of God, there would have been no possibility of
his rising again; there was no help, but he must have perished without
remedy. For that covenant knew not to show mercy: the word was, "The
soul that sinneth, it shall die." Now who would not rather be on the
footing he is now; under a covenant of mercy? Who would wish to hazard
a whole eternity upon one stake? Is it not infinitely more desirable,
to be in a state wherein, tho encompassed with infirmities, yet we
do not run such a desperate risk, but if we fall, we may rise again?
Wherein we may say,

  My trespass is grown up to heaven!
    But, far above the skies,
  In Christ abundantly forgiven,
    I see Thy mercies rise!

In Christ! Let me entreat every serious person, once more to fix his
attention here. All that has been said, all that can be said, on these
subjects, centers in this point. The fall of Adam produced the death
of Christ! Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth! Yea,

  Let earth and heaven agree,
    Angels and men be joined,
  To celebrate with me
    The Saviour of mankind;
  To adore the all-atoning Lamb,
  And bless the sound of Jesus' name!

If God had prevented the fall of man, the Word had never been made
flesh: nor had we ever "seen his glory, the glory as of the only
begotten of the Father." Those mysteries had never been displayed,
"which the very angels desire to look into." Methinks this
consideration swallows up all the rest, and should never be out of
our thoughts. Unless "by one man, judgment had come upon all men to
condemnation," neither angels nor men could ever have known "the
unsearchable riches of Christ."

See then, upon the whole, how little reason we have to repine at
the fall of our first parent, since herefrom we may derive such
unspeakable advantages, both in time and eternity. See how small
pretense there is for questioning the mercy of God in permitting
that event to take place, since therein, mercy, by infinite degrees,
rejoices over judgment! Where, then, is the man that presumes to blame
God for not preventing Adam's sin? Should we not rather bless Him from
the ground of the heart, for therein laying the grand scheme of man's
redemption, and making way for that glorious manifestation of His
wisdom, holiness, justice, and mercy? If indeed God had decreed before
the foundation of the world that millions of men should dwell in
everlasting burnings, because Adam sinned, hundreds or thousands of
yours before they had a being, I know not who could thank him for
this, unless the devil and his angels: seeing, on this supposition,
all those millions of unhappy spirits would be plunged into hell by
Adam's sin, without any possible advantage from it. But, blest be God,
this is not the case. Such a decree never existed. On the contrary,
every one born of a woman may be an unspeakable gainer thereby; and
none ever was or can be a loser, but by his own choice.

We see here a full answer to that plausible account "of the origin of
evil," published to the world some years since, and supposed to be
unanswerable: that it "necessarily resulted from the nature of
matter, which God was not able to alter." It is very kind in this
sweet-tongued orator to make an excuse for God! But there is really no
occasion for it: God hath answered for Himself. He made man in His own
image, a spirit endued with understanding and liberty. Man abusing
that liberty, produced evil, brought sin and pain into the world.
This God permitted, in order to a fuller manifestation of His wisdom,
justice, and mercy, by bestowing on all who would receive it an
infinitely greater happiness than they could possibly have attained if
Adam had not fallen.

"Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!"
Altho a thousand particulars of His judgments, and of His ways are
unsearchable to us, and past our finding out, yet we may discern the
general scheme running through time into eternity. "According to the
council of his own will," the plan He had laid before the foundation
of the world, He created the parent of all mankind in His own image.
And He permitted all men to be made sinners by the disobedience of
this one man, that, by the obedience of One, all who receive the free
gift may be infinitely holier and happier to all eternity!



WHITEFIELD

THE METHOD OF GRACE

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


George Whitefield, evangelist and leader of Calvinistic Methodists,
who has been called the Demosthenes of the pulpit, was born at
Gloucester, England, in 1714. He was an impassioned pulpit orator of
the popular type, and his power over immense congregations was largely
due to his histrionic talent and his exquisitely modulated voice,
which has been described as "an organ, a flute, a harp, all in one,"
and which at times became stentorian. He had a most expressive face,
and altho he squinted, in grace and significance of gesture he knew
perfectly how to "suit the action to the word." But he had not the
style or scholarship of Wesley, and his printed sermons do not fully
bear out his reputation. Whitefield died in 1770.




WHITEFIELD

1714--1770

THE METHOD OF GRACE

_They have healed also the hurt of the daughter of my people slightly,
saying, Peace, peace, when there is no peace_.--Jeremiah vi., 14.


As God can send a nation or people no greater blessing than to give
them faithful, sincere, and upright ministers, so the greatest curse
that God can possibly send upon a people in this world is to give them
over to blind, unregenerate, carnal, lukewarm, and unskilful guides.
And yet, in all ages, we find that there have been many wolves in
sheep's clothing, many that daubed with untempered mortar, that
prophesied smoother things than God did allow. As it was formerly,
so it is now; there are many that corrupt the word of God and deal
deceitfully with it. It was so in a special manner in the prophet
Jeremiah's time; and he, faithful to his Lord, faithful to that God
who employed him, did not fail from time to time to open his mouth
against them, and to bear a noble testimony to the honor of that
God in whose name he from time to time spake. If you will read his
prophecy, you will find that none spake more against such ministers
than Jeremiah, and here especially in the chapter out of which the
text is taken he speaks very severely against them. He charges them
with several crimes; particularly he charges them with covetousness:
"For," says he, in the thirteenth verse, "from the least of them even
to the greatest of them, every one is given to covetousness; and from
the prophet even unto the priest, every one dealeth falsely."

And then, in the words of the text, in a more special manner he
exemplifies how they had dealt falsely, how they had behaved
treacherously to poor souls: says he, "They have healed also the hurt
of the daughter of my people slightly, saying, Peace, peace, when
there is no peace." The prophet, in the name of God, had been
denouncing war against the people; he had been telling them that their
house should be left desolate, and that the Lord would certainly visit
the land with war. "Therefore," says he, in the eleventh verse, "I am
full of the fury of the Lord; I am weary with holding in; I will pour
it out upon the children abroad, and upon the assembly of young men
together; for even the husband with the wife shall be taken, the aged
with him that is full of days. And their houses shall be turned unto
others, with their fields and wives together; for I will stretch out
my hand upon the inhabitants of the land, saith the Lord."

The prophet gives a thundering message, that they might be terrified
and have some convictions and inclinations to repent; but it seems
that the false prophets, the false priests, went about stifling
people's convictions, and when they were hurt or a little terrified,
they were for daubing over the wound, telling them that Jeremiah was
but an enthusiastic preacher, that there could be no such thing as war
among them, and saying to people, Peace, peace, be still, when the
prophet told them there was no peace.

The words, then, refer primarily unto outward things, but I verily
believe have also a further reference to the soul, and are to
be referred to those false teachers who, when people were under
conviction of sin, when people were beginning to look toward heaven,
were for stifling their convictions and telling them they were good
enough before. And, indeed, people generally love to have it so; our
hearts are exceedingly deceitful and desperately wicked; none but the
eternal God knows how treacherous they are.

How many of us cry, Peace, peace, to our souls, when there is no
peace! How many are there who are now settled upon their lees, that
now think they are Christians, that now flatter themselves that they
have an interest in Jesus Christ; whereas if we come to examine their
experiences we shall find that their peace is but a peace of the
devil's making--it is not a peace of God's giving--it is not a peace
that passeth human understanding.

It is a matter, therefore, of great importance, my dear hearers, to
know whether we may speak peace to our hearts. We are all desirous
of peace; peace is an unspeakable blessing; how can we live without
peace? And, therefore, people from time to time must be taught how far
they must go and what must be wrought in them before they can speak
peace to their hearts. This is what I design at present, that I may
deliver my soul, that I may be free from the blood of all those to
whom I preach--that I may not fail to declare the whole counsel of
God. I shall, from the words of the text, endeavor to show you what
you must undergo and what must be wrought in you before you can speak
peace to your hearts.

But before I come directly to this give me leave to premise a caution
or two.

And the first is, that I take it for granted you believe religion to
be an inward thing; you believe it to be a work of the heart, a work
wrought in the soul by the power of the Spirit of God. If you do not
believe this, you do not believe your Bibles. If you do not believe
this, tho you have got your Bibles in your hand, you hate the Lord
Jesus Christ in your heart; for religion is everywhere represented
in Scripture as the work of God in the heart. "The kingdom of God is
within us," says our Lord; and, "he is not a Christian who is one
outwardly; but he is a Christian who is one inwardly." If any of you
place religion in outward things, I shall not perhaps please you this
morning; you will understand me no more when I speak of the work of
God upon a poor sinner's heart than if I were talking in an unknown
tongue.

I would further premise a caution, that I would by no means confine
God to one way of acting. I would by no means say that all persons,
before they come to have a settled peace in their hearts, are obliged
to undergo the same degrees of conviction. No; God has various ways of
bringing His children home; His sacred Spirit bloweth when, and where,
and how it listeth. But, however, I will venture to affirm this: that
before ever you can speak peace to your heart, whether by shorter or
longer continuance of your convictions, whether in a more pungent or
in a more; gentle way, you must undergo what I shall hereafter lay
down in the following discourse.

First, then, before you can speak peace to your hearts, you must be
made to see, made to feel, made to weep over, made to bewail, your
actual transgressions against the law of God. According to the
covenant of works, "the soul that sinneth it shall die"; curst is that
man, be he what he may, be he who he may, that continueth not in all
things that are written in the book of the law to do them.

