SERMON I.
CHRIST THE HEALING OF MANKIND.
ST. JOHN i. 14.
“The Word was made flesh.”
SUCH is the Catholic Faith touching the Incarnation of our Lord
Jesus Christ—a doctrine defined by the Holy Ghost, and declared by the beloved
disciple; such was the prophecy of Isaiah—“Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and
bear a Son, and shall call his name Immanuel;”Isa. vii. 14.
such was the salutation of the
angel Gabriel—“Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women. . . . . . . The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power
of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore
also that holy thing which shall be born of thee
shall be called the Son of God:”St. Luke i. 28, 35.
such is the
witness of the apostles—“God was manifest in the flesh.”1 Tim. iii. 16.
Again—“In Him dwelleth all the
fulness of the Godhead bodily.”Col. ii. 9.
So the Church confesses: “For the right
faith is, that we believe and confess that our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Son of God, is God and man; God, of the
substance of the Father, begotten before the
worlds; and man, of the substance of His mother,
born in the world: perfect God and perfect man,
of a reasonable soul and human flesh subsisting:
equal to the Father as touching His Godhead;
and inferior to the Father as touching His manhood: who although He be God and man, yet
He is not two, but one Christ: one, not by conversion of the Godhead into flesh, but by taking
of the manhood into God: one altogether; not by
confusion of substance, but by unity of person; for as the reasonable soul and
flesh is one man, so God and man is one Christ.”
Now, in this mystery there are two cardinal
points: the one, the integrity of the two natures;
the other, the unity of the one person. The
Word which is the Eternal Son, begotten from
everlasting, the very and Eternal God, of one
substance with the Father, having in Himself all
the attributes, powers, and perfections of the Divine nature—without ceasing to be God was
made man, of the substance of flesh and blood, and took to Himself
our nature, with all its endowments and properties of soul and body; “so that
two whole and perfect natures, that is to say, the Godhead and Manhood, were
joined together in one Person, never to be divided, whereof
is one Christ, very God and very man.” Wherefore “God was in Christ,” not as
when He appeared in angelic forms to Abraham and to Israel; nor as He was in the
prophets by vision and revelation; nor as He is in us by presence and
fellowship: but the man Jesus Christ Himself was
God. They that saw Him saw God; they that
spake with Him spake with God; they whom He
touched and breathed upon, felt the touch and
the breath of God. “That which was from the
beginning, which we have heard, which we have
seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon,
and our hands have handled, of the Word of life
(for the life was manifested, and we have seen it,
and bear witness, and shew unto you that eternal
life, which was with the Father, and was manifested
unto us); that which we have seen and heard
declare we unto you, that ye also may have fellowship with us: and truly our fellowship is with the
Father, and with His Son Jesus Christ.”1 St. John i. 1-3.
Such is this great mystery, which we can
hardly enunciate, and having enunciated can do
little more than adore in silence. Let us, how
ever, gather such lights as Holy Scripture gives
us for the better understanding of the wisdom
which is hid in it.
Gainsayers of the Catholic Faith have set themselves chiefly against this dogma, which is the
corner-stone of the gospel. They have been wont
to object to the mystery of the Incarnation, not
only as a thing incredible in the manner of its
fulfilment, but as unnecessary and circuitous—that is, inconsistent with the directness of the
power and operations of God. “Why,” they say, “need the Son of God be made man? What
connexion has this with our salvation? Why
could not man be redeemed by the simple exercise of Almighty power in forgiving, cleansing,
and raising him from the dead, or in abolishing
at once the power of sin and death, so that he
should no longer either sin or die?”
Let us consider what answer the doctrine of
Faith gives to these questions. It is this: that
according to the revelation made to us of the
character and kingdom of God, and of the nature
and conditions of man, there appears no other way
by which we could be saved but by the manifestation of God in the flesh.
1. For, first, although it is most true that
God might, in His almighty power, destroy the sinful race of mankind, and create another all
holy in its stead; or separate the taint of sin and
the power of death from our nature, and abolish
them altogether; yet we must not forget that God
is not Power alone, but Holiness, Wisdom, Justice. There are deeper necessities
in the perfections of the Divine mind, and the laws of the
spiritual world, which are the expressions of those
perfections, than we can penetrate. Sin and death
are antagonists and contradictions of the righteousness and immortality of God,
which need, it may be, deeper operations of the Divine hand than a simple
exercise of power. Sin and death are not realities existing in themselves, apart
from beings whom God has made, but are a condition of the creatures of God,
privations of holiness and life; they are negations, having no separate existence. Man is sinful, because righteousness has
departed from him; and mortal, because with
righteousness life also departed. The salvation
of man, then, is the restoration of righteousness
and immortality—the expulsion of sin and death,
by the infusion of their natural and distinctive
opposites of holiness and life. But as man, who
has fallen under the power of sin and death, is
a moral and responsible creature, and as his fall
from God was through the misdirected energies
of his moral powers, so the restoration of man, it may be, can only be effected through the same
means, and under the same conditions; and therefore it may be that the immutable justice of God’s kingdom demands no less than the atonement of
a Person. We are so greatly ignorant of the original springs of right and wrong, life and death,
and of the laws which inform a mind of infinite
perfection, that we cannot, without the highest
presumption, doubt that there was no other way
to abolish the moral causes of separation between
God and man, but by One who should harmonise
the laws and conditions of such a redemption in
His own Person; in a word, that it needed not
a bare exertion of Omnipotence, but an economy
and dispensation of moral agencies in harmony
with the nature of God and of man, co-ordinate
with the scheme of the Divine kingdom and of
human probation—that is, the intervention of a
Personal Redeemer.
2. Again, sin and death had power in and over
the personal nature of mankind. It was from this
we had need to be redeemed. Though the laws of
God’s kingdom were never so fully satisfied, yet our
nature would be our destruction: “to be carnally
minded is death.” The first sin, as it deprived
Adam of the righteousness of grace, so by consequence it threw his nature into corruption; and
that corruption is derived to us; and is in every one born into the world; and infects the first motions of the will, which, as they pass through the
lusts of the flesh, become biassed and distorted.
Even though the kingdom of God had nothing
against us, we should die, each one of us, by our
own inherent mortality. No man could break the
yoke of death from off his own neck; much less
redeem mankind. Our very nature itself needed
to be purged and restored to the conditions of immortality. There must be a work of life
counteracting the work of death, and propagating life
throughout the race of mankind, as death has been
propagated to us from Adam. And for this cause,
the Person who should undertake the salvation of
mankind must assume to Himself our humanity,
that is, the very nature which He was to heal
and to save; and put Himself into personal relation to us. So St. Paul argues: “Forasmuch,
then, as the children are partakers of flesh and
blood, He also Himself likewise took part of the
same.”Heb. ii. 14.
We imposed on Him that necessity. The
fall of our nature was the producing cause of
His incarnation: because we are men, therefore
for us men, and for our salvation, He was made
Man.
3. And, once more: as this burden of our humanity is too great
for any of us to bear without falling, no created and finite being,
either man or angel, could so assume it as to raise it from its fall, restore
its imperfections, and sustain it in strength and mastery over the powers of
sin. Angels fell from their first estate, not man alone; both need either the
grace of redemption or the grace of perpetual support. Even angels “that excel
in strength” stand stedfast in the power of God. In Him is their life, energy,
and power. Without Him they would be as we are. They can render to God nothing
but what they owe. They can minister, at His bidding, to those that shall be
heirs of salvation; but to save is a work too near akin to creation for any but
God to accomplish. Our humanity needed to be strengthened and hallowed: of fleshly, to be again made
spiritual; of mortal, to be raised above the power
of death; of outcast from God, to be united to
Him again. So closely, indeed, are we knit to
Him, that St. Peter does not fear to say that we are
made “partakers of the Divine nature.”2 St. Pet. i. 4.
Therefore He must needs “by Himself purge our sins.”
None but He that in the beginning said, “Let
us make man in our image,”Gen. i. 26.
could restore again
to man the image of God.
So far, then, as we can reason upon things the
very terms of which transcend our understanding it seems that the intrinsic necessities of God’s kingdom, and of man’s fallen state, require a redemption which is wrought by a Person who is
able to fulfil the requirements of the Divine Law,
and to perfect in Himself the redeemed nature of
mankind. And what is this but the Catholic doctrine of the Incarnation? which
is, that the Word, the second Person of the ever-blessed Trinity, took upon Him,
not by way of nature, but of miracle, our manhood, “of the substance of the
Virgin Mary His Mother, without spot of sin;” and in that nature He sanctified
our humanity, fulfilled the perfect will of God, bare our sins in His own body,
and by death destroyed him that had the power of death. That which as God He
could not suffer, He became man that He might undergo. The impassible, eternal God was made
flesh, that in the flesh He might endure all that
sin had brought upon mankind. His Person was
capable of the whole mystery of the fall, sin only
excepted.
But here two questions have been asked. One, Why need He to
have taken a body of a human mother, instead of creating one for Himself? And
the other, How, if human nature be corrupt, and if the Son of God took on Him
that very nature, did He escape the original sin which is in us?
To these the answer is direct and easy. It is the very same that the Catholic Church made
to the heresy of Arius, in defence of Christ’s true
Godhead. To the first it must be said, It was
necessary that He should partake of our very nature. Had He taken a body created, as in the
beginning, from the dust, it would have been a
like nature, but not the same. It would have been
a second creation of another and a new humanity;
and His person would not have been partaker in
the very flesh and blood derived to us from the
first Adam, for the redemption of which the Word
was made flesh. It was necessary that He should
be united to us in our own humanity, that the
grace of His Incarnation might be communicated
to mankind. God, who is the Origin of all being,
the Creator of all things that are, does not destroy
any work He once has made, but raises it from
its fall, and heals it of its wounds and diseases.
Therefore He took our very nature, that He might
restore it in Himself to its original purity. That
very humanity in which the first Adam was created is the same in which the Second was incarnate. There was no other way, than either to
create a new nature, which would not be our own,
or to restore the old, in which we are fallen and
dead.
And to the second question the answer is, that
in taking our nature, He took it without spot of sin; for He took it not by the way of natural
descent, but by a miracle, which broke through
the transmission of the original fault. Isaac and
John Baptist, though born by miracle, were, nevertheless, conceived and born in sin. Eve was
made from the side of Adam; Adam was made
of the dust; both by miracle and without sin.
The second Adam was made by the operation of
the Holy Ghost, of the substance of a pure virgin.
He was born in a way of which our regeneration
is a shadow, “not of blood, nor of the will of
the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.”St. John i. 13.
And, again, from the mystery of the conception,
that pure substance which He took was so united
to His Divine Person that it was hallowed and
sinless, in like manner as the flesh of Adam when
God created him and filled him with His own
Divine presence. From the moment of His birth
every motion of His human soul and flesh was sinless and pure; every inclination of His will was
holy. He had all the powers, affections, capacities
of our nature, filled with more than original righteousness, with the holiness of God. Yet He was
very man, with all our sinless infirmities, susceptible of temptation, sorrow, hunger, thirst, weariness, solitude, weeping, fear, and death. And what
are all these but properties of man by creation, not by the fall? They were in our first father before
he sinned; and in them is no sin. In Christ man
was exalted above the state of creation, and united
to God by a bond of personal and substantial unity.
The second Adam not only restored in Himself
the losses of the first, but endowed the nature of
man with new gifts of Divine perfection. “The
first man was of the earth earthy, the second man
is the Lord from heaven;” “the beginning”—that
is, the originating principle and productive life of
the new “creation of God.”Rev. iii. 14. ἡ ἀρχὴ τῆς κτίσεως τοῦ Θεοῦ.
Now, this supreme doctrine of the faith throws
light upon two other doctrines closely related to
it.
And, first, it shews us what is the true nature of original
sin. It is “the fault and corruption of the nature of every man that naturally
is engendered of the offspring of Adam.” This, therefore, could not reach to the
manhood of our Lord, because, though born in our nature, He was not “naturally
engendered,” but “conceived by the Holy Ghost.” Adam, by sinning, forfeited his
original righteousness,—the grace of God’s presence, whereby he was sanctified: through loss of
this gift his nature became faulty and corrupt;
and through this fault and corruption inclined to
evil. We are born with this fault and corruption, whereby we are by nature inclined to evil. The
human will, acting under the conditions of this
inclination, tends universally and by its own free
choice to fulfil the lusts of the flesh, and becomes
itself carnal; and “the carnal mind is enmity
against God, for it is not subject to the law of
God, neither indeed can be;”Rom. viii. 8.
wherefore “it deserveth God’s wrath and damnation.” Such is our
first birth into this world: “that which is born
of the flesh is flesh.” And in this inheritance of
evil we were passive and unconscious: the fault
and corruption was in us before we knew that we
were in being. Such as man made himself by the
fall, such are we who are born from him.
2. The other doctrine which is related to the
mystery of the Incarnation is our regeneration. It
is the correlative and opposite to the doctrine of
original sin. So the Catholic Church has ever
taught, arguing, by contraries, from the one to
the other: for example, as original sin is the
transmission of a quality of evil, so regeneration
is the infusion of a quality of good; as original sin
is inherited without the personal act of us who
are born of the flesh, so regeneration is bestowed
without personal merit in us who are born of
the Spirit; as in the inheritance of original sin
we are passive and unconscious, so in regeneration; as original sin precedes all actings of our
will, so also regeneration; as original sin is the
root of all evil in us, so regeneration is the root
of all good. Strange is the cycle in which errors
run. Those very tokens by which the gift of regeneration is manifested to be freely given to us
of God, are the very grounds of modern unbelief.
Men will have it to be no more than a change
of state, and not of nature; a mere outward transfer into the outward means of grace; and that,
forsooth, because a passive, unconscious child is,
in their eyes, incapable of the infusion of a quality
of good. What is this but the Pelagianism of
regeneration? How can they defend the doctrine
of original sin as the transmission of evil to passive,
unconscious infants, by inheritance from a man
that sinned, while they deny the infusion of a
quality of good by the free gift and grace of God?
In truth it is much to be feared that this is simple
unbelief in the great freeness of God’s grace, in
the presence and reality of spiritual mysteries.
And it is to be feared too, that it is an unbelief
which spreads further into the doctrines of faith.
Can it be thought that even the doctrine of original sin is thoroughly believed? or the doctrine
of the creation of Adam from the dust, and of
Eve from the side of Adam? or of the mysterious
Incarnation of the Word, of the substance of His mother? or of the resurrection of the body? or of
the doctrine of regeneration in any sense or shape?
For, if the passiveness and unconsciousness of the
subject be any objection to the regeneration of
infants in baptism, it is an objection to the doctrines of creation, incarnation, resurrection, and
regeneration, in any form, unless we be Pelagians
and Rationalists. After all, will it not be found
that the root of all this is a rationalistic unwillingness to believe any thing which does not base itself
upon the active and conscious workings of the human soul?—an error fatal to faith in the Gospel
of Christ; subversive of the freeness and sovereignty of God’s grace, which it assumes to
magnify. Let us not give up the faith of a childlike
heart for petulant, half-sighted reasonings. “Every
good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and
cometh down from the Father of lights.” “What
have we that we have not received?” “By the
grace of God I am what I am.” All things come
from Him; we are but receivers, empty vessels
to be filled out of His fulness; passive and unconscious till He breathe into us the breath of
life, as in our first, so in our second birth. This
is the very law of our regeneration, whereby we
are taken out from the first Adam, and incorporated into the second; whereby we are made
“members of His body, of His flesh, and of His bones;”Eph. v. 30.
and are made partakers of His Incarnation, and of
the virtues of healing, life, and resurrection, which go out of His flesh, which
He gave “for the life of the world.”