We are not only to do some things, but we are to do all things, and we
are to continue to do so, so that the least deviation from the moral
law, according to the covenant of works, whether in thought, word,
or deed, deserves eternal death at the hand of God. And if one evil
thought, if one evil word, if one evil action deserves eternal
damnation, how many hells, my friends, do every one of us deserve
whose whole lives have been one continued rebellion against God!
Before ever, therefore, you can speak peace to your hearts, you must
be brought to see, brought to believe, what a dreadful thing it is to
depart from the living God.

And now, my dear friends, examine your hearts, for I hope you came
hither with a design to have your souls made better. Give me leave to
ask you, in the presence of God, whether you know the time, and if you
do not know exactly the time, do you know there was a time when God
wrote bitter things against you, when the arrows of the Almighty were
within you? Was ever the remembrance of your sins grievous to you? Was
the burden of your sins intolerable to your thoughts? Did you ever see
that God's wrath might justly fall upon you, on account of your actual
transgressions against God? Were you ever in all your life sorry for
your sins? Could you ever say, My sins are gone over my head as a
burden too heavy for me to bear? Did you ever experience any such
thing as this? Did ever any such thing as this pass between God and
your soul? If not, for Jesus Christ's sake, do not call yourselves
Christians; you may speak peace to your hearts, but there is no peace.
May the Lord awaken you, may the Lord convert you, may the Lord give
you peace, if it be His will, before you go home!

But, further, you may be convinced of your actual sins, so as to be
made to tremble, and yet you may be strangers to Jesus Christ, you may
have no true work of grace upon your hearts. Before ever, therefore,
you can speak peace to your hearts, conviction must go deeper; you
must not only be convinced of your actual transgressions against the
law of God, but likewise of the foundation of all your transgressions.
And what is that? I mean original sin, that original corruption each
of us brings into the world with us, which renders us liable to God's
wrath and damnation. There are many poor souls that think themselves
fine reasoners, yet they pretend to say there is no such thing as
original sin; they will charge God with injustice in imputing Adam's
sin to us; altho we have got the mark of the beast and of the devil
upon us, yet they tell us we are not born in sin. Let them look abroad
and see the disorders in it, and think, if they can, if this is the
paradise in which God did put man. No! everything in the world is out
of order.

I have often thought, when I was abroad, that if there were no other
arguments to prove original sin, the rising of wolves and tigers
against man, nay, the barking of a dog against us, is a proof of
original sin. Tigers and lions durst not rise against us unless it
were as much as to say, "You have sinned against God, and we take up
our master's quarrel." If we look inwardly, we shall see enough of
lusts and man's temper contrary to the temper of God. There is pride,
malice, and revenge in all our hearts; and this temper can not come
from God; it comes from our first parent, Adam, who, after he fell
from God, fell out of God into the devil.

However, therefore, some people may deny this, yet when conviction
comes, all carnal reasonings are battered down immediately, and the
poor soul begins to feel and see the fountain from which all the
polluted streams do flow. When the sinner is first awakened, he begins
to wonder, How came I to be so wicked? The Spirit of God then strikes
in, and shows that he has no good thing in him by nature; then he
sees that he is altogether gone out of the way, that he is altogether
become abominable, and the poor creature is made to lie down at the
foot of the throne of God and to acknowledge that God would be just to
damn him, just to cut him off, tho he never had committed one actual
sin in his life.

Did you ever feel and experience this, any of you--to justify God in
your damnation--to own that you are by nature children of wrath, and
that God may justly cut you off, tho you never actually had offended
Him in all your life? If you were ever truly convicted, if your hearts
were ever truly cut, if self were truly taken out of you, you would be
made to see and feel this. And if you have never felt the weight of
original sin, do not call yourselves Christians. I am verily persuaded
original sin is the greatest burden of a true convert; this ever
grieves the regenerate soul, the sanctified soul. The indwelling of
sin in the heart is the burden of a converted person; it is the burden
of a true Christian. He continually cries out: "Oh! who will deliver
me from this body of death, this indwelling corruption in my heart?"
This is that which disturbs a poor soul most. And, therefore, if you
never felt this inward corruption, if you never saw that God might
justly curse you for it, indeed, my dear friends, you may speak peace
to your hearts, but I fear, nay, I know, there is no true peace.

Further, before you can speak peace to your hearts you must not only
be troubled for the sins of your life, the sins of your nature, but
likewise for the sins of your best duties and performances.

When a poor soul is somewhat awakened by the terrors of the Lord,
then the poor creature, being born under the covenant of works,
flies directly to a covenant of works again. And as Adam and Eve hid
themselves among the trees of the garden and sewed fig-leaves together
to cover their nakedness, so the poor sinner when awakened flies to
his duties and to his performances, to hide himself from God, and goes
to patch up a righteousness of his own. Says he, I will be mighty good
now--I will reform--I will do all I can; and then certainly Jesus
Christ will have mercy on me. But before you can speak peace to your
heart you must be brought to see that God may damn you for the best
prayer you ever put up; you must be brought to see that all your
duties--all your righteousness--as the prophet elegantly expresses
it--put them all together, are so far from recommending you to God,
are so far from being any motive and inducement to God to have
mercy on your poor soul, that He will see them to be filthy rags, a
menstruous cloth--that God hates them, and can not away with them, if
you bring them to Him in order to recommend you to His favor.

My dear friends, what is there in our performance to recommend us unto
God? Our persons are in an unjustified state by nature; we deserve to
be damned ten thousand times over; and what must our performance be?
We can do no good thing by nature: "They that are in the flesh can not
please God."

You may do things materially good, but you can not do a thing formally
and rightly good; because nature can not act above itself. It is
impossible that a man who is unconverted can act for the glory of God;
he can not do anything in faith, and "whatsoever is not of faith is
sin."

After we are renewed, yet we are renewed but in part, indwelling sin
continues in us, there is a mixture of corruption in every one of our
duties, so that after we are converted, were Jesus Christ only to
accept us according to our works, our works would damn us, for we can
not put up a prayer but it is far from that perfection which the moral
law requireth. I do not know what you may think, but I can say that I
can not pray but I sin--I can not preach to you or any others but
I sin--I can do nothing without sin; and, as one expresseth it, my
repentance wants to be repented of, and my tears to be washed in the
precious blood of my dear Redeemer.

Our best duties are so many splendid sins. Before you can speak peace
to your heart you must not only be sick of your original and actual
sin, but you must be made sick of your righteousness, of all your
duties and performances. There must be a deep conviction before you
can be brought out of your self-righteousness; it is the last idol
taken out of our heart. The pride of our heart will not let us submit
to the righteousness of Jesus Christ. But if you never felt that you
had no righteousness of your own, if you never felt the deficiency of
your own righteousness, you can not come to Jesus Christ.

There are a great many now who may say, Well, we believe all this; but
there is a great difference betwixt talking and feeling. Did you ever
feel the want of a dear Redeemer? Did you ever feel the want of Jesus
Christ, upon the account of the deficiency of your own righteousness?
And can you now say from your heart Lord, thou mayest justly damn
me for the best duties that ever I did perform? If you are not thus
brought out of self, you may speak peace to yourselves, but yet there
is no peace.

But then, before you can speak peace to your souls, there is one
particular sin you must be greatly troubled for, and yet I fear there
are few of you think what it is; it is the reigning, the damning sin
of the Christian world, and yet the Christian world seldom or never
think of it. And pray what is that?

It is what most of you think you are not guilty of--and that is, the
sin of unbelief. Before you can speak peace to your heart, you must be
troubled for the unbelief of your heart But can it be supposed that
any of you are unbelievers here in this churchyard, that are born in
Scotland, in a reformed country, that go to church every Sabbath? Can
any of you that receive the sacrament once a year--oh, that it were
administered oftener!--can it be supposed that you who had tokens for
the sacrament, that you who keep up family prayer, that any of you do
not believe in the Lord Jesus Christ?

I appeal to your own hearts, if you would not think me uncharitable,
if I doubted whether any of you believed in Christ: and yet, I fear
upon examination, we should find that most of you have not so much
faith in the Lord Jesus Christ as the devil himself. I am persuaded
that the devil believes more of the Bible than most of us do. He
believes the divinity of Jesus Christ; that is more than many who call
themselves Christians do; nay, he believes and trembles, and that is
more than thousands amongst us do.

My friends, we mistake a historical faith for a true faith, wrought
in the heart by the Spirit of God. You fancy you believe because you
believe there is such a book as we call the Bible--because you go to
church; all this you may do and have no true faith in Christ. Merely
to believe there was such a person as Christ, merely to believe there
is a book called the Bible, will do you no good, more than to believe
there was such a man as Caesar or Alexander the Great. The Bible is a
sacred depository. What thanks have we to give to God for these lively
oracles! But yet we may have these and not believe in the Lord Jesus
Christ.

My dear friends, there must be a principle wrought in the heart by
the Spirit of the living God. Did I ask you how long it is since you
believed in Jesus Christ, I suppose most of you would tell me you
believed in Jesus Christ as long as ever you remember--you never did
misbelieve. Then, you could not give me a better proof that you never
yet believed in Jesus Christ, unless you were sanctified early, as
from the womb; for they that otherwise believe in Christ know there
was a time when they did not believe in Jesus Christ.

You say you love God with all your heart, soul, and strength. If I
were to ask you how long it is since you loved God, you would say, As
long as you can remember; you never hated God, you know no time when
there was enmity in your heart against God. Then, unless you were
sanctified very early, you never loved God in your life.

My dear friends, I am more particular in this, because it is a most
deceitful delusion, whereby so many people are carried away, that they
believe already. Therefore it is remarked of Mr. Marshall, giving
account of his experiences, that he had been working for life, and he
had ranged all his sins under the ten commandments, and then, coming
to a minister, asked him the reason why he could not get peace. The
minister looked to his catalog. "Away," says he, "I do not find one
word of the sin of unbelief in all your catalog." It is the peculiar
work of the Spirit of God to convince us of our unbelief--that we have
got no faith. Says Jesus Christ, "I will send the comforter; and when
he is come, he will reprove the world" of the sin of unbelief; "of
sin," says Christ, "because they believe not on me."

Now, my dear friends, did God ever show you that you had no faith?
Were you ever made to bewail a hard heart of unbelief? Was it ever the
language of your heart, Lord, give me faith; Lord, enable me to lay
hold on Thee; Lord, enable me to call Thee my Lord and my God? Did
Jesus Christ ever convince you in this manner? Did he ever convince
you of your inability to close with Christ, and make you to cry out to
God to give you faith? If not, do not speak peace to your heart. May
the Lord awaken you and give you true, solid peace before you go hence
and be no more!

Once more, then: before you can speak peace to your heart, you must
not only be convinced of your actual and original sin, the sins of
your own righteousness, the sin of unbelief, but you must be enabled
to lay hold upon the perfect righteousness, the all-sufficient
righteousness, of the Lord Jesus Christ; you must lay hold by faith
on the righteousness of Jesus Christ, and then you shall have peace.
"Come," says Jesus, "unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden,
and I will give you rest."

This speaks encouragement to all that are weary and heavy laden;
but the promise of rest is made to them only upon their coming and
believing, and taking Him to be their God and their all. Before we can
ever have peace with God we must be justified by faith through our
Lord Jesus Christ, we must be enabled to apply Christ to our hearts,
we must have Christ brought home to our souls, so as His righteousness
may be made our righteousness, so as His merits may be imputed to our
souls. My dear friends, were you ever married to Jesus Christ? Did
Jesus Christ ever give Himself to you? Did you ever close with Christ
by a lively faith, so as to feel Christ in your hearts, so as to hear
Him speaking peace to your souls? Did peace ever flow in upon your
hearts like a river? Did you ever feel that peace that Christ spoke to
His disciples? I pray God he may come and speak peace to you. These
things you must experience.

I am now talking of the invisible realities of another world, of
inward religion, of the work of God upon a poor sinner's heart. I am
now talking of a matter of great importance, my dear hearers; you are
all concerned in it, your souls are concerned in it, your eternal
salvation is concerned in it. You may be all at peace, but perhaps the
devil has lulled you asleep into a carnal lethargy and security, and
will endeavor to keep you there till he gets you to hell, and there
you will be awakened; but it will be dreadful to be awakened and find
yourselves so fearfully mistaken when the great gulf is fixt, when
you will be calling to all eternity for a drop of water to cool your
tongue and shall not obtain it.




BLAIR

THE HOUR AND THE EVENT OF ALL TIME

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


Hugh Blair, the preacher and divine, was born in Edinburgh, 1718. He
entered the university of his native town and graduated in 1739. Two
years later he was licensed to preach; he was ordained minister of
Colossie, Fife, in 1742, but returned to Edinburgh and in 1762
was made regius professor of rhetoric and belles-lettres to the
university. He became a member of the great literary club, the Poker,
where he associated with Hume, A. Carlyle, Adam Ferguson, Adam Smith
and others, and enjoyed a high reputation as a preacher and critic.
The lectures he published on style are elegantly written, but weak in
thought, and his sermons share the same fault. They are composed with
great care, and sometimes a single discourse cost him a week's labor,
but they are formal and destitute of feeling and sometimes even
affected in style. Blair was notable for fastidiousness in dress and
manners, and took very seriously the reputation he was given for
refinement and common-sense as one of the moderate divines. He died in
1800.




BLAIR

1718--1800

THE HOUR AND THE EVENT OF ALL TIME

_Jesus lifted up His eyes to heaven, and said, Father! the hour is
come_.--John xvii., 1.


These were the words of our blest Lord on a memorable occasion. The
feast of the Passover drew nigh, at which He knew that He was to
suffer. The night was arrived wherein He was to be delivered into the
hands of His enemies. He had spent the evening in conference with His
disciples, like a dying father in the midst of his family, mingling
consolations with His last instructions. When He had ended His
discourse to them, "he lifted up his eyes to heaven," and with the
words which I have now read, began that solemn prayer of intercession
for the Church, which closed His ministry. Immediately after, He went
forth with His disciples into the garden of Gethsemane and surrendered
Himself to those who came to apprehend Him.

Such was the situation of our Lord at the time of His pronouncing
these words. He saw His mission on the point of being accomplished.
He had the prospect full before Him of all that He was about to
suffer--"Father! the hour is come." What hour? An hour the most
critical, the most pregnant with great events, since hours had begun
to be numbered, since time had begun to run. It was the hour at which
the Son of God was to terminate the labors of His important life by a
death still more important and illustrious; the hour of atoning, by
His sufferings, for the guilt of mankind; the hour of accomplishing
prophecies, types, and symbols, which had been carried on through a
series of ages; the hour of concluding the old and of introducing into
the world the new dispensation of religion; the hour of His triumphing
over the world, and death, and hell; the hour of His creating that
spiritual kingdom which is to last forever. Such is the hour. Such are
the events which you are to commemorate in the sacrament of our Lord's
Supper.

I. This was the hour in which Christ was glorified by His sufferings.
The whole of His life had discovered much real greatness under a mean
appearance. Through the cloud of His humiliation, His native luster
often broke forth; but never did it shine so bright as in this last,
this trying hour. It was indeed the hour of distress and of blood. He
knew it to be such; and when He uttered the words of the text, He had
before His eyes the executioner and the cross, the scourge, the nails,
and the spear. But by prospects of this nature His soul was not to be
overcome. It is distress which ennobles every great character; and
distress was to glorify the Son of God. He was now to teach all
mankind by His example, how to suffer and to die. He was to stand
forth before His enemies as the faithful witness of the truth,
justifying by His behavior the character which He assumed, and sealing
by His blood the doctrines which He taught.

What magnanimity in all His words and actions on this great occasion!
The court of Herod, the judgment-hall of Pilate, the hill of Calvary,
were so many theaters prepared for His displaying all the virtues of a
constant and patient mind. When led forth to suffer, the first voice
which we hear from Him is a generous lamentation over the fate of His
unfortunate tho guilty country; and to the last moment of His life we
behold Him in possession of the same gentle and benevolent spirit. No
upbraiding, no complaining expression escaped from His lips during the
long and painful approaches of a cruel death. He betrayed no symptom
of a weak or a vulgar, of a discomposed or impatient mind. With the
utmost attention of filial tenderness He committed His aged mother to
the care of His beloved disciple. With all the dignity of a sovereign
He conferred pardon on a fellow-sufferer. With a greatness of mind
beyond example, He spent His last moments in apologies and prayers for
those who were shedding His blood.

By wonders in heaven and wonders on earth, was this hour
distinguished. All nature seemed to feel it; and the dead and the
living bore witness of its importance. The veil of the temple was rent
in twain. The earth shook. There was darkness over all the land. The
graves were opened, and "many who slept arose, and went into the holy
city." Nor were these the only prodigies of this awful hour. The most
hardened hearts were subdued and changed. The judge who, in order to
gratify the multitude, passed sentence against Him, publicly attested
His innocence. The Roman centurion who presided at the execution,
"glorified God," and acknowledged the Sufferer to be more than man.
"After he saw the things which had passed, he said, Certainly this
was a righteous person: truly this was the Son of God." The Jewish
malefactor who was crucified with Him addrest Him as a king, and
implored His favor. Even the crowd of insensible spectators, who had
come forth as to a common spectacle, and who began with clamors and
insults, "returned home smiting their breasts." Look back on the
heroes, the philosophers, the legislators of old. View them, in their
last moments. Recall every circumstance which distinguished their
departure from the world. Where can you find such an assemblage of
high virtues, and of great events, as concurred at the death of
Christ? Where so many testimonials given to the dignity of the dying
person by earth and by heaven?

II. This was the hour in which Christ atoned for the sins of mankind,
and accomplished our eternal redemption. It was the hour when that
great sacrifice was offered up, the efficacy of which reaches back
to the first transgression of man, and extends forward to the end of
time; the hour when, from the cross, as from a high altar, the blood
was flowing which washed away the guilt of the nations.