SERMON II.
HOLINESS IN CHILDHOOD.
ST. LUKE ii. 40.
“And the Child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with
wisdom: and the grace of God was upon Him.”
IF any proof were needed of the true and proper
humanity of our blessed Lord, we should have it
in these words. He was subject to the laws and
conditions of our nature; He was as truly a child
as we have been; He grew; He waxed strong in
spirit; He was endowed with gifts from His heavenly Father, being “filled with wisdom:” His
understanding, reason, and conscience, were illuminated as ours; “the grace of God,” the spirit of
holiness, humility, love, “was upon Him.” This
subjection of His person to the laws of human
nature is again recorded where St. Luke says, He “came to Nazareth,” being about twelve years old,
“and was subject unto them.” “And Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with
God and man.” One of the earliest Fathers of the
Church says, He came “not disdaining nor going
in a way above human nature; nor breaking in His
own person the law which He had set for mankind;
but sanctifying every age by the likeness it bears
to Him. For He came to save all men by Himself,—all, I mean, who are by Him born again unto
God,—infants, and little ones, and children, and
youths, and those of older age. Therefore He
went through the several ages; for the sake of
infants being made an infant, sanctifying infants;
to little ones He was a little one, sanctifying those
of that age, and giving them an example of godliness, righteousness, and dutiful subjection.”S. Iren. lib. ii. c. 39.
In this passage we have many great truths recorded. One is the
baptism of infants; another is the regeneration of infants baptized, in which
assertion, without so much as naming it, their right to baptism is affirmed; and
lastly, the parallel between the perfect holiness of our Lord in all ages
from childhood, and the sanctity of those in whom
the grace of regeneration has its true and perfect
work.
There is evidently a correspondence, by way of
analogy, between His miraculous conception and our
regeneration through the Spirit. He took our nature not by natural descent, but by a miracle; we
received, by supernatural operation in holy baptism,
that thing which by nature we could not have.
Again: there is the same kind of analogy between the sanctity of our nature in His divine
Person, and the sanctification of our person by the
grace of our new birth. The sanctity of His divine
nature prevented in His humanity every motion of
the reason, heart, and will. The whole inward
nature of His human soul, with all its faculties,
powers, affections, was filled and hallowed by the
Godhead of the Eternal Word.
And such, in measure and proportion, it is the design of God
that our regenerate life should be. We were born again in infancy, when we were
passive and unconscious, for this very end, that before
we become conscious and active, the preventing
grace of God might begin its work upon us. Baptismal regeneration is the very highest and most
perfect form of the doctrine of God’s free and sovereign grace, preventing all motions, and excluding
all merit on our part. Strange that the jealousy
which some profess for this great doctrine of the
gospel does not make them of keener sight to discern it. If we were not passive and unconscious;
if our will had begun actively and consciously to
unfold itself, and follow its own inclinations, we
should become at once sinners in act, and the natural resistance of our hearts to the grace of God
would be aggravated and confirmed. And this, in
fact, we do see in unconverted heathen, and may
believe of persons who have not received baptism,
and of those who after baptism have sinned against
the grace they have received. It is strange, I say,
that they who rest all their theological system upon
the sovereignty of God’s grace should not perceive
that its very highest and most perfect form is baptismal regeneration; and still stranger it is that,
by a happy inconsistency, they act as if they had
faith in that blessed truth which they profess not
to believe; for we find that they universally address
children with the words of divine truth, and set
before them spiritual things, which can only be
spiritually discerned. To do this without believing
them to have received the preventing grace of God
is simple Pelagianism, which such persons religiously abhor. I hardly know whether to say that
they disbelieve it or no; for though they do not
believe it, they so act as nothing but faith in it
would make reasonable; and that is much better.
Their practice is more pious than their theory.
Indeed, it is seldom found, that they do not believe
the regeneration of their own children, or some
thing equivalent to it, call it by what name you will.
But although they may break the full effect of an
imperfect belief, yet it is not possible to be wanting in it, or in any measure to withdraw the thankful
trust of our hearts from that mystery of grace, with
out serious danger, great forfeitures of blessing, and
sometimes lamentable evils; for without a real and
active faith in the grace of regeneration, there can
hardly be a true view of the nature of the regenerate life. Accordingly we find the same persons
incredulous of the degree of illumination, conscientiousness, and self-government, of which children
are capable. They treat them as imperfect beings,
give them dangerous liberty, postpone the age of
responsibility, make light of their early wildness,
on the theory that it is inevitable, and may be recovered in after-years. They suffer the development
of childish faults, and let their characters grow
distorted, and their gait, as it were, to become artificial and faulty.
Whatever may be said of the care and wise
instruction of parents and teachers who have a
defective faith in holy baptism, it must be self-evident that all their guidance and watchfulness
would be made indefinitely more sensitive and vigilant, if they fully believed
the great grace which God had bestowed upon their children. How highly the
parental office is elevated by the thought that they are made the guardians of
regenerate souls! That which is by nature so sacred, by faith how much more
hallowed is it! There is committed to them not the one talent which nature
gave, hut the ten talents of God’s kingdom. They
are bound by a tenfold responsibility; “for unto
whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much
required; and to whom men have committed much,
of him they will ask the more.”St. Luke xii. 48.
Surely they
ought to watch over the tokens of God’s presence
with their children, as the blessed Virgin “kept all
His sayings in her heart;” not fully knowing what
God has committed to them; to what stature of
saintliness in God’s kingdom their children may
attain; what large capacities of light and sanctity
may be in them, even while they are amusing them
with toys, and speaking of them as if they had no
ears to listen. How do they know who their children may be? Great as the parental care of the
fathers and mothers of eminent saints has been,
yet how little did they realise at the time what they
were one day to become! How, on looking back in
old age, when their sons and daughters have been
edified to the perfection of a saintly life, must they
have said: ‘Who ever imagined what that thoughtful and docile child really was, and what lay hid in
him? What a trust was ours; and with all our
fancied care, how little did we realise its greatness!’
If this were indeed the temper of parents, who
can say what might not be the holiness of families and homes? they would be consecrated by the vow
of sanctity; ruled by a discipline of perfection.
Even parents still charged with household cares,
and in the midst of the world, would in some sort
live the life of the retired and devout, and by their
prayers, fastings, alms, charitable works, and abstinence from the world, train up their children in
the simplicity and fervour of a consecrated state.
If parents would only repress the vanity and self-flattery which they indulge, while they push their
children forward in artificial and ostentatious habits, or correct in themselves that still more guilty
indolence and neglect which makes them abdicate
the personal office and duty of instructing and
ruling their children, even so their households
would bear more tokens of holiness. But how
shall this ever be, unless the grace of regeneration be faithfully believed and cherished? If there
be any one feature that distinguishes the homes of
the faithful of earlier days, it is the reverence with
which they looked upon their children, after they
had received them back from the font, to be reared
up for God. What is it but the doctrine of baptismal regeneration which has so strongly developed in the Catholic Church the paternal character of God? And in the consciousness of this
heavenly Fatherhood there is contained a whole
order of spiritual affections, which issue from the grace of regeneration; such, for instance, as dutifulness, submission, docility, confidence, gladness, a
holy fearlessness and filial love; and these are in
a peculiar manner the basis of the saintly character. They may be called the sanctity of childhood: “the measure of the stature of the fulness
of Christ,” of which children are susceptible.
Now in the history of the saints there are two
things chiefly remarkable. One is, the depth of
personal religion which they have displayed at an
age when, in these days, we are wont to look upon
children as little more than sentient and irresponsible beings. We read of charity, almsgiving,
prayer, self-denial, in children of six or eight years
old; and martyrdom at the age of fourteen, or
even at twelve,—the age consecrated by the single
mention of our Lord’s early obedience, and His
questioning with the doctors in the Temple.
The other remarkable feature is, their precocity
of general character and powers. No doubt it is
but a fallacious evidence of this to allege cases of early intellectual cultivation. We read of boys of fourteen received among the graduates of learned
universities, and the like; but all this evidently
depends on variable states and tests of learning, and, after all, relates only to the intellectual powers,
which are sometimes raised to a very high culture,
while the rest of the mind is cramped and stunted. I speak, therefore, of the precocity of moral and
spiritual life; the fulness and strength of character
which youths have often shewn. They have begun
to live and act as men among men, while as yet
they were hardly in the dawn of manhood. They
manifested a resolution and collectedness of mind
which follows upon long deliberation, and is the
result of a well-tried discipline. They were strong,
wise, gentle, fearless, inflexible,—ruling themselves
and mankind, leading armies, presiding in councils, governing churches, controlling assemblies,
guiding courts and nations, at an age when, in
these days, men are still in nonage and tuition.
Surely some such great and visible facts were originally observed by the Church when it was
prescribed that the offices of deacon and priest might
be conferred on youths of twenty-three and twenty-four years of age, and even the Episcopate at
thirty. And certainly, in comparing the average
formation of character now with that of men
who were nurtured up from holy baptism in faith
of their regeneration, and in religious homes or
devout schools of discipline, it must be confessed
that in the science of the saints, and in the practice of life, we are backward and unripe. If we
were asked to find a reason for it, I believe the
truth would be best expressed by saying that these
later ages have lost faith in the miraculous conception and holy childhood of our Lord Jesus Christ,
as the type and pledge of our regeneration in holy
baptism, and of the development of our regenerate
life; and not only so, but that a false and shallow
system of theology has grown up, and thrust down
this high doctrine from its place. A prevalent
notion in these later times is, that the doctrine of
baptismal regeneration is superstitious and delusive; that it tends to deadness, worldliness, unspirituality; that the Christian life of those who
have been religious from childhood is generally
tame, cold, and formal; that true Christian perfection is to be found in penitents and those who
are converted late in life; that experience of sin
and guilt is the stimulus of personal responsibility,
and the very life of the conscience; and that the
fervour, zeal, and activity of the converted sinner
is the true perfection of the Christian character.
Now the analogy we have been considering, between the sanctification of our nature in the Person
of our Lord, and the sanctification of our persons
through the gift of regeneration, will suggest to us
some very important truths, which have the force
and extent of first principles in the theory and
practice of a holy life. And these we will now
shortly consider.
1. In the first place, then, we may learn what
is the effect of sin after baptism upon the regenerate nature. As in all other truths, so in this, men
have gone into both extremes, some making post-baptismal sin all but unpardonable, and others,
hardly needing to be forgiven; some making its
soils indelible, some treating it as if it left in the
soul no soil at all. Now is there not some evident
confusion in all this? And does not the confusion begin in our not clearly
distinguishing between the effect of sin upon the relation in which the regenerate man stands to God, and its effect upon the inward and regenerate nature?
Again: when we speak of sin after baptism,
surely another and a primary distinction is required;
for all baptized men have sinned, therefore they
have all sinned after baptism. To solve this difficulty, the distinction of sins into venial and mortal
has been laid down. But in one sense, and that a
most true sense, all sins are mortal. “The soul that sinneth, it shall die”—“The wages of sin is
death.” The conceiving of a sinful thought is a
direct sin against the Spirit of holiness. Moreover,
the privation of original righteousness is a state of
sin: “We have all sinned, and come short of the
glory of God.” Not to be holy is to be sinful;
there is no third estate. Therefore all baptized
men have sinned, in one sense mortally, and that
after baptism.
But the distinction, as it is recognized in the Litany, is plainly this:—There is one class of sins
partly of omission, partly of commission, arising
from our original corruption and infirmity of nature,
and from the subtilty and strength of temptation;
they seem to cling to our fallen nature even after
regeneration, almost like mortality itself. And
these are sins which neither rescind the remission of
sins freely given in baptism, nor hinder the advance
of our sanctification; such, for instance, are evil
thoughts and motions of our humanity, flashes and
transitions of temper, rash words, wanderings of
the heart in prayer, and the like, which are both
striven against and followed by compunction and
confession. There is another class of sins which
both cancels the relation of present forgiveness
with God and hinders the growth of sanctification
in the soul: such as sins of the flesh, evil imaginations, and temper if indulged, habitual pride, uncharitableness, and the like. Now, between these
two classes there can be no third. Sins must either
cancel or not cancel our forgiveness; hinder or not
hinder our advance in sanctification; and they will
accordingly be mortal or venial.
It is plain, then, that when we speak of sin after baptism, we
do not mean those venial sins which the holiest of regenerate men have committed. Such sins are, in fact, little more than the
remainder of that nature which needed regeneration; and their continued presence in the soul
arises from the fact, that God has ordained our
restoration to holiness to be wrought not by a
single act of His will, but by a progressive probation of our own. We may, therefore, dismiss this
class.
Of the other,—that is to say, of those sins
which cancel our relation of present forgiveness,
and hinder the sanctification of our souls,—this is
to be said. There is a distinction to be drawn
between the effect of such sins on our relation
towards God, and the effect of them on our inward
and regenerate nature; or in common words, between the guilt and the defilement of them.
As to the guilt, this we know, that upon a true
repentance it shall be absolutely forgiven.
But our present subject is the parallel between
the sanctity of our Lord, and the holiness of the
regenerate. It is, therefore, the effect of sin upon
the inward and regenerate nature that we are now
considering; and of this it has been already said,
that its effect is, to hinder the advance of our sanctification; and if so, it is no less than a direct
antagonist of the grace of our regeneration, and
a defeat of the purpose of God in our new birth
of the Spirit: it is a resistance to the preventing
grace of God, a refusal to be led by Him, and to
follow His guidance and illumination. The work of the new creation is brought to a stand; the
capacities and powers of the new nature are baffled
and thwarted; and, further, the mind of the flesh
is thereby released from the power which held it in
check. From our first childhood sin unfolds itself
by its own energy, and by the deliberate motions of
the will, and thereby gains to itself a new condition. From its potential it passes into an actual
reality; and by act and reality it directly strengthens its own energies, and confirms itself in its own
particular forms, such as lust, anger, pride, falsehood, sloth; and having become formal, becomes
also habitual; and that raises a twofold opposition
to the Spirit of holiness. The passive and unconscious state of the fallen being passes into active
and conscious sin. What was at first a passive
inability becomes an energetic resistance, an excited enmity, and a conscious warfare of the will.
By this means the soul becomes inflamed, darkened, and defiled. The continual actings of the
desires, lusts, imaginations, leave soils and stains,
and, as it were, deposit a crust of evil upon the
whole spiritual nature. It multiplies its own
plague-spots in darkness. And the spiritual being
inclines to the state and fellowship of fallen angels,
to which the regenerate sinner is akin both in nature and in apostacy. How little parents seem to
know what they are doing when they make light of their children’s early sins! They are doing
nothing less than their best to undo God’s grace
in the regeneration of their children, to make their
salvation doubtful, and their future sorrows and
losses many and inevitable.
2. And this brings us to a second inference.
We may hence learn the true relation of repentance to regeneration. Those who have no faith in
holy baptism look upon repentance or conversion
as the perfect aim or design of the dispensation of
grace. They consider it as the accomplishment of
the mind of the Spirit towards us, and place it on
the highest step of our ascent to God. And how
can they help doing so, while they believe nothing
of the true sanctity of the regenerate? How can
they understand that what they put forward as the
highest state is but the lower; that which they
regard as the perfect work is only the remedy,—blessed indeed, but, at best, no more than the remedy,—after the grace of regeneration has failed
to work its perfect work in us? In one sense, in
deed, all saints need repentance; the holiest, who
from childhood grow in light and sanctity, grow also
in compunction, tears, and humiliation: but this is
not what we commonly call repentance. We mean
the conviction, sorrow, remorse, and turning of the
adult, after falls, from sin to God; that is conversion. Now if there be any truth in what has been said, it is clear that the necessity of this kind of
conversion or repentance arises out of the disobedience of the regenerate, and from the falls of those
that sin grievously after baptism. That which is
put forward as the perfection of the saints is the
recovery of fallen Christians. And the reason why
this theory maintains itself so strongly and is so
popular is, because it is the interest of the majority
to hold it. The great multitude of Christians are
in that state. “Many are called, and few are
chosen.” All are regenerate, but saints are few.
The multitude are at best to be numbered among
penitents; and their own case fixes their theology,
and sets bounds to their belief. What is true
of themselves, they think is true of all, and true
alone; partly, I say, from being bribed, as it
were, to hold a theory that will make the best
of their own case; and partly because the very
nature of their case must make them unconscious
of the realities which others know who have
never fallen as they have. Besides, the tokens
and evidences of repentance are just those that
are most perceptible to the world. They appeal
to the ear and to the eye, and force themselves
upon the notice of men. The zeal, fervour, activity,
which converted or converting men exhibit are so
nearly akin to the same qualities in the mind and
character of worldly people, that they are more easily understood and appreciated. The character
of true saintliness, as it is most remote from the
world, and even opposed to it, is least under
stood and valued by the world. It is either simply not perceived to exist, or it is thought eccentric, weak, and unprofitable. This will explain why
the popular religion will always incline to exalt
repentance to the position of the leading idea and
design of the gospel. But when we pass from the
judgment of sight to the discernment of faith, we
shall see that it is but remedial and secondary;
that it is a painful and laborious undoing of the
tangled and stubborn perversity of the disobedient
will; that it is, as it was called of old, a kind
of regeneration, implying thereby the freeness of
God’s mercy, the greatness of the necessity, the
dangerous state of the lapsed Christian, the depth
of the injury done to the spiritual nature; so that
it can be likened only to the original state of sin
and death, and healed by a work second only in
greatness to the original operation of preventing
grace upon the soul. All this shews us that the
repentance of baptized men is as the difficult and
precarious recovery of those who, after the partial
cure of a death-sickness, fall into relapse. The
powers of nature are wasted, the virtues of medicine baffled, and the disease grows doubly strong.
A sad exchange for those who once walked in white raiment, and were numbered among the children of
God.
3. Lastly, we see in what it is that they who
have been kept and sanctified from their regeneration exceed the blessedness of penitents. They
have never fallen away from their first estate. The
grace of their election, though it has been resisted
and grieved, has never been baffled and reduced to
inaction. Not to have fallen into the pollution of
the world, the flesh, and the devil, how high a
grace! How unspeakably great is the loving-kindness of Him who has thus kept them! From what
has the grace of regeneration protected them;—from what dangerous familiarity with evil—from
what excitements of the carnal mind—from what
defilement of the imagination—from what obliquity
of the will—from what unfeelingness of heart! To
be free from all this, how blessed! To be ignorant
of that which must be unlearnt with pain and sorrow by all who will enter God’s kingdom! From
what hours of bitter remorse—from what years of
toil, weakness, and infirmity, are they preserved!
And what a delusion is it to believe that the visible
fervour and zeal of penitents is evidence of a higher
state of grace! What can their zeal or fervour do
in comparison with the unconscious strength and
stedfast principle of those that have ever walked
with God? It is not, indeed, to be denied that we do sometimes see in “righteous persons who need
no repentance” a torpor and sluggishness of spirit;
but still oftener the world so judges of them be
cause it cannot read the tokens of their state aright.
The depth and inward force of true holiness are
beyond the world’s ken; the calm and unmoved
collectedness with which they set themselves to the
greatest tasks, worldly eyes cannot discern from
torpor and tameness. Why should they exhibit the
noise and excitement of effort, whose very nature
is moulded into unconscious obedience? They do
great things in silence; and the world thinks that
because they say little, they do nothing. The
haste and exertion which penitents must needs use
to make up their lost time and ground, has in
them long since passed into the stedfast and quiet
consistency of a mature piety. Why should they “strive or cry?” Why should their voice be heard
in the streets, whose life has been sheltered under
the shadow of the Most High, and nurtured into
the peace and strength of habitual faith? There is
in the deep, burning zeal of a saintly mind an intensity which the excitement of converts can never
approach. Even in those peculiar graces which
are thought to be the ail-but exclusive property of
penitents, the fervour, self-chastisement, resolution,
entire devotion of their whole being to God, what
is there to compare with the glowing charity, the vivid compunction, the perfect mortification, and
absolute self-oblation of those that are early sanctified? Great and blessed as are the graces and
acts of penitents, they are but approximations to
the sanctity which they might themselves have
attained, had they preserved their baptismal life
from soils and lapses. The very visibleness and
loudness, I may say, of their religion betrays difficulty and effort. The movements of nature are
easy and spontaneous, and though done without reflection, are more truly the acts of the whole being
than those things which we do by rule, and thought,
and with conscious preparation. In the one case it
has become our own, in the other it is a borrowed
nature. This is the ripe fruit of holy childhood;
and to this every one that is born again may, in his
measure, attain. The holiness of children is the
very type of saintliness; and the most perfect conversion is but a hard and distant return to the
holiness of a child. Let us, then, lay to heart the
great gift which has been bestowed upon us. Our
baptism was a change greater than any which can
come on the sons of Adam, except death and the
resurrection. Let us humble ourselves with plaints
which cannot be uttered, for the sins, by deed and
thought, which in childhood, boyhood, and youth,
we have committed against the grace of our regeneration. And though perhaps it may be now too late for us—though we cannot make what is done to be
undone—though we cannot hope to be numbered among those who have never fallen from the favour of our heavenly Father, yet we may hope to have
our lot in the regeneration among the order of penitents. For us, alas, the unconscious purity, the
ripe wisdom, clear illumination, piercing insight,
calm strength, meek inflexibility, the patience, the
charity, the full, consistent, changeless perfection
of the saints, is perhaps impossible. But let us,
by prayers and labours, by word and by example,
strive to rear up the elect of God, from their
childhood, in the sanctity of Jesus Christ. Strive
to make your homes to be holy, and your families
to be households of saints. There is one great
school of the regenerate, which is the Church, and
one Master, the “Holy Child Jesus.” Under and
through Him let us foster the children of His king
dom. And then who can say how broad and resplendent the note of sanctity may once more shine
forth upon our tossed and distracted Church? what virtues of grace and truth may
go forth from our spiritual sons to heal the springs of life throughout this
fallen world?
SERMON III.
HOLY OBEDIENCE.
ST. MATT. iii. 13-15.
Then cometh Jesus from Galilee to Jordan unto John, to be
baptized of him. But John forbad Him, saying, I have need
to be baptized of Thee, and comest Thou to me? And Jesus
answering said unto him, Suffer it to be so now: for thus it becometh us to
fulfil all righteousness. Then he suffered Him.”
OF all the acts of our blessed Lord, there is hardly
any which at first sight seems more difficult to
explain than His submitting to be baptized. It
was not like His circumcision, which was received
in infancy by the care of His holy mother, and in
accordance with the existing law of the Church;
nor like His prayers and fastings, which are perpetual examples to us; because the baptism of
John was but for a time, and is now passed away.
We shall nevertheless find that hardly any one of His acts contains deeper and more direct precepts
for our imitation.
It was certainly a strange and incomprehensible
sight when He who was called the Son of God,
who was born by the power of the Holy Ghost,
drew nigh to receive from the hands of a man
like ourselves the baptism of repentance. Well
might St. John Baptist forbid Him, and say, “I
have need to be baptized of Thee, and comest
Thou to me?” What could that baptism confer
upon Him? or what part could He have in that
baptism who could have no part in repentance?
Was it not an act of presumption in a man, albeit “more than a prophet,” to administer the sacrament of penitence and cleansing to One that was
without sin? No doubt St. John shrank back
with awe and fear, as well as humility and self-abasement. And Jesus said, “‘Suffer it to be so
now.’ It is all well and in season, as hereafter
it shall be seen: ‘for thus it becometh us to
fulfil all righteousness.’” There was some law of
His Father’s kingdom to which therein he rendered His obedience, some deeper reason than
appeared; for St. John then gave way: “then he suffered Him.”
Now, in the first place, the baptism of our
Lord was an act of obedience to the appointment
of His Father. He was born under the law, and by circumcision He was brought into the elder
covenant. He honoured that law by a perfect submission to it throughout His whole life. Though
greater than the law, and Lord of that very law,
He obeyed it by observing all things which it
enjoined on the obedience of others; as, for instance, the observance of the feasts and worship
of the Temple, and the offerings which Moses commanded. When John was sent to baptize, a new
appointment of God appeared. In that baptism,
as before in the command of circumcision, the will
of His Father was revealed. In receiving it He
obeyed a divine precept. It was a part of holy
obedience, which is most living and expressive
when it is rendered to appointments in which the
will of God alone is the reason of obeying. To
the Holy One of God baptism was as needless as
circumcision; but in both the will of God was revealed from heaven, and in both
the grace of holy obedience “fulfilled all righteousness.”
Moreover it was not an act of obedience and submission alone,
but also of humiliation. The baptism of John was emphatically the baptism of
sinners. It was a baptism of cleansing unto repentance, that is, given to
penitents as a means of perfecting their repentance. The Baptist stood by the
river, surrounded by a multitude of sinners, publicans and harlots, “confessing
their sins.” Men and women of all characters, the most notorious and outcast, the reckless and unclean,
pressed to him with “violence,” to be washed of
their impurities. The whole land seemed moved
to give up its sinners to the discipline of repentance; the whole city poured out its evil-livers to
this new and austere guide of penitents. “Then
went out unto him Jerusalem, and all Judea, and all
the region round about Jordan, and were baptized
of him in Jordan, confessing their sins.”St. Matt. iii. 5, 6.
It
was an act of public humiliation to join Himself and to mingle in such a crowd;
to partake their shame; to seek the same cleansing, with all the circumstantials of repentance. And at that time He was
known only as “the carpenter,” “the son of
Joseph.” He had wrought no miracles, exhibited
no tokens of His Divine nature and mission. He
was but as any other Israelite, and as one of a
thousand sinners He came and received a sinner’s baptism. This was a part of His humiliation.
And we may further observe, that the time of His baptism had
been appointed as the time of His open manifestation as the Son of God. St. John
was commissioned not only to prepare His way in the souls of men, but also to
proclaim Him to be the Lamb of God. He says, “I knew Him not: but that He should
be made manifest to Israel, therefore am I come baptizing with water.
And John bare record, saying, I saw the Spirit
descending from heaven like a dove, and it abode
upon Him. And I knew Him not: but He that
sent me to baptize with water, the same said unto
me, Upon whom thou shall see the Spirit descendings, and remaining on Him, the same is He which baptizeth with the Holy Ghost. And I saw, and
bare record that this is the Son of God.”St. John i. 31-34.
So
manifold are the works of God. John came to
make ready a people by repentance for the kingdom of God, and in so doing he became also the
public herald and witness of the Messiah. The
public proclamation of the Son of God sprang
suddenly and unlocked for out of the ministry of
repentance. Our Lord’s act of public humiliation served also to declare Him as the Son of
God. This public declaration was, it would seem,
a necessary condition to the undertaking of His
public ministry as the Messiah. Until then He
had lived a life of privacy; henceforward He was
consecrated to the work of the Redeemer of the
world.
There is still another mark of deep wisdom
in this same mystery. At His baptism the Holy
Ghost descended, and lighted upon Him; and in
that inscrutable unction He was set apart to the work of the Messiah. The words of the prophet,
to which He appealed at Nazareth as His commission, were then fulfilled: “The Spirit of the
Lord is upon Me, because He hath anointed Me
to preach the gospel to the poor.”St. Luke iv. 19.
Such, then, appears to be the true intention
and effect of His baptism in the river. It was
an act of obedience and of humiliation; it was
the public proclaiming of His divine Son ship, and
the solemn anointing by which He was invested
with the office of the Messiah.
1. The first inference to be drawn from this
part of our Lord’s example is, that submission to
every even the least ordinance of Divine authority
is a plain, self-evident duty. What the baptism of
John was to our Lord, the Church is to us. And
this cuts off at once all pleas and excuses by which
men endeavour to extenuate the guilt of disobeying the rule of the Church. On
the one side we here see John the son of Zacharias and Elisabeth, a mere man, a
preacher of repentance, baptizing with water; and on the other, Jesus the son of
Mary by the operation of the Holy Ghost, the Son of God by eternal generation,
the sinless One, the Sanctifier of the elect. What claim or hold had that
doctrine and that rite over Him? If ever any might have held himself exempt from submission, it was He. Therefore we see that no
plea of intellectual or spiritual superiority, no reasonings about forms and
externals and empty rites and the like, can exempt any man born again through
Christ from the duty of submitting to the rule of His Church. Now no one openly
denies that the Church has some authority, and that from God; because to deny
this would be to deny the existence of the Church itself, and nobody is so far
beside himself as to venture on this extravagance. The only question is about
the limit of that authority; and it is in fixing this boundary that men
of a certain cast of mind do, by consequence and
in fact, deny the power of the Church altogether.
I have said that we are bound to submit to every
ordinance of Divine authority, and that for this
reason: because the whole system of the Church
being divided into ordinances which are of immediate Divine obligation, and ordinances which
mediately—that is, through an authority ordained
of God—become binding on us; or, in other
words, some being appointed by God Himself, and
some by men having Divine authority: the same
obligation runs through all, and in them we
obey God. For instance, the apostolical ministry,
the Holy Sacraments, and the Holy Scriptures,
were appointments and ordinances of Christ Himself. The authority of the apostolical ministry, and of the Church to which that power, with
the Scriptures and Sacraments, was committed, is
therefore divine, as derived from Him: and all
those details of practice, discipline, and order,
which the changes of the world and the succession of time have required, being made and ordained by the same authority, and in accordance
with the mind of the Holy Spirit as revealed in
Scripture, are enjoined upon the consciences of the
members of Christ by the original authority derived from Him to His Church. And that is the
meaning of His own words: “He that heareth
you, heareth Me; and he that despiseth you, despiseth Me.” And St. Paul’s words:
“He that
despiseth, despiseth not man, but God.” The
whole, therefore, of the order of the Church—its
ritual, discipline, and practice, its commandments
and precepts,—all, that is, which meets us at this
day in the system which it has laid down for the
guidance of its people—lays us under the obligation of holy obedience, for the sake of the Divine
authority which is contained in the least things as
truly as in the greatest. It matters not who or
what we are, whether pastors or people, nor how
learned, or illuminated, or sanctified we may be,
nor how small, external, and, as we say, trifling,
the appointment may seem; there is the same great
law of the Divine authority on the one hand, and of holy obedience on the other. As our obedience
passes on from the Church to its Head; so our
disobedience is a rejection of His authority in His
own kingdom.