This awful dispensation of the Almighty contains mysteries which are
beyond the discovery of man. It is one of those things into which "the
angels desire to look." What has been revealed to us is, that the
death of Christ was the interposition of heaven for preventing the
ruin of human kind. We know that under the government of God misery
is the natural consequence of guilt. After rational creatures had, by
their criminal conduct, introduced disorder into the divine kingdom,
there was no ground to believe that by their penitence and prayers
alone they could prevent the destruction which threatened them. The
prevalence of propitiatory sacrifices throughout the earth proclaims
it to be the general sense of mankind that mere repentance was not of
sufficient avail to expiate sin or to stop its penal effects. By the
constant allusions which are carried on in the New Testament to the
sacrifices under the law, as pre-signifying a great atonement made by
Christ, and by the strong expressions which are used in describing the
effects of His death, the sacred writers show, as plainly as language
allows, that there was an efficacy in His sufferings far beyond
that of mere example and instruction. The nature and extent of that
efficacy we are unable as yet fully to trace. Part we are capable of
beholding; and the wisdom of what we behold we have reason to adore.
We discern, in this plan of redemption, the evil of sin strongly
exhibited and the justice of the divine government awfully
exemplified, in Christ suffering for sinners. But let us not imagine
that our present discoveries unfold the whole influence of the
death of Christ. It is connected with causes into which we can not
penetrate. It produces consequences too extensive for us to explore.
"God's thoughts are not as our thoughts." In all things we "see only
in part"; and here, if anywhere, we see also "as through a glass.
darkly."

This, however, is fully manifest, that redemption is one of the most
glorious works of the Almighty. If the hour of the creation of the
world was great and illustrious, that hour when, from the dark and
formless mass, this fair system of nature arose at the divine command,
when "the morning-stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted
for joy," no less illustrious is the hour of the restoration of the
world; the hour when, from condemnation and misery, it emerged into
happiness and peace. With less external majesty it was attended; but
it is, on that account, the more wonderful that, under an appearance
so simple, such great events were covered.

III. In this hour the long series of prophecies, visions, types, and
figures were accomplished. This was the center in which they all met:
this the point toward which they had tended and verged, throughout the
course of so many generations. You behold the law and the prophets
standing, if we may speak so, at the foot of the cross, and doing
homage. You behold Moses and Aaron bearing the Ark of the Covenant;
David and Elijah presenting the oracle of testimony. You behold all
the priests and sacrifices, all the rites and ordinances, all the
types and symbols assembled together to receive their consummation.
Without the death of Christ, the worship and ceremonies of the law
would have remained a pompous, but unmeaning, institution. In the hour
when He was crucified, "the book with the seven seals" was opened.
Every rite assumed its significancy; every prediction met its event;
every symbol displayed its correspondence.

The dark and seemingly ambiguous method of conveying important
discoveries under figures and emblems was not peculiar to the sacred
books. The spirit of God in presignifying the death of Christ, adopted
that plan, according to which the whole knowledge of those early
ages was propagated through the world. Under the veil of mysterious
allusion, all wisdom was then concealed. From the sensible world
images were everywhere borrowed to describe things unseen. More was
understood to be meant than was openly exprest. By enigmatical rites
the priests communicated his doctrines; by parables and allegories
the philosopher instructed his disciples; even the legislator, by
figurative sayings, commanded the reverence of the people. Agreeably
to this prevailing mode of instruction, the whole dispensation of the
Old Testament was so conducted as to be the shadow and figure of
a spiritual system. Every remarkable event, every distinguished
personage, under the law, is interpreted in the New Testament, as
bearing reference to the hour of which we treat. If Isaac was laid
upon the altar as an innocent victim; if David was driven from his
throne by the wicked, and restored by the hand of God; if the brazen
serpent was lifted up to heal the people; if the rock was smitten by
Moses, to furnish drink in the wilderness; all were types of Christ
and alluded to His death.

In predicting the same event the language of ancient prophecy was
magnificent, but seemingly contradictory: for it foretold a Messiah,
who was to be at once a sufferer and a conquerer. The Star was to come
out of Jacob, and the Branch to spring from the stem of Jesse. The
Angel of the Covenant, the desire of all nations, was to come suddenly
to His temple; and to Him was to be "the gathering of the people."
Yet, at the same time, He was to be "despised and rejected of men"; He
was to be "taken from prison and from judgment," and to be "led as a
lamb to the slaughter." Tho He was "a man of sorrows, and acquainted
with grief," yet "the Gentiles were to come to his light, and kings
to the brightness of his rising." In the hour when Christ died, those
prophetical riddles were solved: those seeming contradictions were
reconciled. The obscurity of oracles, and the ambiguity of typos
vanished. The "sun of righteousness" rose; and, together with the dawn
of religion those shadows passed away.

IV. This was the hour of the abolition of the law, and the
introduction of the gospel; the hour of terminating the old and of
beginning the new dispensation of religious knowledge and worship
throughout the earth. Viewed in this light, it forms the most august
era which is to be found in the history of mankind. When Christ was
suffering on the cross, we are informed by one of the evangelists that
He said, "I thirst"; and that they filled a sponge with vinegar, and
put it to His mouth. "After he had tasted the vinegar, knowing that
all things were now accomplished, and the Scriptures fulfilled, he
said, It is finished"; that is, this offered draft of vinegar was the
last circumstance predicted by an ancient prophet that remained to
be fulfilled. The vision and the prophecy are now sealed: the Mosaic
dispensation is closed. "And he bowed his head and gave up the ghost."

"It is finished." When He uttered these words He changed the state of
the universe. At that moment the law ceased, and the gospel commenced.
This was the ever memorable point of time which separated the old and
the new worlds from each other. On one side of the point of separation
you behold the law, with its priests, its sacrifices, and its rites,
retiring from sight. On the other side you behold the gospel, with
its simple and venerable institutions, coming forward into view.
Significantly was the veil of the temple rent in this hour; for the
glory then departed from between the cherubim. The legal high priest
delivered up his urim and thummim, his breast-plate, his robes, and
his incense: and Christ stood forth as the great high priest of all
succeeding generations. By that one sacrifice which He now offered, He
abolished sacrifices forever. Altars on which the fire had blazed for
ages, were now to smoke no more. Victims were no more to bleed. "Not
with the blood of bulls and goats, but with his own blood he now
entered into the holy place, there to appear in the presence of God
for us."

This was the hour of association and union to all the worshipers of
God. When Christ said, "It is finished," He threw down the wall of
partition which had so long divided the Gentile from the Jew. He
gathered into one all the faithful out of every kindred and people.
He proclaimed the hour to be come when the knowledge of the true God
should be no longer confined to one nation, nor His worship to one
temple; but over all the earth, the worshipers of the Father should
serve Him "in spirit and in truth." From that hour they who dwelt
in the "uttermost ends of the earth, strangers to the covenant of
promise," began to be "brought nigh." In that hour the light of the
gospel dawned from afar on the British Islands.

During a long course of ages, Providence seemed to be occupied in
preparing the world for this revolution. The whole Jewish economy
was intended to usher it in. The knowledge of God was preserved
unextinguished in one corner of the world, that thence, in due time,
might issue forth the light which was to overspread the earth.
Successive revelations gradually enlarged the views of men beyond the
narrow bounds of Judea, to a more extensive kingdom of God. Signs and
miracles awakened their expectation and directed their eyes toward
this great event. Whether God descended on the flaming mountain, or
spoke by the prophet's voice; whether He scattered His chosen people
into captivity, or reassembled them in their own land, He was still
carrying on a progressive plan, which was accomplished at the death of
Christ.

Not only in the territories of Israel, but over all the earth, the
great dispensations of Providence respected the approach of this
important hour. If empires rose or fell; if war divided, or peace
united, the nations; if learning civilized their manners, or
philosophy enlarged their views; all was, by the secret decree of
Heaven, made to ripen the world for that "fulness of time," when
Christ was to publish the whole counsel of God. The Persian, the
Macedonian, the Roman conqueror, entered upon the stage each at his
predicted period. The revolutions of power, and the succession of
monarchies, were so arranged by Providence, as to facilitate the
progress of the gospel through the habitable world, after the day had
arrived, "when the stone which was cut out of the mountain without
hands, should become a great mountain and fill the earth." This was
the day which Abraham saw afar off, and was glad. This was the day
which "many prophets, and kings, and righteous men desired to see,
but could not"; the day for which "the earnest expectation of
the creature," long opprest with ignorance, and bewildered in
superstition, might be justly said to wait.

V. This was the hour of Christ's triumph over all the powers of
darkness; the hour in which He overthrew dominions and thrones, "led
captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men." The contest which the
kingdom of darkness had long maintained against the kingdom of light
was now brought to its crisis. The period was come when "the seed of
the woman shall bruise the head of the serpent" For many ages the
most gross superstition had filled the earth. "The glory of the
incorruptible God" was everywhere, except in the land of Judea,
"changed into images made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and
beasts, and creeping-things." The world, which the Almighty created
for Himself, seemed to have become a temple of idols. Even to vices
and passions altars were raised; and what was entitled religion, was
in effect a discipline of impurity. In the midst of this universal
darkness, Satan had erected his throne, and the learned and the
polished, as well as the savage nations, bowed down before him. But at
the hour when Christ appeared on the cross, the signal of His defeat
was given. His kingdom suddenly departed from Him; the reign of
idolatry passed away: He was beheld to fall "like lightning from
heaven." In that hour the foundation of every pagan temple shook. The
statue of every false god tottered on its base. The priest fled from
his falling shrine; and the heathen oracles became dumb forever.