2. Now we may remark further, that little
things are great tests of the temper and character
of men. The least things are often the most pregnant with moral probation; the less the particular
precept is, the more the principle is exhibited: for
instance, things simply commanded or forbidden
without any assigned or perceptible reason, or those
which in themselves have no particular attractions
or inducements: such, for example, as the original
probation of Adam by the forbidding of a single
tree in the garden. This is what we are wont to
call gratuitous or wanton disobedience; the temptation being weak, and the circumstances unlikely
to promote the temptation. So, on the other hand,
in the obedience of the Second Adam. It consisted
not only in the universal obedience of His spotless
holiness to the great laws of His Father’s will; but
to the very least, in the “fulfilling of all righteousness,” even to the baptism in Jordan. In this what
humility, submission, self-abasement, what pure
and perfect obedience of soul to the mind of the
Father! So it is in the laws and precepts by which
our probation in the Church is controlled. What
a test of the heart and temper is contained in the precept of unity! How directly it elicits any insubordination and irregularity of the individual will!
With how wonderful a wisdom is the unity of the
Church constructed, so as to hold together the
obedient, and to yield before the rebellious! It is
as the net let down into the sea, firm yet frail;
close enough to bring those that abide in it safe
to shore, but giving way for the escape of those
that resist. “They went out from us, but they
were not of us; for if they had been of us, they
would no doubt have continued with us: but they
went out, that they might be made manifest that
they were not all of us.”1 St. John ii. 19.
To some minds, perhaps, the deep spiritual reasons which make
united worship a high duty and direct means of sanctification, and divided or
schismatical worship as high a sin, and as direct a stimulant of those tempers
which grieve the Spirit of holiness, are not so much as conceivable; and yet,
with their imperfect knowledge of the matter of their obligation, they do not
scruple at the slightest offence, or the most trivial annoyance; or because
every thing is not ruled and ordered, done and left undone, according to their
liking, to withdraw themselves from the unity of a parochial altar, or even
from the Church itself, and to join with those who are in open and hostile
opposition to the Church in which till then they professed to find salvation.
Now, what is the secret of all this? It is nothing
more than the detection of the spirit of disobedience, which always dwelt in them, but till then
had not betrayed itself. The whole character is
told in a single act; and the less important the
matter, the more mature and deliberate is the disobedience. The insubordination of a man who sets
himself against a rite or a vesture, is very much
greater than that of one who gainsays a point
of doctrine; for the latter chooses his field in
matters which, if any thing can justify refusal of
submission, may go farther to do it, than the
paltry, trifling, pitiful excuses with which many
try to mask their disobedience under a plea of conscience. The less the occasion, the greater the
insubordination. The lighter the alleged provocation, the heavier the offence. On the one side
is the authority derived from our Lord to His
Church, enjoining some commonplace and indifferent point of order; on the other, men professing the matter to be unimportant, and yet resisting the injunction. What is this but the most
direct and naked struggle between authority and
disobedience? If the pretext were greater, it
would disguise the truth. As a test of the man,
the less the better, because the probation is more
visible, barefaced, and instructive. It is like the rage of Naaman when he was disappointed of
being bidden to “do some great thing,” and was
commanded to wash in Jordan. The probation of
faith, submission, docility, and also of self-will, impatience, pride, is complete. It is a remarkable
fact, that an insubordinate temper in trifling and
external matters seems to have been always the
peculiar characteristic of those who have little
faith in the holy Sacraments. The sacramentarian error appeared to prepare the way for contests
about vestments and postures. And how should it
be otherwise? for what can be more unmeaning,
wearisome, and irritating, than a careful obedience
to small precepts and appointments which are destitute of spiritual grace, empty, carnal, dead, legal,
and the like? The smaller they are, to such minds
the more provoking. But the fact of the provocation reveals the fact of the unbelief. It is the
index of a scheme of doctrine, and of a theological
school. The command to wash in Jordan detected
the unbelief of Naaman. Though he had come all
the way out of Syria, with much profession and
circumstance, to the prophet in Israel, it is plain
that he had little faith after all. The prophet
proved him, as the Head of the Church through
the visible order of it proves us now.
3. Another obvious remark is, how great are
the consequences which flow from these little things.
At the baptism of our Lord He was proclaimed
to be the Christ, by the word of the Baptist, by
the voice of the Father, by the descent of the Holy
Ghost. He at that time received without measure
the anointing of the Eternal Spirit. Surely this is
a type of the graces which descend on holy obedience. It is a silent pledge to us that the lowly,
patient, submissive, docile heart shall be greatly
sanctified. And so, indeed, we find it. Whatsoever may be said in praise of the earnestness, zeal,
activity, and laboriousness, of those who resist the
authority of the Church, there is a perceptible
difference of spirit and character distinguishing
them from those who live in submission to its rule.
Whatever may be said of the active side of their
character, it is certain that we look almost in vain
for the gentleness, patience, softness, meekness,
self-control, self-chastisement, the largeness and
elevation of mind, the passive charity, which belong to the obedient. The whole theory of life
and devotion is lower. I am speaking of good
and sincere people, not of the turbulent and self-conceited; but of those who unhappily have been
drawn into the same general school, and though
they keenly see its faults, cannot bring themselves
to forsake it. Good as they are, their standard is
personal and earthly, drawn from their own inward
views and feelings, or from the example or opinions of individuals of the same school. This is strikingly
true of those who have been brought up in sects;
and also of all such schools within the communion
of the Church, as have, by following particular
minds, lost the tone and habit of the catholic spirit.
It is not necessary to say more than that the very
temper of devotion, self-renunciation, reverence,
submission, which is the peculiar grace of the
obedient, is by them looked upon and even denounced as superstition, weakness, bondage, and
slavishness. Their own estimate of the saintly
character as unfolded in the Church is the best
test and portrait of their own. We can do them
no wrong in believing that what they censure they
do not imitate. There can be no doubt that the
principle of submission is peculiarly trying to some
minds; and that the very habit which makes it
unpalatable is that which seriously obstructs the
improvement of the whole character. It is rarely
seen that people grow to ripeness of faith, and to
that undefinable mellowness and gentleness of spirit
which is the very character of our Lord, without
learning the great lesson of obedience and submission, even in little things, to the will and authority
of others; that is, without obeying God in His
Church. This temper is either the cause or the
consequence of their growth in grace. Either way
it seems inseparable from it; and to lack this, much more to be consciously opposed to it, is a bar, no
one can say how great, to our advance in learning
the humility and the mind of Christ.
I have hitherto spoken only of the direct moral
effects in the way of self-discipline; but there is a
higher condition of our sanctification which may
be seriously affected by a captious, impatient, in
subordinate temper—I mean, the direct gifts of
grace which fall upon the lowly and submissive
heart. Like water-springs, the Spirit leaves the
lofty hills, and gathers in low places. The Spirit
of the Dove does not descend and abide on the
unruly, headstrong, self-willed. We know not what
they forfeit. Yet so it has been from the beginning. The outward and visible Church, since the
world entered into it, has always been turbulent
and disordered: its rule disputed, its discipline in
fringed, its doctrine gainsayed. Men of unsubdued
tempers and headstrong wills have at all times
troubled the outer courts of the Church; but there
is a sanctuary of holy obedience into which they
cannot enter. There is around every altar a fellowship of the contrite, humble, and submissive; who
see Christ in His Church, and in it both minister
to Him and obey Him. And they have a peace
which is from the God of peace. The Spirit of
peace, in gentleness, quietness, meekness, dwells in
them, and shelters them even in this rough world from the strife of tongues. They look out upon
the angry buffeting face of the visible Church with
calmness and a stedfast heart; knowing that all
these things must be for the trial and manifestation of the sons of God. They know that at the
best the Church in this world is no more than an
imperfect realisation of its perfect idea; an approximation to a type which is in heaven alone.
All the struggle, and strife, and lofty looks, and
swelling words, and rebellious deeds, of the disobedient and lawless are no more than must be
while the kingdom of the new creation is spreading
its dominion over the corruption of the old.
Let us, then, never be out of heart, though the
face of the Church be ever so much marred and
smitten by the spirit of misrule, and by the sway
of disobedience. Let its effect on us be to make
us cling closer to the guide which God has given
us. Let us render a submissive, uniform, glad
obedience to the Church; to its doctrine, discipline, ritual; to its precepts of fasting and humiliation; to its lightest counsel; to the least intimation of its mind and will. Let us watch not
only against openly rebellious motions of our hearts,
but against vanity, affectation, love of singularity,
peculiar ways, habits, and choices, by which men
are tempted to bend and tamper with, or, as they
would say, to adapt and accommodate the system of the Church to their times and to themselves.
Some men cannot even say the prayers of the
Church without needless and fanciful changes.
This is nothing less than simple exaltation of self
above the Church; and making themselves a rule
for its orders and doctrines, instead of simply
obeying it. Let us mortify self in all its forms;
not in the grosser alone, but in those refined shapes
in which it keeps its hold upon so many. How
few men can endure to be put out of sight and
forgotten. All that they say and do has about it
something subtil and subdued, hardly perceptible,
yet never unperceived, by which self again comes
into view. Even in the most sacred things, and
in the holiest actions, and with the precepts of
self-renouncement in their mouths, there is a some
thing, not so much as a word, but a tone, a look,
an air, which expresses in full the presence and
consciousness of a will not dead to its own choice.
Let us seek with our whole heart the gift of holy
obedience, that in all things we may submit to
Christ ruling in His Church, as He submitted to
St. John baptizing by the commandment of His
Father. Let us, by prayer and self-chastisement,
so cross and keep under our likings, preferences,
views, opinions, judgments in all things, when the
will of the Church is made known, that we may in
all things obey “as unto the Lord, and not unto men;” with him who said: “I am crucified with
Christ; nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ
liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of
the Son of God, who loved me, and gave Himself for me.”
SERMON IV.
FASTING A MEANS TO CHRISTIAN PERFECTION.
ST. MATTHEW iv. 2.
“When He had fasted forty days and forty nights, He was
afterward an hungered.”
THE fasting of our Lord is one of those mysteries
by which the Church in her solemn Litany pleads
to be delivered from the power of sin. “By Thy
Baptism, Fasting, and Temptation, good Lord,
deliver us.” Like the mystery of His holy Incarnation, of which it is a consequence, it must be
far beyond our understanding. It seems strange
that the Holy One should fast; that He who was
without sin should use a sinner’s discipline. We
feel hardly to know what we may say of it. Thus
much is certain, as the Church teaches us to say,
that His forty days fast was “for our sakes.” It
was for us sinners that He was incarnate and
born; that He submitted to the conditions of humanity; that He took natural sleep and food; and
so likewise that He watched and fasted.
Again: it was as a part of His humiliation
for us. As He took our nature, so He put Himself in our stead. He took the condition of a
sinner; He “was made under the law,” as one
condemned by it; was circumcised, as one that
needed mortification of the flesh; was baptized
with the baptism of repentance, as one that needed
forgiveness; even so He fasted, as one that needed
the self-chastisement of a penitent. It was the
humiliation of the Holy One to undergo all that is
the due reward of sinners.
And again: He fasted for our imitation;
not, indeed, in the length and intensity of His
miraculous abstinence, but according to the measures of our nature. His example
has all the force of a command. Though there were no precept of fasting in the
New Testament, yet this prominent act of our Great Master, the true pattern of a
devout and holy life, would be enough. In this, likewise, it is most true that
“the disciple is not above his Master, neither the servant above his Lord.” We
may be sure that there are virtues and an efficacy in the discipline of fasting
known only to Him who “knew what is in man.” It is related, in some deeper way
than we understand, to the realities of our spiritual warfare, to the actings of our spiritual life, and to the substance of
our natural being. Whether we can see all the
reasons of it or no, we may rest assured that by
His own example He has, in the most emphatic
way, prescribed fasting to us; that no one who
desires to advance in a devout life will venture
to disregard the practice; and that none but they
who dare to slight the example of our blessed
Lord will venture to speak lightly of the duty.
I say this, because worldly, self-confident, and
light-minded people, not knowing of what they
speak, are wont to justify their own shallow and
self-sparing religion by sinful levities on this most
sacred duty. Let them beware of what they are
saying. Either our Lord’s life is our example, or
it is not. Let them choose which they will, and
abide by the consequences. To those for whom
His life is no example, His death is no atonement;
to those to whom His example is a law, the practice of fasting is a duty.
Fasting is the act of abstaining either wholly
or in part from natural food, and that for a longer
or for a shorter time, either at the precept of the
Church, or by our own voluntary self-discipline.
The principle on which it is founded may be stated
thus: that as there is a religious use of food, so
there is a religious abstinence from it. To this
it is commonly objected, that it is a matter wholly indifferent, external, inefficacious; that it savours
of formality, false confidence, and dark views of
our justification; and that it is all but expressly
condemned in holy Scripture. It is asked, Who
fasted more than the Pharisees, and what were
they? What can he plainer than St. Paul’s words: “The kingdom of God is not meat and drink,
but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy
Ghost.”Rom. xiv. 17.
“Meat commendeth us not to God; for
neither if we eat are we the better, neither if we
eat not are we the worse.”1 Cor. viii. 8.
Now, rather than answer these objections in
detail, it will be better to establish one or two
plain truths, on the proof of which these objections
must fall to the ground. And in so doing, it may
be well not to quote the examples of saints, as
Moses, David, Daniel, Anna, St. Peter, St. Paul,
and of the early Church; though this, it might
be thought, would be enough for any faithful or
reverent mind; nor to bring direct texts, such as “When ye fast, be not as the hypocrites;”St. Matt. vi. 18.
or, “Can the children of the bridechamber fast
while the bridegroom is with them? . . . The days
will come, when the bridegroom shall be taken
away from them, and then shall they fast in
those days:”St. Mark ii. 19, 20.
because such modes of proof (sufficient as they are) generally end in a question
how far examples are binding, or precepts still in
force, and the like.
It will be better simply to take the objector on
his own ground, and to shew, first, that fasting
without a pure, or at least a penitent, heart, is
useless, or even worse; next, that fasting is a
means to attain both penitence and purity; and,
lastly, that without fasting there is seldom to be
found any high measure of either.
1. And first let it be said: That fasting with
out a pure, or at least a penitent, heart, is simply
useless, and may be even worse.
This, I suppose, it is hardly necessary to prove.
The objector cannot overstate it. There are no
words of energy and denunciation which are not
used in holy Scripture to condemn the hypocrisy
of such abominable fasts. The prophets are full
of them. “Wherefore have we fasted, say they,
and Thou seest not? wherefore have we afflicted
our soul, and Thou takest no knowledge? Behold, in the day of your fast ye find pleasure, and
exact all your labours. Behold, ye fast for strife
and debate, and to smite with the fist of wickedness: ye shall not fast as ye do this day, to make
your voice to be heard on high. Is it such a
fast that I have chosen? a day for a man to
afflict his soul? is it to bow down his head as a bulrush, and to spread sackcloth and ashes under
him? wilt thou call this a fast, and an acceptable
day to the Lord? Is not this the fast that I
have chosen? to loose the bands of wickedness, to
undo the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed
go free, and that ye break every yoke? Is it not
to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou
bring the poor, that are cast out, to thy house?
when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him;
and that thou hide not thyself from thine own
flesh?”Is. lviii. 3-7.
Again: “Pray not for this people for
their good. When they fast, I will not hear their
cry.”Jer. xiv. 11, 12.
And again: “Speak unto all the people
of the land, and to the priests, saying, When
ye fasted and mourned in the fifth month, even
those seventy years, did ye at all fast unto me,
even to me? And when ye did eat, and when
ye did drink, did not ye eat for yourselves, and
drink for yourselves?”Zech. vii. 5, 6.
“When ye fast, be not,
as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance: for they
disfigure their faces, that they may appear unto
men to fast. Verily I say unto you, They have
their reward.”St. Matt. vi. 16.
“Thou blind Pharisee, cleanse
first that which is within the cup and platter,
that the outside of them may be clean also.”St. Matt. xxiii. 26.
“Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a man; but that which cometh out of the mouth,
this defileth a man. . . . For out of the heart
proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies: these
are the things which defile a man.”St. Matt. xv. 11, 19, 20.
There were Pharisees then in the Church of
God, and there are Pharisees now; men of an
ascetic outside, full of darkness and impurity
within. A rigid system of formal religion often
covers a thoroughly licentious state of heart.
Moreover, they that fast with scrupulous rigour are
sometimes proud, uncharitable, self-complacent, or
indevout, irreverent, and secular. All this is most
true and fearful; but I suppose that no one ever
thought that acts of fasting could cancel a habit of
mental sin. Nay, they become both sins and dangers in themselves. Therefore let the very worst be
said of fastings without repentance, mortification,
and charity. They are mere unsanctified hunger
and thirst, with self-deception. Outward humiliation without a corresponding inward humility, external severities without internal abstinence from
sins of the world and of the flesh, are simple
hypocrisy. They are not only useless, but fearful
provocations of God. On this let so much suffice.
2. And further: what is fasting but one of the means of
attaining to penitence and purity?
It is not an end. In itself it is nothing. There
is no fasting in heaven, no abstinence among the
spirits of the just. It is only we, fallen and sullied, that need this discipline of humiliation.
Fasting is a part of repentance. It not only expresses indignation at ourselves, as unworthy of
God’s pure creatures, but it helps to perfect our
abasement. It is a part of our humiliation: a
means of realising our own weakness, and of mortifying the strength and lusts of the flesh. Now
all this will be plain, if we consider what holy
Scripture tells us of the flesh in which we are
born, and of its power against and over the spirit
which dwells in us.
Throughout holy Scripture we are taught that
the flesh which we bear is the occasion of disobedience. I say the occasion, because it was not originally the source. The temptations of sin passed
through the flesh as their avenue of approach;
and sin, when committed, deposited its evil in our
mortal body. Therefore the flesh in holy Scripture is spoken of as the principle of disobedience
and the source of temptation. St. Paul says, “They that are after the flesh do mind the things
of the flesh; but they that are after the Spirit
the things of the Spirit. For to be carnally minded
is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and
peace. Because the carnal mind is enmity against God: for it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be. So then they that are in the
flesh cannot please God.”Rom. viii. 5-8
Again: “If ye live
after the flesh, ye shall die: but if ye through the
Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall
live.”Ibid. 13.
Again: “Make not provision for the flesh,
to fulfil the lusts thereof.”Rom. xiii. 14.
“Use not liberty for
an occasion to the flesh.”Gal. v. 13.
“Walk in the Spirit,
and ye shall not fulfil the lusts of the flesh. For
the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit
against the flesh: and these are contrary the one
to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that
ye would. . . . The works of the flesh are these:
adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness,
idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations,
wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders,
drunkenness, revellings, and such like.”Ibid. 16, 17, 19-21.
“He
that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap
corruption.”Gal. vi. 8.
St. Paul speaks of “purifying of the
flesh;” St. Peter, of “putting away the filth of
the flesh;” of alluring “through the lusts of the
flesh;” St. John, of “the lust of the flesh, the
lust of the eye, and the pride of life.” St. Jude,
of “the garment spotted by the flesh.”Heb. ix. 13; 1 St. Peter iii. 21;
2 St. Peter ii. 18;
1 St. John ii. 16; Jude 23.
From all these, which might easily be multiplied, it is
plain that there is an inclination to evil, not imaginary and metaphysical, but real and active, in the
flesh of which we are born; that our state does not
consist in a merely spiritual condition; that our
spiritual condition is subjected, by the sin of man,
to the power of another inclination or law, which
dwells and works in the body of our natural flesh.
In early times this truth was so deeply apprehended
that some fell into the error of believing in the
existence of two principles, good and evil; of which
the one was in and of God, the other in and of
the matter of the visible world. They believed
matter to be unmixed evil; and rather than ascribe
its origin to God, they supposed it to have its
origin in another being, thereby destroying the
unity of God’s creation, and His monarchy over
all things. I note this only because we seem, in
a recoil from Manichaean errors, to have gone into
the opposite extreme, and to treat the flesh as if it
were not the subject of evil at all; as if sin lay only
in our spiritual nature, and our probation were
confined to the workings of the mind. If heretics
of old abhorred matter and all contact with it as
evil, we have come to be incredulous of the mysterious agency of evil which is in it; and in the
conduct of our personal religion exclude it from our
thoughts. If this were not so, how could we be so
ill-inclined to believe that the habit of fasting has
a real and effective relation to the purifying of our
souls? How could we slight it as a thing external,
heterogeneous, and inactive in our sanctification?
Many people formally reject the practice as a
whole. Others are willing to admit it so far as to
be a sort of public acknowledgment of the duty of
humiliation: some as expressing, not as promoting,
the contrition of the heart; that is, as a sign or
symbol of what already exists, and is wrought by
other agencies: not as a means, no less than an
expression. That is to say, they treat fasting as
others do the holy Sacraments, not as a means to
effect an end, but as signs that the end has been
already otherwise effected. This is surely a highly
unscriptural view of the matter. How strained
and unnatural it is to interpret St. Paul, when he
says, “Mortify, therefore, your members which are
upon the earth,” or “they that are Christ’s have
crucified the flesh, with the affections and lusts,”Gal. v. 24.
to
mean, be careful to form inward habits of mental religion! And how shallow a
knowledge does it imply of our wonderful and fearful nature: how secure and
dangerous an unconsciousness of what we are! It is surely impossible for any one
to reflect at all without perceiving the relation which exists between the habit
of the body and the condition of the mind; between the workings of the
flesh and the qualities of the soul. Besides these
self-evident proofs, which the one word sensuality
will suffice to shew, is it not manifest that the sins
of anger, pride, hardness of heart, indolence, sloth,
selfishness, are so closely related to the body that
it is hard to say where they chiefly dwell, whether
in the spirit or in the flesh? Does not the universal language of mankind connect them
together? Does not the natural instinct of discerning
the characters of men by outward tokens prove to
us that, whether we will or no, we do associate
the bodily and mental habits of men together?
Does not a free, or a soft, or excessive course of
life insensibly affect the whole character? Is not
the tradition of mortification as universal as that
of sacrifices, pointing to a truth to be afterwards
revealed in the gospel? And what do all these
things prove, but that the body, or, as holy Scripture says, the flesh, is the occasion, the avenue,
the provoking, aggravating, sustaining cause of
moral and spiritual evil in the soul? that it kindles and keeps alive the particular affections which,
when consented to by the will, become our personal and actual sins? It follows, then, at once,
that an external self-discipline, such as fasting,
does enter into the means of our sanctification;
that as the obstructions to penitence and purity of heart arise chiefly out of sensuality, or indulgence
of the affections and motions of the flesh or carnal
mind, so a system which withdraws the excitements and contradicts their effects must tend to
set the soul freer for its purely spiritual exercises.
Let it be taken only as a removal of obstructing
causes, and of intimate and subtil hindrances. This
at least, upon the lowest ground, must be conceded.
And yet it is hardly possible for any thoughtful
person to rest satisfied with this imperfect view.
The fasting of our blessed Lord was not a mere
semblance; it was not an appearance, as the Docetae believed His manhood itself to be—an
unreal action, for the sake of leaving an example
to us. Though He was all pure, and had in
Him nothing that fasting could mortify, as He
had nothing on which sin could lay its hold,
yet, without doubt, even in His perfect and spot
less humanity, abstinence had its proper work. “Though He were a son, yet learned He obedience by the things which He suffered;”Heb. v. 8.
by that
inscrutable mystery of suffering He tasted of sorrows, which in His impassible
nature He could never receive into His Person. He was weary, faint, grieved,
buffeted, and put to pain, even as we are: and these things on His humanity had
the same effects as they have on ours. So, without doubt, in His fasting. What may have been
its effects on the actings of His spotless soul in its
aspect towards God, we dare not speculate; but can
we doubt that the fast of forty days had its own
peculiar work in that perfect sympathy towards us,
by which He is able to feel with us in our natural
infirmities? Was it not out of the same depth
of experience that He spoke, when, as St. Mark
writes, “In those days the multitude being very
great, and having nothing to eat, Jesus called His
disciples unto Him, and saith unto them, I have
compassion on the multitude, because they have
now been with Me three days, and have nothing
to eat: and if I send them away fasting to their
own houses, they will faint by the way: for divers of them came from far.”St. Mark viii, 1-3.
May
we not say, that He thereby made trial of such bodily infirmities as give to the
poor, the sick, the self-denying, a peculiar share in His perfect sympathy?
With us, however, fasting is a means of humiliation, abasement, repentance for the guilt of sins
committed, and for the soils of sin which penetrate
our inmost soul. To us sinners it is a sharp and
necessary medicine to cleanse our hearts, to waken
and excite devotion, to chasten and clear the spiritual affections towards God,
and to humble our natural pride. These are its first and obvious uses. It also helps to form in us a pure and unselfish
sympathy with the suffering members of Christ,
in their patience and necessities, in their faintness
and heavy toil, in the languor of sickness and feebleness of age. It is good for us to see our tables
spread like a poor man’s board; for many go
from their birth to their grave and never know
the taste of hunger. There are secrets of suffering into which not only the rich and soft, but
even the charitable and pitiful, can never enter,
except by self-denials, of which fasting is an example and a pledge.
3. And this leads us to the last point. It
may be safely said, that without fasting and the
habits implied in it, we shall hardly attain to any
high degrees of the spiritual life. I would not be
understood to say, that there are not to be found
some who never fast, and are yet purer and more
penitent than some who do: that is very certain.
Some who fast seem not at all the better: rather,
as has been said, they seem to grow less gentle,
less self-mistrusting, less charitable,—more high-toned in their professions, projects, and censures.
Again: some who have never been taught to
look upon fasting as a duty have gone through life
without using it as a part of their personal religion, yet are nevertheless truly pious, gentle, and
devout. But the question is rather to be stated thus: seeing what they are without this scriptural practice, what would they have been if they
had been early taught to use it? Surely we may
believe they would, in all parts of a holy life, have
outstripped their present selves. If they have
come to be what they are without following this
precept of our Lord’s example, what might they
not have attained by a fuller imitation of His life!
For it is not to be denied, that there are, even
among persons of a devout life, two very distinct
classes. There is one which consists of people
who are truly conscientious, faithful to the light
that is in them, charitable, blameless, diligent in
the usual means of grace, and visibly advanced in
the practice and principle of a religious obedience.
Yet there is something wanting. Their alms are
given without the grace of charity: their consolations are not soothing. There is a want of sympathy, tenderness, meekness, reverence, submission
of will, self-renouncement: sometimes there is a
tone which is even selfish, imperious, heartless, or
worldly.
The other class are perceptibly distinct; and
their difference may be said to lie in the depth
and vividness of their charity and compassion.
They inspire no fear, except that which attends
on great purity of life; they attract and win to
themselves the love of others, especially of the poor, the timid, the suffering, and even of children. There is about them something which is
rather to be felt than defined. We feel ourselves
to be in the presence of a superior, and yet of one
who has nothing fearful or exciting, nothing that
rudely abashes or repels us. We feel to be sensibly drawn to them, and to be thoroughly persuaded of their goodness and gentleness of heart.
Though we know that our least faults will in their
eyes seem greater than much graver faults in the
eyes of others, yet we have less fear of making
them known, because we feel sure of their tenderness and kind interpretation. Such they are in
their aspect towards us. What is their devotion,
as it is seen by God alone, we can only conjecture
from the purity and intensity of all their spiritual
life.
Now such characters as this certainly seem
almost to differ in kind, rather than in degree,
from the others. They have another pattern of
devotion before them, and are under another discipline. Their self-control is perceptibly of a finer
sort; the subjugation of their passions is evidently
on a more perfect rule; and their devotion has a
vividness and depth which the others do not possess. Now this seems to be the cast of character
which is seldom, if ever, formed without an habitual exercise of secret humiliation. All that we perceive of sympathy and gentleness is the result
of contrition and self-chastisement before God.
And this is wrought in them by a system of self-discipline, into which fasting seldom, if ever, fails
to enter. Without this, and the kindred habits
allied to it, there can be but little of that recollection of heart out of which comes a keener
perception of the spirituality of the law of God,
of the malign character of sin, or of the habitual consciousness of our own infinite unworthiness in the sight of Heaven. All these, which are
the first principles of repentance and purification,
are but faintly, if at all, apprehended by any but
those who use in secret a discipline of self-chastisement; and all attempts at such discipline will be
found, sooner or later, to be most imperfect, and
indeed all but in vain, unless they are ordered on
the rule which is here given by the example of our
blessed Lord. Fasting and prayer are so related,
that in their spirit, quality, and effect, they will
rise or fall together; and fasting is so related to
the spiritual cross of Christ, that we may believe
it to possess virtues greater and more penetrating
than we may ever know in this life.
Lastly, as to the particular rules by which this
duty is to be limited and directed, I cannot at
tempt to say any thing; partly because it is hardly
possible to be particular without provoking objections to the principle from those to whom the instances will not apply; and partly because, in such
questions of personal religion, they who are not
able to guide themselves ought to have recourse
to their spiritual pastor. It is but to keep up a
delusion, too prevalent already, to attempt to do by
public preaching what can only be efficiently done,
in particular cases, by private counsel and advice.
I will therefore only venture on two suggestions.
One is, whatsoever be your practice, let it be
without ostentation. “Thou, when thou fastest,
anoint thy head and wash thy face, that thou appear not unto men to fast, but unto thy Father
which is in secret.” There are few that can stand
being noticed, without suffering in the purity of
their intention. Howsoever well they may have
begun, secondary motives insinuate themselves with
a strange subtilty. The comments of others, either
by way of opposition, or, much more dangerously,
of approval, seldom fail to produce an unhealthy
self-consciousness which mars all, and then “verily
we have our reward.” Moreover, there is no reason
why we should not carry our secret discipline with
us into all paths and conditions of life. We may
fast in the midst of the world, in its business and
distractions, even when compelled to be present in
the midst of its feastings. Let it be a matter between ourselves and God.