As on the cross Christ triumphed over Satan, so He overcame His
auxiliary, the world. Long had it assailed Him with its temptations
and discouragements; in this hour of severe trial He surmounted them
all. Formerly He had despised the pleasures of the world. He now
baffled its terrors. Hence He is justly said to have "crucified the
world." By His sufferings He ennobled distress; and He darkened
the luster of the pomp and vanities of life. He discovered to His
followers the path which leads, through affliction, to glory and to
victory; and He imparted to them the same spirit which enabled Him to
overcome. "My kingdom is not of this world. In this world ye shall
have tribulation, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world."

Death also, the last foe of man, was the victim of this hour. The
formidable appearance of the specter remained; but his dart was taken
away. For, in the hour when Christ expiated guilt, He disarmed death,
by securing the resurrection of the just. When He said to His penitent
fellow sufferer, "To-day thou shalt be with me in paradise," He
announced to all His followers the certainty of heavenly bliss. He
declared the cherubim to be dismissed and the flaming sword to be
sheathed, which had been appointed at the fall, to keep from man "the
way of the tree of life." Faint, before this period, had been the
hope, indistinct the prospect, which even good men enjoyed of the
heavenly kingdom. Life and immortality were now brought to light. From
the hill of Calvary the first clear and certain view was given to the
world of the everlasting mansions. Since that hour they have been the
perpetual consolation of believers in Christ. Under trouble, they
soothe their minds; amid temptation, they support their virtue; and in
their dying moments enable them to say, "O death! where is thy sting?
O grave! where is thy victory"?

VI. This was the hour when our Lord erected that spiritual kingdom
which is never to end. How vain are the counsels and designs of men!
How shallow is the policy of the wicked! How short their triumphing!
The enemies of Christ imagined that in this hour they had successfully
accomplished their plan for His destruction. They believed that they
had entirely scattered the small party of His followers, and had
extinguished His name and His honor forever. In derision they addrest
Him as a king. They clothed Him with purple robes; they crowned Him
with a crown of thorns; they put a reed into His hand; and, with
insulting mockery, bowed the knee before Him. Blind and impious men!
How little did they know that the Almighty was at that moment setting
Him as a king on the hill of Zion; giving Him "the heathen for his
inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for his possession"!
How little did they know that their badges of mock royalty were at
that moment converted into the signals of absolute dominion, and the
instruments of irresistible power! The reed which they put into His
hands became "a rod of iron," with which He was to "break in pieces
his enemies," a scepter with which He was to rule the universe in
righteousness. The cross which they thought was to stigmatize Him with
infamy, became the ensign of His renown. Instead of being the reproach
of His followers, it was to be their boast and their glory. The cross
was to shine on palaces and churches throughout the earth. It was to
be assumed as the distinction of the most powerful monarchs, and to
wave in the banner of victorious armies when the memory of Herod and
Pilate should be accurst, when Jerusalem should be reduced to ashes,
and the Jews be vagabonds over all the world.

These were the triumphs which commenced at this hour. Our Lord saw
them already in their birth; He saw of the travail of His soul, and
was satisfied. He beheld the Word of God going forth, conquering, and
to conquer; subduing, to the obedience of His laws, the subduers of
the world; carrying light into the regions of darkness, and mildness
into the habitations of cruelty. He beheld the Gentiles waiting below
the cross, to receive the gospel. He beheld Ethiopia and the Isles
stretching out their hands to God; the desert beginning to rejoice
and to blossom as the rose; and the knowledge of the Lord filling the
earth, as the waters cover the sea. Well pleased, He said, "It is
finished." As a conqueror He retired from the field, reviewing His
triumphs: "He bowed his head and gave up the ghost." From that hour,
Christ was no longer a mortal man, but "Head over all things to the
Church," the glorious King of men and angels, of whose dominion there
shall be no end. His triumphs shall perpetually increase. "His name
shall endure forever; it shall last as long as the sun; men shall be
blest in him, and all nations shall call him blest"

Such were the transactions, such the effects, of this ever-memorable
hour. With all those great events was the mind of our Lord filled,
when He lifted His eyes to heaven, and said, "Father! the hour is
come."

From this view which we have taken of this subject, permit me to
suggest what ground it affords to confide in the mercy of God for the
pardon of sin; to trust to His faithfulness for the accomplishment of
all His promises; and to approach to Him, with gratitude and devotion,
in acts of worship.

In the first place, the death of Christ affords us ground to confide
in the divine mercy for the pardon of sin. All the steps of that high
dispensation of Providence, which we have considered, lead directly to
this conclusion, "He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up
for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?"
This is the final result of the discoveries of the gospel. On this
rests the great system of consolation which it hath reared up for men.
We are not left to dubious and intricate reasonings concerning the
conduct which God may be expected to hold toward His offending
creatures: but we are led to the view of important and illustrious
facts which strike the mind with evidence irresistible. For it is
possible to believe that such great operations, as I have endeavored
to describe, were carried on by the Almighty in vain? Did He excite
in the hearts of His creatures such encouraging hopes, without any
intention to fulfil them? After so long a preparation of goodness,
could He mean to deny forgiveness to the penitent and the humble? When
overcome by the sense of guilt, man looks up with an astonished eye to
the justice of his Creator, let him recollect that hour of which the
text speaks, and be comforted. The signals of divine mercy, erected in
his view, are too conspicuous to be either distrusted or mistaken.

In the next place, the discoveries of this hour afford the highest
reason to trust in the divine faithfulness for the accomplishment of
every promise which remains yet unfulfilled. For this was the hour of
the completion of God's ancient covenant.

It was the "performance of the mercy promised to the fathers." We
behold the consummation of a great plan, which, throughout a course
of ages, had been uniformly pursued; and which, against every human
appearance, was, at the appointed moment, exactly fulfilled. No
length of time alters His purpose. No obstacles can retard it. Toward
the ends accomplished in this hour, the most repugnant instruments
were made to operate. We discern God bending to His purpose the
jarring passions, the opposite interests, and even the vices of men;
uniting seeming contrarieties in His scheme; making "the wrath of man
to praise him"; obliging the ambition of princes, the prejudices of
Jews, the malice of Satan, all to concur, either in bringing forward
this hour, or in completing its destined effects. With what entire
confidence ought we to wait for the fulfilment of all His other
promises in their due time, even when events are most embroiled and
the prospect is most discouraging: "Altho thou sayst thou canst not
see him, yet judgment is before him; therefore trust thou in him." Be
attentive only to perform thy duty; leave the event to God, and be
assured that, under the direction of His Providence, "all things shall
work together" for a happy issue.

Lastly, the consideration of this whole subject tends to excite
gratitude and devotion, when we approach to God in acts of worship.
The hour of which I have discust, presents Him to us in the amiable
light of the deliverer of mankind, the restorer of our forfeited
hopes. We behold the greatness of the Almighty, softened by the mild
radiance of condescension and mercy. We behold Him diminishing the
awful distance at which we stand from His presence, by appointing for
us a mediator and intercessor, through whom the humble may, without
dismay, approach to Him who made them. By such views of the divine
nature, Christian faith lays the foundation for a worship which shall
be at once rational and affectionate; a worship in which the light of
the understanding shall concur with the devotion of the heart, and
the most profound reverence be united with the most cordial love.
Christian faith is not a system of speculative truths. It is not a
lesson of moral instruction only. By a train of high discoveries which
it reveals, by a succession of interesting objects which it places
in our view, it is calculated to elevate the mind, to purify the
affections, and by the assistance of devotion, to confirm and
encourage virtue. Such, in particular, is the scope of that divine
institution, the sacrament of our Lord's Supper. To this happy purpose
let it conduce, by concentering in one striking point of light all
that the gospel has displayed of what is most important to man.
Touched with such contrition for past offenses, and filled with a
grateful sense of divine goodness, let us come to the altar of God,
and, with a humble faith in His infinite mercies, devote ourselves to
His service forever.




DWIGHT

THE SOVEREIGNTY OF GOD

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


Timothy Dwight was born at Northampton, Massachusetts, in 1752. He
graduated from Yale in 1769, served as chaplain in the army during the
Revolutionary War and was chosen president of his university in 1795.
He died, after holding that office for twelve years, in 1817. Lyman
Beecher, who attributed his conversion to him, says: "He was of noble
form, with a noble head and body, and had one of the sweetest smiles
that ever you saw. When I heard him preach on 'the harvest is passed,
the summer is ended, and we are not saved,' a whole avalanche rolled
down on my mind. I went home weeping every step."



DWIGHT

1752--1817

THE SOVEREIGNTY OF GOD

_O Lord, I know that the way of man is not in himself: it is not in
man that walketh to direct his steps_.--Jeremiah x., 23.


Few of this audience will probably deny the truth of a direct
Scriptural declaration. With as little reason can it be denied that
most of them apparently live in the very manner in which they would
live if the doctrine were false: or that they rely, chiefly at least,
on their own sagacity, contrivance and efforts for success in this
life and that which is to come. As little can it be questioned that
such self-confidence is a guide eminently dangerous and deceitful.
Safe as we may feel under its direction, our safety is imaginary. The
folly of others in trusting to themselves we discern irresistibly. The
same folly they perceive, with equal evidence, in us. Our true
wisdom lies in willingly feeling, and cheerfully acknowledging, our
dependence on God; and in committing ourselves with humble reliance to
His care and direction.