The other suggestion is, that we do not venture on any
over-rigid practice at first. Excessive beginnings often end in miserable
relaxations at last. Hardly any thing so much deteriorates the character as retracting good resolutions, or falling
away from high professions. Little acts are great
tests of self-control, steadiness, perseverance. Let
us be content with these, and turn it to our humiliation that we are neither worthy nor able to undertake greater things. Higher rules of devotion
are for those that are stronger than we. Let us
ever bear in mind that all such practices are no
more than means to an end. Let us never rest
till that end is attained. And let us ever bear in
mind that, fast and afflict ourselves as we may,
there is only one “fountain opened for sin and
for uncleanness,” only one foundation, one sacrifice, one atonement for sin, which is the cross and
blood-shedding of our Lord Jesus Christ.
SERMON V.
THE NATURE AND LIMITS OF TEMPTATION.
ST. MATTHEW iv. 1.
“Then was Jesus led up of the Spirit into the wilderness to
be tempted of the devil.”
THIS deeply mysterious passage of our Lord’s humiliation can never be understood by us more than
in part. It is full of truths only partially revealed;
and, from our inability to comprehend them, we
must refrain from offering too boldly to interpret
the nature of His temptation.
Certain great truths, however, we may learn
from what is here written. That same Spirit with
Whom the Son of God was one from everlasting,
and by Whom also He was anointed at His baptism,
was here His guide to the place of His spiritual
conflict with the Evil One. When it is said, He
was led of the Spirit, it is to be understood in the
same sense as when it is said, He was anointed, tempted, and the like—the man Jesus Christ being
susceptible of all these, by reason of His true and
proper humanity. That same Spirit by which He
was anointed to preach the gospel to the poor,Isaiah lxi. 1.
was
also His guide in all that it behoved the Messiah
to do and to suffer for the sin of the world. St.
Paul tells us that it was “through the Eternal
Spirit”Heb. ix. 14.
that He offered Himself to God; and that
He was “declared to be the Son of God with
power, according to the Spirit of holiness, by the
resurrection from the dead:”Rom. i. 4.
that is to say, by the Divine Nature in which the
Son and the Spirit are one and indivisible. Thus, through the Spirit He was led
up of His own free will to be tempted of the devil. It was the onset of the
warfare which was to end in the destruction of “him that hath the power of
death.”
There is an evident relation, partly of coincidence and partly of contrast, between the temptation of the first Adam in the garden, and of the
second Adam in the wilderness. The first Adam
was tempted through the senses, and by the allurements of self-exaltation, and covetousness of gifts
which he did not possess. So with Christ: He was
tempted to satisfy His hunger by a miracle; to
display His divine nature, by suspending the laws
which govern our state, to which He had made Himself subject, and to forsake His Father for
the offer of earthly greatness. In the two first
temptations it does not at once appear in what
the sin to which He was tempted consists. It may
be that Satan sought for proof that He was the
very Christ, and that he hoped either to destroy
or to draw Him from God. His temptations were
therefore put in a tone of incredulity and provocation, like that of the rulers who derided Him
upon the cross, saying, “He saved others; Himself
He cannot save: let Him save Himself, if He be
the Christ, the chosen of God:” and the malefactor
also who “railed on Him, saying, If Thou be
the Christ, save Thyself and us.”St. Luke xxiii. 35, 39.
These words
express a great depth of contumely, mixed with
incredulity and fear. It would appear that Satan
half knew and half feared lest He were the Christ,
and so shaped the temptations as to goad Him, as
he thought, into a manifestation of Himself, and
in ways that would destroy the pure integrity of
His obedience to God. The temptation lay not so
much in the particular form, as in the moral character and effect of the act. So it was in the first
temptation of man: the act was in itself, it may
be, indifferent; the spring of it was disobedience,
and the end was death. In this instance it would
have been a renouncing of subjection to His Father, and a defeat of the ends for which He had become
incarnate.
Now, this temptation in the wilderness was a
part of the humiliation of the Son of God. As He
took our nature with all its infirmities, it was needful that He should make full trial of our state. As
He prayed, wept, and hungered, so also He was
tempted. It belonged to the truth of our nature,
and to the realities of our state in this world of sin,
that He should suffer as we suffer. And this is
specially mentioned by St. Paul, who encourages us
by saying that He “was in all points tempted like
as we are.”Heb. iv. 15.
It was needful that He should learn
by experience the full misery and hatefulness of
sin, and the weakness and susceptibility of our nature: for this even the Omniscient, because of the
perfection of His own nature, learned “by the
things which He suffered.” What humiliation can
be greater than that He “who cannot be tempted
with evil,” should be solicited by the horrible and
hateful suggestions of mistrustful, presumptuous,
self-exalting thoughts, and that with the taunts and
allurements of the devil? What is more afflicting
to holy minds than the haunting suggestions or
visions of evil? And yet surely no such trial was
ever so afflicting to any other as to the Holy One
of God. The absolute holiness of the Godhead was then brought into contact with sin, as the
divine immortality was brought into the neighbourhood of death upon the cross. It is impossible for
us to measure the intense humiliation and spiritual
anguish of such a familiarity with the Wicked One.
None but God, in whose sight the heavens are not
clean, can know the hatefulness of sin as it was
manifested to Christ, or the depth of sorrow and
abhorrence which was excited in the soul of Him
who was without sin.
Again: this temptation, it may be, was as necessary to our redemption as the Passion upon the
cross. It was parallel to the temptation of Adam
in Eden in this point, that as he by falling subjected us to sin and death, so
Christ by overcoming has delivered us from the same. The first Adam was our head
unto condemnation; the Second is our Head unto everlasting life. Now it is to be
observed, that our Lord was tempted as a man, and as a man He overcame. He did
not put forth divine powers of miracle, nor support Himself by divine
interpositions. He might, indeed, have let loose twelve legions of angels
against the tempter; but how then should He have been the example and pledge of
mastery to us that are tempted? His victory over the devil was gained by the preparations of prayer and fasting, and by the power
of patience and stedfast obedience to God. The same shield, and the same weapons of offence,
we also possess. His mastery was gained, as His
temptation was endured, strictly within the conditions of our humanity.
That this conflict was complete is evident from
the fact, that though St. Luke says Satan “departed from Him for a season” we no where read
that our blessed Lord was ever again solicited by
his allurements. He was buffeted and blasphemed
by the malignity of the devil; contradicted and
pursued by the hatred of men; all the powers of
darkness were in activity against Him; yet we no
where find that He was again tempted to with
draw His obedience from His Father in heaven.
Even in the last night of agony in the garden,
in the midst of exhaustion, fear, and anguish,
when the tempter might have seemed to have
found a season of peculiar weakness, he did not
appear: his work lay elsewhere; he was busied in
another direction. He had compassed the death of
Him whom he could not overcome; he had “entered into the heart of Judas;” he was counter
working, as it might seem, to destroy One whom
he could not defile. Now this perfect overthrow of
Satan, by a person in our nature, is a mystery out
of which our masteries over temptation are derived,
as our falls are derived out of the first transgression. Christ has overcome for us; and by virtue of our union with Him, He daily overcomes Satan
in and through our regenerate nature, and therein
perpetually repeats and carries out His first mastery in the wilderness. It was this great warfare
and victory that St. John saw in vision. “There
was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought
against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his
angels, and prevailed not; neither was their place
found any more in heaven. And the great dragon
was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil,
and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he
was cast out into the earth, and his angels were
cast out with him. And I heard a loud voice
saying in heaven, Now is come salvation, and
strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the
power of His Christ: for the accuser of our brethren is cast down, which accused them before our
God day and night. And they overcame him by
the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their
testimony; and they loved not their lives unto the
death.”Rev. xii. 7-11.
Apostles, prophets, martyrs, and saints,
all the members of His mystical body, became partakers of His mastery over the
kingdom of darkness, and over the devil, the prince of this world. So, through
persecution, and distress, and torment, in the provinces and cities of the
world, in market places and theatres, in the wilderness and in solitude, they overcame the strength and the subtilty
of the tempter; and in weakness confounded his
power whom all the world worshipped.
This temptation of our Lord Jesus Christ lays
open to us the reality and nature of our own. It
lifts the veil which is upon our eyes, the unconsciousness which is upon our hearts, and shews us
what is really going on at all times in the spiritual
world around us; by what we are beset, and what
are the mysterious powers which are exerting themselves upon us. Much that we never suspect to be
more than the effect of chance, or hazard, or the
motion of our own minds, or the caprice of fancy,
may be the agency of this same awful being who
tempted both the first Adam and the Second.
There is something very fearful in the thought
that Satan, whom we so slight or forget, is an
angel—a spiritual being of the highest order—endowed therefore with energies and gifts of a
superhuman power; with intelligence as great as
his malice; lofty, majestic, and terrible even in his fall. Next to the holy
angels, what being can it be more fearful to have opposed to us, and that with
intense and vigilant enmity, and at all times hovering invisibly about us?
From what we read, then, of the temptation of Christ we may
learn:
1. First, that it is no sin to be tempted; nor is
our being tempted any proof of our being sinful. This is a most consolatory
thought; for among the afflictions of life few are so bitter and perpetual as
temptation. Sorrows, pains, disappointments, crosses, oppositions, which come
upon us from with out, are not to be compared in suffering to the in ward
distress of being tempted to evil deeds, words, desires, and thoughts. The
subtilty and insinuation of evil is so great that it gains an entrance before we
are aware of it: sometimes it seems to glance off by a sort of reflection from
things the most opposite in their nature; sometimes to be taken into our minds
unperceived in the midst of indifferent thoughts, and then suddenly to unfold
itself. Every one who is seeking for Christian perfection must have found how
thoughts of resentment, pride, self-complacency, repining, and others unholier
still, sometimes seem to shoot off from the holiest acts and contemplations, and
again to spring up out of subjects of the greatest purity and humiliation;
sometimes also in times of deep sorrow and depression, when our minds are most
remote from any conscious indulgence of their own evil. This, and much more
which is implied by this, will be recognised by all who are seeking after
holiness; and it is this that causes the bitterest and most sickening distress
of mind. Sometimes it makes us doubt of our whole religious life—almost of our regeneration. Am I not even yet in
the flesh, “in the gall of bitterness, and in the bond
of iniquity?” can I dare to pray? is not even prayer
a mere profession? how can I approach God with a
soul haunted and darkened by such a presence of
evil? It is, indeed, well to be suspicious and self-accusing; for there can be no doubt but that most
of our mental temptations find their opportunity in
actual faults, past or present, or in that original
taint of sin which is still in us: that is to say, in
those parts of our nature which are the effects of
the fall of man, and of our own personal disobedience. But the susceptibility of temptation
belongs to us, not as fallen beings, but as men.
Perfect beings may be tempted, as the angels: and
sinless, as Adam in the garden, Christ in the
wilderness.
So long as we are in this state of probation, and
in this world of conflict between sin and holiness,
it must be so. Even though we were made sinless
at this very hour, still the power and subtilty of
evil by which we are surrounded would not cease to
approach us, and to force itself upon our perception
and our hatred. Thus much we may learn for our
comfort: though we should convert it into a snare,
if we were to solve the fact of our daily consciousness of evil thoughts and inclinations by this truth
alone. It is too true that, for the most part, we are tempted because we have aggravated and inflamed
our original sinfulness. We by disobedience have
given to it a vividness and appetite which by nature
it did not possess. Old thoughts, wishes, associations, practices, are the source of most of our inward
defilements. To our natural susceptibility and our
original corruption we have added an immeasurable
range of inclinations to things forbidden; and on
these Satan fastens. However, we may take this
comfort: after we have assured ourselves by strict
self-examination that the temptation by which we
are distressed is not the result of any act of our
own will, we may rest in peace, thanking God for
the pain it inflicts upon us, praying Him to make
that pain, if He sees fit, sharper and deeper, that
it may issue in an intense hatred of evil, in a more
vivid consciousness of our own misery, in lower humiliation, and greater purity of heart. Any suffering is to be welcomed which teaches us sorrow and
hatred for sin. In this way temptations are turned
by the Holy Spirit against themselves. That which
in its first intention would be the defilement, if
not the death, of the soul, turns to chastisement,
mortification, and cleansing. It wakens and quickens all the powers of the soul; fear, self-restraint,
watchfulness, caution, sensitive shrinking from the
least appearance of evil, strong and persevering
efforts to deaden and destroy so much as the very liability to be affected by temptations. So it
was with the Corinthians to whom St. Paul said: “Behold this selfsame thing, that ye sorrowed
after a godly sort, what carefulness it wrought in
you, yea, what clearing of yourselves, yea, what indignation, yea, what fear, yea, what vehement desire, yea, what zeal, yea, what revenge! In all
things ye have approved yourselves to be clear in
this matter.”2 Cor. vii. 11.
The very sorrow and distress are
our safeguard. We should be in danger if we did
not feel them; and we are safer as we feel them
more acutely, and use them for our humiliation and
spiritual cleansing.
2. Another truth following on the last is, that
nothing can convert a temptation into a sin but
the consent of our own will. This one principle,
clearly seen, is a key to nine-tenths of all questions
of conscience on this subject. The worst of temptations, so long as they are without our will, are no
part of us: by consent they become adopted and
incorporated with our spiritual nature—thoughts
become wishes, and wishes intents. Consent is
the act of the whole inward man. So long as we
refuse to yield, it matters little what temptations
beset us; they may distress and darken, and even
for a time seem to defile our hearts: but they
cannot overcome us. The thought of satisfying His natural hunger, of vindicating His divine Sonship by miracles, the visions of this false world, the
kingdoms of the earth and the glory of them, were
cast like shadows on the clear brightness of our
Lord’s spirit; but they won no assent, left no
traces, no deposit of doubt, desire, or inclination.
They were simply hateful, and were cast forth with
an intense rejection; and that because they encountered a holy will, which is of divine strength
even in man.
In measure it is so in every saint; it may
be so with us. As the will is strengthened with
energy, and upheld by the presence of Christ
dwelling in the heart of the pure and lowly; so the
temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil,
are expelled from us, and lose all share in our personal existence. This explains the various degrees
of power that temptations have over various men.
Some seem never mastered by them, some seldom,
some often, and some always. Of the first we have
spoken enough. The others will be found in two
classes: they are either those who, without positive
habits of sin, are also without positive habits of
holiness; or those whose habits are positively unholy. When I say, those who, without positive
habits of sin, are also without positive habits of
holiness, I mean, such persons as are pure in their
lives, benevolent, upright, and amiable, but not devout towards God. This in itself is of course,
in one sense, sin, because it is a coming “short of
the glory” and acceptance of God. I am using sin
in its popular sense, of wilful acts of evil. Now
such people are open to the full incursions of the
tempter in the whole extent of that natural sinfulness which is in them. This gives them a predisposition on which he acts with daily success. They
are open and unguarded, and the will that is in
them is weak and undisciplined; it has no expulsive power in it, by which evil is cleared from a
heart that is sanctified by a life of holiness. We
see such people become inconsistent, vain, ostentatious, worldly, and then designing, farsighted for
their own interests, selfish, unscrupulous, false to
their friends, their principles, their professions.
We are surprised by unexpected acts out of keeping with what we believe them to be, and lines of
practice in direct opposition to plain and evident
duty. The key of all this is, that they have secretly yielded their will to some temptation, and
converted it into their own sin; and that sin is their
master. We sometimes see such people deteriorating with a frightful intensity and speed; so much
so as to make us remember how awfully the emptiness and preparedness of an undevout
heart is described by our Lord. The unclean spirit “saith, I will return into my
house from whence I came out; and when he is come, he findeth it swept and garnished. Then goeth he, and taketh with him seven
other spirits more wicked than himself, and they
enter in and dwell there.”St. Matt. xii. 44, 45.
The case is, of course, much more obviously
true of those who live lives of positive unholiness.
Every sin that a man commits is an invitation to
the tempter to tempt him thenceforward to that
particular sin. So that every man of a profligate life is the subject of a manifold temptation,
which is perpetually multiplying itself. First he
is tempted of his own heart, then by Satan, then
by consent he tempts Satan to tempt him again in
the same forms, circumstances, and details; for by
consent he has made that his master-sin. And
thenceforward it becomes, as we say, a ruling sin,
which is so seldom broken off that St. Peter says
of certain, that they have “eyes full of adultery,
and that cannot cease from sin.”2 St. Peter ii. 14.
They have an
active commerce with the tempter, a mingling of
will and desire with him; and the inflammation
and power of evil affections become a bondage
through which it becomes at last morally impossible
to break. And how does this differ from a possession of the devil? Is it not a possession in all the
reality of fact and truth? How did Satan enter
into the heart of Judas with any fuller or more personal presence than this? How can we other
wise explain the settled, deliberate career of sin
in which some men live—the perfect impenetrableness of heart and conscience with which they
hold out against all warnings, fears, and chastisements; as, for instance, in sensuality, falsehood, or pride?
This, then, is the sum of the matter: temptations are no sins so long as we keep our will pure
from all consent to them; when we consent, they
become sins, are infused into our spiritual nature,
and are the first admissions of that which in the
end may be no less than a possession.
3. And this leads to one point more—I mean, to the nature and
limits of the power of temptation. First, it is plain that Satan has no power
over the will of man except through itself. It must be won by self-betrayal, or
not at all. This is absolutely certain, and lies at the root of the distinction
between obedience and disobedience, holiness and sin. Next, it would appear that
he can have no direct power over the affections. He must approach them, as they
lie round the will, through the eye and the ear, the touch or the imagination.
Through the senses, the avenues of temptation are ready and direct; and all the
world around us ministers to danger. Therefore our Lord was so searching in His
commands to pluck out the offending eye, and to cut off the offending hand.
The first visible objects which Satan used to tempt
withal were pure creatures of God, the fruit of
the tree which God had blessed. So subtil is
evil. But since he gained an entrance into the creation of God, he has, through the will and works
of wicked men, framed for himself a world of his
own, full of the visible forms and suggestions of
pride, lust, impurity, covetousness. What else are
idolatries, oracles, licentious ceremonies, lying
books, unholy sights, pomps, and wars; or, again,
false casuistry, sceptical and defiling literature,
luxurious arts, worldly grandeur, and the like?
And these things find their way into all eyes and
ears, and are quickened by the craft and activity of
men already corrupt. This world of evil hangs
upon us round about, and through it he insinuates
the quality of evil into the affections, and by them
sways and possesses the will.
And again: we cannot doubt that he has still
more concealed ways of addressing himself to us.
He is a spirit, and we are of a spiritual nature.
It is impossible to limit or define the action of
intellect on intellect, and imagination on imagination. There are some temptations so peculiar, so
sudden, so abrupt in their onset, so contrary to
our natural and habitual bias, so disturbing and
vehement in their first entrance on the mind, that we can hardly doubt that the tempter has a direct
avenue to the intellectual and imaginative powers
of our nature: for instance, religious delusions, in
which he appears as an angel of light to the perverted mind. There is, by the common consent of
man, such a thing as the direct instigation of the
devil, which, though its means of working may be
generally through the senses, we cannot doubt is
also a work of direct and disembodied evil. Such,
for instance, as the unaccountable desire to commit
great and eccentric crimes; sudden impulses to do
things most feared and hated, concurring with an
opportunity unperceived till the impulse detected it.
Now though these are extreme cases, and such as
we are not commonly exposed to, they lay open a
law, so to speak, of temptation which has place in
our common life. I mean, the direct power and
agency of Satan on the imagination. It is not
necessary now to go further, or to inquire whether
the images of the mind of which he serves himself
are gathered from the ideas of previous experience,
or suggested, new and unknown, from without.
All that we are concerned with now is, to shew
that he has no hold over the will, nor power over
the affections, except through the images of the
senses and of the mind. And this is a most consolatory and a most practical truth. It shews us
our perfect safety so long as the Spirit of Christ dwells in our hearts: and it teaches us where to
watch against the approaches of the tempter.
Let us pray, then, that our eyes, ears, and all
senses be mortified; that the cross be upon them
all; that no images of pomp, vanity, or lust may
pass through them into the affections of our hearts;
that no visions of sins past, nor remembrance of
any thing that can kindle pride, anger, resentment,
or any unholy passion, may haunt us; that our will may be dwelt in by the will
of our sinless Lord, who for us overcame in the wilderness, and, if we be pure
and true, will “bruise Satan under our feet shortly.”
SERMON VI.
WORLDLY CARES.
ST. MATTHEW iv. 3.
“When the tempter came to Him, he said, If Thou be the Son of
God, command that these stones be made bread.”
WHEN our Lord had fulfilled the forty days of His
miraculous fast, “He was afterward an hungered.”
He felt at that moment, more than all the sensations of languor and exhaustion to which long abstinence from food commonly brings our nature.
It was a time of peculiar weakness, when, if ever,
the tempter might hope to have advantage of this
mysterious Person. When he came to Him, therefore, he took up the words which fell from heaven
at His baptism. He said, “If Thou be the Son of
God, command that these stones be made bread.”
It seems to have been partly for the sake of finding
out what He truly was, and partly to prepare the
way for other and worse suggestions. We cannot say how far Satan knew with Whom he had to
do. Probably he could only gather His real nature by the manifestations which were revealed in
this world. The tempter had, we may believe, no
knowledge derived from his own intelligence who
this mysterious servant of God might be. He was
no longer privy to the secrets of Heaven; and no
revelations in the unseen world had made him a
partaker in those “things which the angels desire
to look into.” His knowledge, it seems, was to
be gathered from tokens and intimations given
to mankind; as, the vision and song of the heavenly host at His birth, and the descent of the
Holy Ghost, with the Father’s voice at Jordan.
And here he came to put all this to the test, and
to elicit something more. He came seeking a
sign; and that sign, first of all, was a miracle, to be
wrought by Christ upon the stones of the wilderness, to stay His hunger. But He who had
compassion on the faintness of the multitude would not
regard Himself. They had been with Him only
three days, and He had fasted forty; but He
would not outrun His Father’s time, or change His
Father’s way. He knew, it would seem, that in
the end of His temptation, when He had borne it
all, and accomplished the mysterious conflict, there
should come ministering angels to His succour.
But my object is not so much to enter upon the detail of this temptation, and to explain its
circumstances, as to use it for our own instruction.
It may be taken as a sample of a class of temptations to which some of us are especially liable. In
our Lord’s hunger we may see a type of the straits
and necessities into which we sometimes fall in our
worldly condition; and in the temptation of Satan
an example of the unlawful and indirect ways in
which men are tempted to escape from them. In
one word, it may be taken as a sample of the temptations which beset those who have the part of
Martha, who live in the world, charged with its
temporal duties and cares, who have to provide for
their own living, and for the support of others who
belong to them. Our Lord’s conduct is an example of trust in the providential care of God, and
of the duty of abstaining from all unsanctioned
ways of providing for ourselves. We will go on
to consider this subject somewhat more fully.
1. And first of all, this shews us the sin of
seeking our livelihood in any unlawful ways. This
is a subject on which the consciences of men are
sometimes strangely blind. The pressure of want,
the encumbrances and difficulties of an embarrassed
fortune, the needs of others that depend on them,
are very strong and urgent reasons for great and
laborious efforts to obtain a maintenance in the
world. And these are often much increased in the case of those who are, or have been, richer,
whose birth lifts them above the lower kinds of
employment and of temptation, and over whom the
habits and expectations of society cast a powerful
influence. What is more strongly felt and declared
than that—“A man must live; I cannot afford to throw away any means of
subsistence, or any office of emolument. If I could do so in my own person, I
cannot for the sake of others. If I had nobody to think of but myself, I might
withdraw from this, or abandon that, employment. Besides, the Bible tells us, ‘If any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he
hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.’1 Tim. v. 8.
It is not more a duty of
reason than of religion.”
Let it be observed, I am not speaking of acts
of direct robbery,—stealing, fraud, peculation, nor
of the ruder or more naked forms of dishonesty
by which needy men are often tempted to seek
their living in unlawful ways; nor of gambling and
living by chance, and the like:—all these are self-evidently wicked; but of a
finer class of temptations. Sometimes men of a high-toned profession in life
allow themselves to participate in trades, speculations, undertakings, which are
perhaps connived at by those who execute the laws of the land, though they are
forbidden by the laws themselves; or they consciously suffer profits to be made over to
them which they know are not their due. They
let others make mistakes against themselves with
out setting them right; they leave them under
false impressions of the value of things which pass
between them by way of sale; they let mistaken
notions, arising from their own words, remain uncorrected; or by acts they imply, in matters of
business, what they would not say. They are willing to be parties, if it so happen, to unequal bar
gains; or they are not considerate of the quality of
those they treat with, or of their ability to protect
themselves; or they conceal knowledge which would
change the whole intention of those they deal with,
while they themselves act upon it. Many of these
things have no distinct names. They are practised—I will not say, permitted—in commerce and
trade by a sort of lax interpretation of duty; and
though not pronounced to be fair, are nevertheless
treated as if they were the necessary fortunes of
offensive and defensive warfare, which the buyers
and sellers, and merchants, and money-changers,
and traffickers of this world are compelled to carry
on and to submit to. The market, and the exchange, and the receipt of custom, are perilous
places, having an atmosphere of their own; and in
it things are strangely refracted: precepts and obligations are often seen edgeways, or sideways, or inverted altogether. Or, again, the finer forms
of integrity are dimly seen, and treated as visionary, unpractical, inapplicable to the affairs of the
world; and a peculiar sort of character is formed,
which is long-sighted, far-reaching, ready, sharp,
dexterous, driving, successful. All things seem to
turn in their direction; and they are prepared for
every fluctuation, reaction, and change. Now it is
very seldom that such men persevere in strict integrity. The temptations to make great gains by
slight equivocations, and the manifold and complex
nature of the transactions they are engaged in,
give so many facilities for turning things unduly
to their own advantage, that many fall.
The same may be said, also, of those who obtain the means of life by compromises of opinion
and of principle, by slight suppressions of conscience, and tampering with their own sincerity.
All these are so many forms of commanding stones
to be made bread. They are a withdrawal of trust
in the providence of God, who never forsakes
those who look simply to Him, and persevere in
their own pure intention of heart, in spite of golden
opportunities and alluring offers of gain. We read
in the book of Proverbs, “He that maketh haste
to be rich shall not be innocent.”Prov. xxviii. 20.
And why, but
because a precipitate following of wealth makes men bold, speculating, unscrupulous? They are
not nice in their measures if there seems a chance
of success. They follow up their points with an
urgency that leaves them too little time to scrutinise the means: indeed, the means seem to force
themselves upon their hands. Many a great for
tune will bear little scrutiny or retrospect. It must
be looked at only on the outside, and under the
fair aspect of its present appearance.
But we may dismiss these examples, hoping
that they, though too often seen, are not of very
frequent occurrence, and go on to a more common
temptation.
2. We may learn, then, further, the sin of seeking our living in any way which implies mistrust
of God’s care for us. It is most certain that, in
our lawful calling, we may be exposed to this temptation. We may be tempted not only to mistrust
the providence of God, but also to endeavour to
secure ourselves, by our own foresight and management, against the surprises of want and the changes
of worldly fortune.
And this we may do, for instance, by hoarding. Now here is an
acknowledged difficulty. Holy Scripture says, “Go to the ant, thou sluggard,
consider her ways, and be wise;”Prov. vi. 6.
which seems to teach
us that it is a duty to be both diligent and foresighted: to lay
up for dark days and wintry seasons. So, indeed, it is; and all the more as we
have others to care for. Yet it is plain that this must have its limit. Holy
Scripture, while it sends us for wisdom to the ant, forbids greediness, warns us
against love of riches, condemns covetousness. We read: “They that will be rich
fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which
drown men in destruction and perdition. For the love of money is the root of all
evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and
pierced themselves through with many sorrows;”1 Tim. vi. 9, 10.
again: “No covetous man, who is an idolater, hath any inheritance
in the kingdom of Christ and of God;”Eph. v. 5.
and our
Lord teaches the same in the awful parable of the
rich man, who said, “I will pull down my barns,
and build greater; and there will I bestow all my
fruits and my goods. And I will say to my soul,
Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years;
take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry. But
God said unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul
shall be required of thee; then whose shall those
things be, which thou hast provided?”St. Luke xii. 18-20.
Now that
which is condemned in these passages is a hoarding
spirit, which is excited and kept alive by a desire to secure ourselves against all contingencies of
God’s providence; as if men should lay in stores,
and provision a stronghold, against the invasions
of God. This is the “trusting in uncertain riches,
and not in the living God,”1 Tim. vi. 17.
which St. Paul condemns. Men that leave all thought of God out of their
calculation when they are making a for tune, inevitably shut out all thought of
His future providence in their schemes for securing the for tune they have made.
They begin in an unthankful, self- trusting way, and they end in relying upon
their own prudence and worldly wisdom. This is a mere trying to make stones into
bread. They are no safer from poverty than the poorest: no more secure from
hunger, nakedness, destitution, than the man that cannot reckon pence against
their thousands of gold and silver. Both rich and poor depend for the morrow
equally upon God. It is not in the power of man to make himself more secure. He
will have just so much as God wills, and he will hold it just so long. A frugal
man who lives of what God gives him, and disposes wisely of the rest,
distributing part to others, and laying up such a proportion as may remain,
subject to such uses and demands as God may design he is safer far than the
richest, whose yearly hoardings cannot be told: for a trust in the Father of lights shall never be disappointed.
It contains in it the virtues of the treasuries of
heaven. Out of these there shall be ministered
an abundant store, when the money-bags of the
rich shall be unawares found empty. This, then,
is an evident temptation. It is an unbelieving
mistrust of God, and an over-confident trust in
ourselves.