With these observations I will now proceed to illustrate the truth of
the doctrine. The mode which I shall pursue will, probably, be thought
singular. I hope it will be useful. Metaphysical arguments, which are
customarily employed for the purpose of establishing this and several
other doctrines of theology, are, if I mistake not, less satisfactory
to the minds of men at large than the authors of them appear to
believe. Facts, wherever they can be fairly adduced for this end,
are attended with a superior power of conviction; and commonly leave
little doubt behind them. On these, therefore, I shall at the present
time rely for the accomplishment of my design. In the first place, the
doctrine of the text is evident from the great fact that the birth and
education of all men depend not on themselves.

The succeeding events of life are derived, in a great measure at
least, from our birth. By this event, it is in a prime degree
determined whether men shall be princes or peasants, opulent or poor,
learned or ignorant, honorable or despised; whether they shall be
civilized or savage, freemen or slaves, Christians or heathens,
Mohammedans or Jews.

A child is born of Indian parents in the western wilderness. By his
birth he is, of course, a savage. His friends, his mode of life, his
habits, his knowledge, his opinions, his conduct, all grow out of this
single event. His first thoughts, his first instructions, and all the
first objects with which he is conversant, the persons whom he loves,
the life to which he assumes are all savage. He is an Indian from the
cradle; he is an Indian to the grave. To say that he could not be
otherwise, we are not warranted; but that he is not is certain.

Another child is born of a Bedouin Arab. From this moment he begins to
be an Arabian. His hand is against every man; and every man's hand
is against him. Before he can walk, or speak, he is carried through
pathless wastes in search of food; and roams in the arms of his
mother, and on the back of a camel, from spring to spring, and from
pasture to pasture. Even then he begins his conflict with hunger and
thirst; is scorched by a vertical sun; shriveled by the burning sand
beneath; and poisoned by the breath of the simoom. Hardened thus
through his infancy and childhood, both in body and mind, he becomes,
under the exhortations and example of his father, a robber from
his youth; attacks every stranger whom he is able to overcome; and
plunders every valuable thing on which he can lay his hand.

A third receives his birth in the palace of a British nobleman; and is
welcomed to the world as the heir apparent of an ancient, honorable
and splendid family. As soon as he opens his eyes on the light, he is
surrounded by all the enjoyments which opulence can furnish, ingenuity
contrive, or fondness bestow. He is dandled on the knee of indulgence;
encircled by attendants, who watch and prevent alike his necessities
and wishes; cradled on down; and charmed to sleep by the voice of
tenderness and care. From the dangers and evils of life he is guarded
with anxious solicitude. To its pleasures he is conducted by the
ever-ready hand of maternal affection. His person is shaped and
improved by a succession of masters; his mind is opened, invigorated
and refined by the assiduous superintendence of learning and wisdom.
While a child he is served by a host of menials and flattered by
successive trains of visitors. When a youth he is regarded by a band
of tenants with reverence and awe. His equals in age bow to his rank;
and multitudes, of superior years acknowledge his distinction by
continual testimonies of marked respect. When a man, he engages the
regard of his sovereign; commands the esteem of the senate; and earns
the love and applause of his country.

A fourth child, in the same kingdom, is begotten by a beggar, and
born under a hedge. From his birth he is trained to suffering and
hardihood. He is nursed, if he can be said to be nursed at all, on a
coarse, scanty and precarious pittance; holds life only as a tenant
at will; combats from the first dawnings of intellect with insolence,
cold and nakedness; is originally taught to beg and to steal; is
driven from the doors of men by the porter or the house dog; and is
regarded as an alien from the family of Adam. Like his kindred worms,
he creeps through life in the dust; dies under the hedge, where he is
born; and is then, perhaps, cast into a ditch, and covered with earth
by some stranger, who remembers that, altho a beggar, he still was a
man.

A child enters the world in China; and unites, as a thing of course,
with his sottish countrymen in the stupid worship of the idol Fo.
Another prostrates himself before the Lama, in consequence of having
received his being in Tibet, and of seeing the Lama worshiped by all
around him.

A third, who begins his existence in Turkey, is carried early to the
mosque; taught to lisp with profound reverence the name of Mohammed;
habituated to repeat the prayers and sentences of the Koran as the
means of eternal life; and induced, in a manner irresistible, to
complete his title to Paradise by a pilgrimage to Mecca.

The Hindu infant grows into a religious veneration for the cow; and
perhaps never doubts that, if he adds to this solemn devotion to
Juggernaut, the Gooroos, and the Dewtahs, and performs carefully his
ablutions in the Ganges, he shall wash away all his sins, and obtain,
by the favor of Brahma, a seat among the blest.

In our own favored country, one child is born of parents devoted
solely to this world. From his earliest moments of understanding, he
hears and sees nothing commended but hunting, horse-racing, visiting,
dancing, dressing, riding, parties, gaming, acquiring money with
eagerness and skill, and spending it in gaiety, pleasure and luxury.
These things, he is taught by conversation and example, constitute all
the good of man. His taste is formed, his habits are riveted, and the
whole character of his soul is turned to them before he is fairly
sensible that there is any other good. The question whether virtue and
piety are either duties or blessings he probably never asks. In the
dawn of life he sees them neglected and despised by those whom he
most reverences; and learns only to neglect and despise them also. Of
Jehovah he thinks as little, and for the same reason as a Chinese or
a Hindu. They pay their devotions to Fo and to Juggernaut: he his to
money and pleasure. Thus he lives, and dies, a mere animal; a stranger
to intelligence and morality, to his duty and his God.

Another child comes into existence in the mansion of knowledge and
virtue. From his infancy, his mind is fashioned to wisdom and piety.
In his infancy he is taught and allured to remember his Creator;
and to unite, first in form and then in affection, in the household
devotions of the morning and evening. God he knows almost as soon as
he can know anything. The presence of that glorious being he is taught
to realize almost from the cradle; and from the dawn of intelligence
to understand the perfections and government of his Creator. His own
accountableness, as soon as he can comprehend it, he begins to feel
habitually, and always. The way of life through the Redeemer is early,
and regularly explained to him by the voice of parental love; and
enforced and endeared in the house of God. As soon as possible, he
is enabled to read, and persuaded to "search the Scriptures." Of the
approach, the danger and the mischiefs of temptations, he is tenderly
warned. At the commencement of sin, he is kindly checked in his
dangerous career. To God he was solemnly given in baptism. To God he
was daily commended in fervent prayer. Under this happy cultivation he
grows up "like an olive-tree in the courts of the Lord"; and, green,
beautiful and flourishing, he blossoms; bears fruit; and is prepared
to be transplanted by the divine hand to a kinder soil in the regions
above.

How many, and how great, are the differences in these several
children! How plainly do they all, in ordinary circumstances, arise
out of their birth! From their birth is derived, of course, the
education which I have ascribed to them; and from this education
spring in a great measure both character and their destiny. The place,
the persons, the circumstances, are here evidently the great things
which, in the ordinary course of Providence, appear chiefly to
determine what the respective men shall be; and what shall be those
allotments which regularly follow their respective characters. As,
then, they are not at all concerned in contriving or accomplishing
either their birth or their education; it is certain that, in these
most important particulars, the way of man is not in himself. God only
can determine what child shall spring from parents, wise or foolish,
virtuous or sinful, rich or poor, honorable or infamous, civilized or
savage, Christian or heathen.

I wish it to be distinctly understood, and carefully remembered, that
"in the moral conduct of all these individuals no physical necessity
operates." Every one of them is absolutely a free agent; as free as
any created agent can be. Whatever he does is the result of choice,
absolutely unconstrained.

Let me add, that not one of them is placed in a situation in which, if
he learns and performs his duty to the utmost of his power, he will
fail of being finally accepted.

Secondly. The doctrine is strikingly evident from this great fact,
also, that the course of life, which men usually pursue, is very
different from that which they have intended.

Human life is ordinarily little else than a collection of
disappointments. Rarely is the life of man such as he designs it shall
be. Often do we fail of pursuing, at all, the business originally
in our view. The intentional farmer becomes a mechanic, a seaman,
a merchant, a lawyer, a physician, or a divine. The very place of
settlement, and of residence through life, is often different, and
distant, from that which was originally contemplated. Still more
different is the success which follows our efforts.

All men intend to be rich and honorable; to enjoy ease; and to pursue
pleasure. But how small is the number of those who compass these
objects! In this country, the great body of mankind are, indeed,
possest of competence; a safer and happier lot than that to which they
aspire; yet few, very few are rich. Here, also, the great body of
mankind possess a character, generally reputable; but very limited is
the number of those who arrive at the honor which they so ardently
desire, and of which they feel assured. Almost all stop at the
moderate level, where human efforts appear to have their boundary
established in the determination of God. Nay, far below this level
creep multitudes of such as began life with full confidence in the
attainment of distinction and splendor.

The lawyer, emulating the eloquence, business, and fame of Murray or
Dunning, and secretly resolved not to slacken his efforts, until all
his rivals in the race for glory are outstript is often astonished, as
well as broken-hearted, to find business and fame pass by his door,
and stop at the more favored mansion of some competitor, in his view
less able, and less discerning, than himself.

The physician, devoted to medical science, and possest of
distinguished powers of discerning and removing diseases, is obliged
to walk; while a more fortunate empiric, ignorant and worthless, rolls
through the streets in his coach.

The legislator beholds with anguish and amazement the suffrages of his
countrymen given eagerly to a rival candidate devoid of knowledge and
integrity; but skilled in flattering the base passions of men, and
deterred by no hesitations of conscience, and no fears of infamy, from
saying and doing anything which may secure his election.

The merchant often beholds with a despairing eye his own ships sunk in
the ocean; his debtors fail; his goods unsold, his business cramped;
and himself, his family and his hopes ruined; while a less skilful but
more successful neighbor sees wealth blown to him by every wind, and
floated on every wave.

The crops of the farmer are stinted; his cattle die; his markets are
bad; and the purchaser of his commodities proves to be a cheat, who
deceives his confidence and runs away with his property.

Thus the darling schemes and fondest hopes of man are daily frustrated
by time. While sagacity contrives, patience matures, and labor
industriously executes, disappointment laughs at the curious fabric,
formed by so many efforts and gay with so many brilliant colors,
and while the artists imagine the work arrived at the moment of
completion, brushes away the beautiful web, and leaves nothing behind.

The designs of men, however, are in many respects not infrequently
successful. The lawyer and physician acquire business and fame; the
statesman, votes; and the farmer, wealth. But their real success,
even in this case, is often substantially the same with that already
recited. In all plans, and all labors, the supreme object is to become
happy. Yet, when men have actually acquired riches and honor, or
secured to themselves popular favor, they still find the happiness,
which they expected, eluding their grasp. Neither wealth, fame,
office, nor sensual pleasure can yield such good as we need. As these
coveted objects are accumulated, the wishes of man always grow faster
than his gratifications. Hence, whatever he acquires, he is usually as
little satisfied as before, and often less.

A principal design of the mind in laboring for these things is to
become superior to others. But almost all rich men are obliged to see,
and usually with no small anguish, others richer than themselves;
honorable men, others more honorable; voluptuous men, others who enjoy
more pleasure. The great end of the strife is therefore unobtained;
and the happiness expected never found. Even the successful competitor
in the race utterly misses his aim. The real enjoyment existed, altho
it was unperceived by him, in the mere strife for superiority. When
he has outstript all his rivals the contest is at an end: and his
spirits, which were invigorated only by contending, languish for want
of a competitor.

Besides, the happiness in view was only the indulgence of pride,
or mere animal pleasure. Neither of these can satisfy or endure. A
rational mind may be, and often is, so narrow and groveling as not to
aim at any higher good, to understand its nature or to believe its
existence. Still, in its original constitution, it was formed with a
capacity for intellectual and moral good, and was destined to find in
this good its only satisfaction. Hence, no inferior good will fill
its capacity or its desires. Nor can this bent of its nature ever be
altered. Whatever other enjoyment, therefore, it may attain, it will,
without this, still crave and still be unhappy.

No view of the ever-varying character and success of mankind in
their expectations of happiness, and their efforts to obtain it, can
illustrate this doctrine more satisfactorily than that of the progress
and end of a class of students in this seminary. At their first
appearance here they are all exactly on the same level. Their
character, their hopes and their destination are the same. They are
enrolled on one list; and enter upon a collegiate life with the same
promise of success. At this moment they are plants, appearing just
above the ground; all equally fair and flourishing. Within a short
time, however, some begin to rise above others; indicating by a more
rapid growth a structure of superior vigor, and promising both more
early and more abundant fruit....

Were I to ask the youths who are before me what are their designs
and expectations concerning their future life, and write down their
several answers, what a vast difference would ultimately be found
between those answers and the events which would actually befall them!
To how great a part of that difference would facts, over which they
could have no control, give birth! How many of them will in all
probability be less prosperous, rich, and honorable than they now
intend: how many devoted to employments of which at present they do
not even dream; in circumstances, of which they never entertained even
a thought, behind those whom they expected to outrun, poor, sick, in
sorrow or in the grave.

First. You see here, my young friends, the most solid reasons for
gratitude to your Creator.

God, only, directed that you should be born in this land, and in the
midst of peace, plenty, civilization, freedom, learning and religion;
and that your existence should not commence in a Tartarian forest
or an African waste. God, alone, ordered that you should be born of
parents who knew and worshiped Him, the glorious and eternal Jehovah;
and not of parents who bowed before the Lama or the ox, an image of
brass or the stock of a tree. In the book of His counsels, your names,
so far as we are able to judge, were written in the fair lines of
mercy. It is of His overflowing goodness that you are now here;
surrounded with privileges, and beset with blessings, educated to
knowledge, usefulness and piety, and prepared to begin an endless
course of happiness and glory. All these delightful things have
been poured into your lap, and have come, unbidden, to solicit your
acceptance. If these blessings awaken not gratitude, it can not be
awakened by the blessings in the present world. If they are not
thankfully felt by you, it is because you know not how to be thankful.
Think what you are, and where you are; and what and where you just as
easily might have been. Remember that, instead of cherishing tender
affections, imbibing refined sentiments, exploring the field of
science, and assuming the name and character of the sons of God, you
might as easily have been dozing in the smoke of a wigwam, brandishing
a tomahawk, or dancing round an emboweled captive; or that you might
yourself have been emboweled by the hand of superstition, and burnt on
the altars of Moloch. If you remember these things, you can not but
call to mind, also, who made you to differ from the miserable beings
who have thus lived and died.

Secondly. This doctrine forcibly demands of you to moderate desires
and expectations.

There are two modes in which men seek happiness in the enjoyments of
the present world. "Most persons freely indulge their wishes, and
intend to find objects sufficient in number and value to satisfy
them." A few "aim at satisfaction by proportioning their desires to
the number and measure of their probable gratifications." By the
doctrine of the text, the latter method is stamped with the name of
wisdom, and on the former is inscribed the name of folly. Desires
indulged grow faster and farther than gratifications extend.
Ungratified desire is misery. Expectations eagerly indulged and
terminated by disappointment are often exquisite misery. But how
frequently are expectations raised only to be disappointed, and
desires let loose only to terminate in distress! The child pines for
a toy: the moment he possesses it, he throws it by and cries for
another. When they are piled up in heaps around him, he looks at them
without pleasure, and leaves them without regret. He knew not that
all the good which they could yield lay in expectation; nor that his
wishes for more would increase faster than toys could be multiplied,
and is unhappy at last for the same reason as at first: his wishes
are ungratified. Still indulging them, and still believing that the
gratification of them will furnish the enjoyment for which he pines,
he goes on, only to be unhappy.

Men are merely taller children. Honor, wealth and splendor are the
toys for which grown children pine; but which, however accumulated,
leave them still disappointed and unhappy. God never designed that
intelligent beings should be satisfied with these enjoyments. By his
wisdom and goodness they were formed to derive their happiness and
virtue.

Moderated desires constitute a character fitted to acquire all the
good which this world can yield. He who is prepared, in whatever
situation he is, therewith to be content, has learned effectually the
science of being happy, and possesses the alchemic stone which will
change every metal into gold. Such a man will smile upon a stool,
while Alexander at his side sits weeping on the throne of the world.

The doctrine of the text teaches you irresistibly that, since you can
not command gratifications, you should command your desires; and that,
as the events of life do not accord with your wishes, your wishes
should accord with them. Multiplied enjoyments fall to but few men,
and are no more rationally expected than the highest prize in a
lottery. But a well-regulated mind, a dignified independence of the
world, and a wise preparation to possess one's soul in patience,
whatever circumstances may exist, is in the power of every man, and is
greater wealth than that of both Indies, and greater honor than Caesar
ever required.

Thirdly. As your course and your success through life are not under
your control, you are strongly urged to commit yourselves to God, who
can control both.

That you can not direct your course through the world, that your best
concerted plans will often fail, that your sanguine expectations will
be disappointed, and that your fondest worldly wishes will terminate
in mortification can not admit of a momentary doubt. That God can
direct you, that He actually controls all your concerns, and that,
if you commit yourselves to His care, He will direct you kindly and
safely, can be doubted only of choice. Why, then, do you hesitate to
yield yourselves and your interests to the guidance of your Maker?
There are two reasons which appear especially to govern mankind in
this important concern; they do not and will not realize the agency of
God in their affairs; and they do not choose to have them directed
as they imagine He will direct them. The former is the result of
stupidity; the latter, of impiety. Both are foolish in the extreme,
and not less sinful than foolish.

The infinitely wise, great and glorious benefactor of the universe
has offered to take men by the hand, lead them through the journey of
life, and conduct them to His own house in the heavens. The proof of
His sincerity in making this offer has been already produced. He has
given His own Son to live, and die, and rise, and reign, and intercede
for our race. "Herein is love," if there ever was love; "not that we
have loved him, but that he has loved us." That He, who has done this,
should not be sincere is impossible. St. Paul, therefore, triumphantly
asks what none can answer: "He, that spared not his own Son, but
delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely
give us all things?" Trust, then, His word with undoubting confidence;
take His hand with humble gratitude, and with all thy heart obey His
voice, which you will everywhere hear, saying, "this is the way, walk
ye therein." In sickness and in health, by night and by day, at home
and in crowds, He will watch over you with tenderness inexpressible.
He will make you lie down in green pastures, lead you beside the still
waters and guide you in paths of righteousness, for His name's sake.
He will prepare a table before you in the presence of your enemies,
and cause your cup to run over with blessings. When you pass through
the waters of affliction He will be with you, and through the rivers
they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall
not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle on you. From their
native heavens He will commission those charming twin sisters,
goodness and mercy, to descend and "follow you all your days."

But if you wish God to be your guide and your friend, you must conform
to his pleasure. Certainly you can not wonder that the infinitely Wise
should prefer His own wisdom to yours, and that he should choose for
His children their allotments, rather than leave them to choose for
themselves. That part of His pleasure, which you are to obey, is all
summed up in the single word duty, and it is perfectly disclosed in
the Scriptures. The whole scheme is so formed as to be plain, easy,
profitable, and delightful; profitable in hand, delightful in the
possession. Every part and precept of the whole is calculated for this
end, and will make you only wise, good, and happy.

Life has been often styled an ocean, and our progress through it a
voyage. The ocean is tempestuous and billowy, overspread by a cloudy
sky, and fraught beneath with shelves and quicksands. The voyage
is eventful beyond comprehension, and at the same time full of
uncertainty, and replete with danger. Every adventurer needs to be
well prepared for whatever may befall him, and well secured against
the manifold hazards of losing his course, sinking in the abyss, or of
being wrecked against the shore.

These evils have all existed at all times. The present, and that
part of the past which is known to you by experience, has seen them
multiplied beyond example. It has seen the ancient and acknowledged
standards of thinking violently thrown down. Religion, morals,
government, and the estimate formed by man of crimes and virtues, and
of all the means of usefulness and enjoyment, have been questioned,
attacked, and in various places, and with respect to millions of
the human race, finally overthrown. A licentiousness of opinion and
conduct, daring, outrageous, and rending asunder every bond formed by
God or man, has taken place of former good sense and sound morals, and
has long threatened the destruction of human good. Industry, cunning,
and fraud have toiled with unrivaled exertions to convert man into
a savage and the world into a desert. A wretched and hypocritical
philanthropy, also, not less mischievous, has stalked forth as the
companion of these ravages: a philanthropy born in a dream, bred in a
hovel, and living only in professions. This guardian genius of human
interests, this friend of human rights, this redresser of human
wrongs, is yet without a heart to feel, and without a hand to bless.
But she is well furnished with lungs, with eyes, and a tongue. She can
talk, and sigh, and weep at pleasure, but can neither pity nor give.
The objects of her attachment are either knaves and villains at home,
or unknown sufferers beyond her reach abroad. To the former, she
ministers the sword and the dagger, that they may fight their way into
place, and power, and profit. At the latter she only looks through a
telescope of fancy, as an astronomer searches for stars invisible
to the eye. To every real object of charity within her reach she
complacently says, "Be thou warmed, and be thou filled; depart in
peace."

By the daring spirit, the vigorous efforts, and the ingenious cunning
so industriously exerted on the one hand, and the smooth and gentle
benevolence so softly profest on the other, multitudes have been,
and you easily may be, destroyed. The mischief has indeed been met,
resisted, and overcome; but it has the heads and the lives of the
hydra, and its wounds, which at times have seemed deadly, are much
more readily healed than any good man could wish, than any sober man
could expect. Hope not to escape the assaults of this enemy: To feel
that you are in danger will ever be a preparation for your safety. But
it will be only such a preparation; your deliverance must ultimately
and only flow from your Maker. Resolve, then, to commit yourselves
to Him with a cordial reliance on His wisdom, power, and protection.
Consider how much you have at stake, that you are bound to eternity,
that your existence will be immortal, and that you will either rise to
endless glory or be lost in absolute perdition. Heaven is your proper
home. The path, which I have recommended to you, will conduct you
safely and certainly to that happy world. Fill up life, therefore,
with obedience to God, with faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and
repentance unto life, the obedience to the two great commands of the
gospel, with supreme love to God and universal good-will to men, the
obedience to the two great commands of the law. On all your sincere
endeavors to honor Him, and befriend your fellow men, He will smile;
every virtuous attempt He will bless; every act of obedience He will
reward. Life in this manner will be pleasant amid all its sorrows; and
beams of hope will continually shine through the gloom, by which it
is so often overcast. Virtue, the seed that can not die, planted from
heaven, and cultivated by the divine hand, will grow up in your hearts
with increasing vigor, and blossom in your lives with supernal beauty.
Your path will be that of the just, and will gloriously resemble the
dawning light, "which shines brighter and brighter, to the perfect
day." Peace will take you by the hand, and offer herself as the
constant and delightful companion of your progress. Hope will walk
before you, and with an unerring finger point out your course; and
joy, at the end of the journey, will open her arms to receive you. You
will wait on the Lord, and renew your strength; will mount up with
wings as eagles; will run, and not be weary; will walk, and not faint.




ROBERT HALL

MARKS OF LOVE TO GOD

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


Robert Hall, Baptist divine, was born at Arnesby, near Leicester,
England, in 1764. Destined for the ministry, he was educated at the
Baptist Academy at Bristol, and preached for the first time in
1779. In 1783 he began his ministry in Bristol and drew crowded
congregations of all classes. The tradition of Hall's pupit oratory
has secured his lasting fame. Many minds of a high order were
fascinated by his eloquence, and his conversation was brilliant.
His treatment of religious topics had the rare merit of commending
evangelical doctrine to people of taste. Dugald Stewart declares that
his writings and public utterances exhibited the English language in
its perfection. He died in 1831.




ROBERT HALL

1764--1831

MARKS OF LOVE TO GOD

_But I know you, that ye have not the love of God in you._--John v.,
42.


The persons whom our Lord addrest in these words made a high
profession of religion, valued themselves upon their peculiar
opportunities of knowing the true God and His will, and proclaimed
themselves as the Israel and the temple of the Lord, while they
despised the surrounding pagans as those who were strangers to the
divine law. Yet the self-complacent Pharisees of our Savior's age were
as far from the love of God, he assures them in the text, as any of
those who had never heard of His name. In this respect, many of "the
first were last, and the last first." The rejection of the gospel
evinces a hardness of heart which is decisive against the character;
and, in the case of the Pharisees, it gave ample evidence that they
possest no love of God. Had they really known God, as our Lord argues,
they would have known Himself to be sent by God: whereas, in proving
the bitter enemies of Christ, they proved that they were in a state of
enmity against God. By parity of reason, we, my brethren, who know God
and His Word in the way of Christian profession, ought not to take it
for granted that we possess the love of God, and are in the way of
eternal life: the same self-delusion may overtake us also; and similar
admonitions may be no less necessary to many present, than to the
Pharisees of old. Suffer then, my brethren, the word of exhortation,
while I invite each individual seriously to consider this subject,
with a view to the discovery of his real character.

In proceeding to lay down certain marks of grace, let it be premised,
that either these marks partake of the nature of true religion, or
they do not. If they do, they must be identified with it, and here the
mark is the thing: if they do not partake of its nature, some of
them may exist as indications where genuine religion is not. It is
necessary, then, that we combine a variety of particular signs of
grace: any one taken by itself, may, or may not, exist, without true
religion; but where many are combined, no just doubt can remain.

Whether you have the love of God in your soul presents a most
critical subject of inquiry; since the love of God will be
acknowledged by all to be the great, the essential, principle of
true religion. The simple question, then, to which I would call your
attention, is this: "Am I, or am I not, a sincere lover of the Author
of my being?"

In endeavoring to assist you in the decision of this momentous
question, as it respects yourselves. I shall entreat your attention
while I suggest a variety of marks which indicate love to God; and
supposing the conviction produced by the statement to be, that you
have not the love of God, I shall point out the proper improvement of
such a conviction.

In suggesting various marks by which you may ascertain whether you
love God or not, I would mention the general bent and turn of your
thoughts, when not under the immediate control of circumstances; for
these, you are aware, give a new and peculiar bias to our thoughts,
and stamp them with an impress of their own. There is an infinite
variety of thoughts continually passing through the mind of every
individual: of these, some are thrown up by occasions; but others, and
often the greater part, follow the habitual train of our associations.
It is not to thoughts of the former kind that I refer; it is to those
of the latter class--those involuntary thoughts which spring up of
themselves in the mind of every person: it is these, not the former,
that afford clear indication of the general temper and disposition.
The question I would propose to you is, What is the bent of your
thoughts when, disengaged from the influence of any particular
occurrence, you are left to yourselves, in the intervals of retirement
and tranquillity, in the silence of the midnight watches, and, in
short, whenever your mind is left free to its own spontaneous musings?
Are the thoughts most familiar to your mind, at such times, thoughts
of God and the things of God--or are they thoughts that turn upon the
present world and its transient concerns? Are they confined, for the
most part, within the narrow circle of time and sense; or do they make
frequent and large excursions into the spiritual and eternal world?
The answer to this question will go far to decide whether you have, or
have not, the love of God. It is impossible that such an object as the
divine Being should be absent long from your thoughts; impossible
that His remembrance should long remain merged in the stream of other
imaginations; unless you are supposed chargeable with a decided
indifference to divine things! Unless you are destitute of love to God
you can never be so utterly uncongenial in sentiment and feeling with
the psalmist, when he says, "My mouth shall praise thee with joyful
lips, while I meditate upon thee in the night watches." "How precious
are thy thoughts unto me, O God!" When that man of God gazed upon the
starry heavens, his mind was not merely wrought into astonishment at
the physical energy there displayed; he was still more deeply lost in
grateful admiration of the me

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