Another particular form of the same temptation is, to withhold
our alms from the poor and destitute, under a plea that we must be provident for
ourselves. There is something shocking in the very statement. And yet it is to
be feared that there are persons who refuse all applications for alms of all
kinds, both for the bodies and for the souls of men, on the plea that they
cannot afford it; that “charity begins at home,” and the like. They do so in the
belief that what they save in this manner is laid up in store for their own
future security, forgetting that they thereby rob God of His due; that they
tempt Him in a high degree to strip them of the wealth they use so unworthily;
that they provoke Him to send the moth, and the canker, and the rust, to eat
away their stored treasures, and to leave them naked and poor. There are, I say,
some people who systematically refuse all alms, especially those that are asked
of them for spiritual mercy, for the spreading of Christ’s kingdom by missions among the heathen, and for the
ministry of repentance among our outcast and fallen
people.
But we must not limit what has been said to
those that absolutely refuse to give alms at all.
There are others, making up indeed the greater
part of society, who do give, but upon no rule of
proportion to their wealth. They give in all forms
of charity sums incalculably small compared with
the outlay made upon themselves, their dwellings,
families, tables, pursuits, refinements. They stint
themselves in nothing so much as in almsgiving.
When they make retrenchments, it is with their
alms that they begin. It is here they first feel
the pinch of poverty. Their charities are cut down
first. What would they not give to the poor, or
to the work of the Church, if only they had the
means; if only their ability were as large as their
compassion! And yet, perhaps, they never give an
entertainment to their rich friends and neighbours
at less cost than their whole year’s charity. They
live up to their income in every thing else. It is in
the fifth or tenth which they might give back to
God, that they begin their provident economy, and
lay up for themselves hereafter that which is due
to Christ’s poor now. What ought to be the bread
of the hungry, they turn into a stone: and so in
the day of their own necessity they will find it.
And to take one more instance: What is the
anxious carefulness by which the majority of men
are beset, but the same temptation? God has
passed His word that they shall not lack; but
they cannot wait His time, nor leave in His hands
the way. They charge themselves with the two
fold work both of their own labour and of His
providence. And they leave nothing undone or
untried to lift themselves above the danger of
being poor. Early and late, by day and by night,
waking and sleeping, their whole powers are centred in the one thought, dream, desire, and toil, to
secure themselves from being poor. Now there is
no fault to be found with industry. Rather it is
to be commended; but it is the carefulness, the
anxiety, the furrows on the brow, the foreboding
in the heart, the undue magnitude, in their esteem,
of the things of this world, the faint faith in God,
and the habitual reliance on their own management—this is the thing to be lamented and reproved.
It seems as if the Divine providence had a
peculiar chastisement for those that will not trust
simply in Him. Wealth ill gotten soon perishes:
goods heaped up by unrighteousness waste away:
storehouses filled in forgetfulness of God are soon
emptied: riches not sanctified by alms eat themselves through:—worldly carefulness is a
spendthrift after all. “Thus saith the Lord of hosts, Consider your ways. Ye have sown much, and
“bring in little; ye eat, but ye have not enough;
ye drink, but ye are not filled with drink; ye
clothe you, but there is none warm; and he that
earneth wages earneth wages to put it into a bag
with holes. . . . Ye looked for much, and lo, it
came to little; and when ye brought it home, I
did blow upon it. . . . One came to an heap of
twenty measures, there were but ten; . . one came
to the pressfat for to draw out fifty vessels out of
the press, there were but twenty.”Haggai i. 5, 6, 9; and ii. 16. So certain
it is, that they who attempt by worldly prudence
and selfish forethought to secure to themselves the
bread of this life, withdraw their faith from God,
and forfeit His favour and benediction; and in this
loss lose all.
Now this suggests to us what may be called
two great laws of God’s providential kingdom.
(1.) The first is, that all sustenance of life is as
absolutely in His gift as life itself. Whatsoever He has created He still
sustains “by the word of His power.” “In Him all things consist.” The power
which conserves the state of the world and the teeming life which is in it is
His. All creatures, animate and inanimate, are sustained by Him. All this we
know; but, like all other great laws, it is too broad for us. We cannot, though
weakness of faith, bring it into the particulars of our daily
life; especially as in our case it admits of being interwoven with the moral
action and probation of mankind. There is hardly any thing that men so much
affirm in theory, and so much contradict in practice. It is in the mouth of
every miser, hoarder, and worldling; yet their whole life is a direct denial of
it. When our Lord said, “Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or
what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the
life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold the fowls of the air: for
they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly
Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?” and again: “Take no
thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, what shall we drink? or, wherewithal
shall we be clothed? (for after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your
heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first
the kingdom of God and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added
unto you;”St. Matthew vi. 25, 26, 31-33.
if
our Lord, when He said this, had intended any
conditions, restrictions, qualifications, to be put upon
His meaning, He would, doubtless, have put them
Himself. What He intends us, therefore, to under
stand is, first, that we ought not to busy ourselves
and to bestow care and attention on the clothing
and nourishing of the body; and next, that what
ever is needful God will give us. It is clear,
then, that we have no warrant from this to look
for superfluous indulgences, for needless provisions
to sustain an artificial state in life, or to keep up
an appearance which is assumed by our own choice,
and out of deference to the customs of men or the
pomp of the world. But we have a most certain
warrant to believe that we shall never want what
is really necessary for us. In giving us the breath
of life, He gave us a pledge of the sustenance required for it. And this extends beyond our own
persons to all who depend on us, such as children,
servants, and others whom the providence of God
has committed to us. So long as it is His will that
we should exist in this earthly life, we have a certain
promise and pledge that He will, in ways known
to Himself, provide for us all necessary things.
There seem to be only two conditions of this promise: first, that we seek it from Him in the mea
sure and proportion that befits us; and next, that
we labour diligently in the calling He appoints for
us. If we be peasants, we must not look for the
fare of princes; nor if our lot be plain, must we
expect or desire to live freely and be clad in soft
clothing as they that are in kings’ palaces. And
again: labour is the condition of man since the fall. “Cursed is the ground for thy sake; in
sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life;” “for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou
return.”Genesis iii. 19.
And this most righteous penalty, like sin
itself, has penetrated every state of life. It is not
the tiller of the earth only, but the princes of this
world likewise, who feel its power. The ground
that was cursed is the whole sphere of man’s mortal life and labour; all his employments, business,
studies, callings, undertakings, the whole range of
his toil in his personal and social state. Care
and weariness, disappointment and the sweat of his
face, are the conditions of all the works of man,
both in body and in mind, whether he be learned
or unlearned, whether he be lord or serf, ruled
or ruler, buyer or seller, merchant or craftsman,
teacher or learner, bishop or doctor, pastor or
penitent, husband or wife, master or servant. To
labour and to be lowly, to eat his bread in weariness and by measure, is his portion; but in lowliness and in labour shall be his rest. God will
provide. “His bread shall be given him, and his
water shall be sure.” “I have been young, and
now am old; and yet saw I never the righteous
forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread.”Psalm xxxvii. 25.
To
those, then, who faithfully do the work which God
has appointed them, and keep within the sphere and range where He has cast their lot, this great law
of God’s kingdom is pledged and sure. They shall
never want whatsoever is needful, safe, and expedient for their support, and for the maintenance
of all that legitimately falls within the condition
assigned to them by the will of God.
(2.) The other great law I referred to is this,
that the most truly expedient course is often one
which is most inexpedient according to the measures of the world. What but this does the
example of our Lord teach us, Who in His hunger
refused to relieve His wants and faintness by the
speaking of a word? How does the world oppress
a man with its exhortations to “spare himself,” to
take advantage of natural powers, to seize on opportunities, to reap the benefit of great offers, to
shew himself to the world, to let himself be made
popular, to get on in life, and to make himself a
name, a house, or a fortune I And how does it
lament, or expostulate, or reproach him, if he refuse to turn these stones into bread! “So long as
thou doest well unto thyself, men will speak well
of thee.”Psalm xlix. 18.
But if a man turn away from money,
ease, comfort, or competency, and the like, he is
straightway improvident, reckless, eccentric, or
ostentatious, fanciful, or proud. Nothing the world
resents more than scrupulousness in money-getting. It is a very searching and wide-spread rebuke.
One such man, by one such act, before he is
aware, pricks the conscience of half the neighbourhood. The world cannot endure to be slighted,
to be held cheap, to be valued at its own true
price. Therefore, in self-defence, it keeps up a
loud and plausible worship of expediency; and
because what is right is always expedient, by a
cunning sleight it sets forward what is expedient
as the index of what is right. Now, nothing can
be more contrary to this philosophy than to decline
great stations, rich offers, large trusts, profitable
employments; or again, to make costly offerings,
to give great alms, to lay by little, to aim at extensive works. But what says Holy Writ, that
true and only philosophy of human life? “There
is that scattereth and yet increaseth; there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to
poverty.”Prov. xi. 24.
There are two kinds of lenders, two
kinds of usury, two great debtors who take up
the gold and silver of men—the world and God.
The more men invest in the world, the more they
lose; the more they lay up, the more they waste;
the more they hoard, the more they squander. It “tendeth to poverty.” Great figures, vast credit,
thousands by the year, and the man is none the
richer; he is not wiser, better, happier, healthier, safer from ruin, poverty, destitution. His great
barks founder in a calm; or the mountain of his
wealth is driven away in an hour, “as a rolling
thing before the whirlwind.” Or, let all these
prosper to the full; let all his rich cargoes come
into the haven, and all his ventures turn in the
mart to gold, he can neither eat nor drink, nor in
any way enjoy, more than the poor man at his gate. “He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with
silver; nor he that loveth abundance with increase:
this is also vanity. When goods increase, they are
increased that eat them: and what good is there
to the owners thereof, saving the beholding of
them with their eyes? The sleep of a labouring
man is sweet, whether he eat little or much: but
the abundance of the rich will not suffer him to
sleep. There is a sore evil which I have seen under
the sun, namely, riches kept for the owners there
of to their hurt.”Eccles. v. 10-13.
The world is a false-hearted
debtor, paying not only no usury on its loans, but
restoring nothing again. All that it borrows, it
consumes “upon its lusts;” and all that it gives to
its creditors is tinsel, and noise, and flatteries.
Not so with God. The only sure investment
for our worldly goods is in works of mercy to the
poor of Christ. “He that hath pity upon the
poor, lendeth unto the Lord; and look, what he layeth out, it shall be paid him again.” “Whosoever shall give to drink a cup of cold water in My
name shall in no wise lose his reward.”St. Mark ix. 41.
The
whole history of the Church is witness. Who
made such gains as they that sold all they had,
and gave to the poor, that they might bear their
cross in following the Lord? Who found houses
and lands an hundredfold, but they that forsook
all to follow Him? What was it that brought
in the gold and silver, and lands and goods of
the earth, without measure, to the use and service of the Church, but the first great venture
of faith, the first full and confiding investment
which they made in the beginning who “sold their
possessions and goods, and parted them to all
men, as every man had need;”Acts ii. 45.
or being “possessors of
lands or houses, sold them, and brought the prices of the things that were sold,
and laid them down at the apostles’ feet; and distribution
was made unto every man according as he had
need?”Acts iv. 34.
It was the voluntary poverty of the first
Christians that endowed the Church. We live
of their usury, and on the profits of their investment. The land of Barnabas has borne the tithe
of Christendom. I am not now speaking of the
lasting returns which are laid up in heaven “in
bags that wax not old;” I am speaking strictly
of this world. And it is most true to say, that
they will find at last the best return of all their
ventures who go counter to the false expediency
of this scheming, calculating world, and lay out
their incomes with a thankful and trustful heart
for the service of God and the consolation of His
poor. When the prophet came to Sarepta, he
asked food, in a time of famine, of a lone widow,
who had a son depending on her; both were ready
to perish. In her barrel was a handful of meal,
in her cruse a little oil. Yet the prophet said, “Make me a little cake first, and
after that make
for thee and for thy son.”1 Kings xvii. 13.
What request could
be more untimely, exacting, unreasonable? Was
she not a widow, and her son an orphan, and both
destitute? Must she not first care for her own
child, especially in a time of famine? So the
world would argue; and for its reward receive an
empty barrel and a dry cruse.
To conclude, then; let us ever bear in mind that the probation
of many men lies, for the greatest part, in the matter of their temporal
affairs; in the way in which they seek gain, and use the goods and possessions
of the world. Their chief dangers arise from the largeness of their personal
wants, and the scale they have pitched for their appearance in the sight of the
world. When once men have committed themselves too far in this
point, it becomes every day more difficult to withdraw; and then they are put to
all manner of expedients, shifts, and schemes, to maintain themselves in their
position. This drives them into ambiguous lines of business, and into acts of an
equivocal meaning; slight, it may be, at first, but by degrees enlarging into a
wide surface of dangerous practice, and into concealed embarrassment. Money is
the poison of thousands, whose character, in other respects, is high and
admirable. It is strange over what minds money keeps its hold; and how near a
man may go to moral greatness, and yet be crippled and stunted by this one
passion. Money is his measure; and with all his gifts and enlarged views of
mind, and his almost great points of character in other respects, money
ascertains the real standard of his moral being. Beware, then, of money, and the
desire for it, of carefulness and mistrust of God. Give alms of all that ye
possess. Labour in your lot, be content with such things as ye have, and be
careful for nothing. He who fasted in the wilderness, and for the five thousand
made five loaves to be enough, is with you. He will feed you with the bread that
came down from heaven, even that meat “which the Son of man shall give unto you;
for Him hath God the Father sealed.”St. John vi. 27.
SERMON VII.
SPIRITUAL PRESUMPTION.
ST. MATTHEW iv. 5-7.
“Then the devil taketh Him up into the holy city, and setteth
Him on a pinnacle of the temple, and saith unto Him, If
Thou be the Son of God, cast Thyself down: for it is written,
He shall give His angels charge concerning Thee: and in their hands they shall
bear Thee up, lest at any time Thou dash Thy foot against a stone. Jesus said
unto him, It is written again, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.”
THERE seems to be a manifold cunning in this invitation of the tempter. “He setteth Him upon
the pinnacle of the temple,” from which no mere
man could cast himself and live. He bade Him
cast Himself down; scheming either to destroy
the person of the Son of God, or to discover His
character and power. And yet he so shaped his
proposal as to insinuate an imagination of intense
spiritual evil.
The pretext suggested in this temptation by the devil to our Lord was, that the Sonship of
the true Messiah and the promises of God were
a pledge to secure Him from all evil. “‘If Thou
be the Son of God,’ He will take care of Thee:
His angels shall bear Thee up.” From this we
may gather what was the evil to which Satan
tempted the Saviour of the world. It appears to
suggest a presumptuous dependence on God in
things where He has not promised to extend it:
and a consequent presumption in running into
dangers. And this, after all, will be found to
resolve itself into a temptation to self-confidence. “If Thou be the Son of God:” this was the chief
plea. ‘If Thou be, all must be safe to Thee.
Ministering angels wait upon Thee. Nothing can
work Thee harm.’
We may take this as a type of a very subtil
and dangerous class of temptations; those, I mean,
which beset persons of a truly religious life. When
people have lived for many years in the daily practice of religion, and have been long free from habits
of transgression, dangers of a new kind begin to
surround them. Whatever is habitual has a tendency to become unconscious, and whatever is
unconscious is liable to sudden or vehement surprises.
The very freedom such people enjoy from ordinary
temptations, the clearness of their daily path, makes
them to feel like men dwelling in peace in a country once infested with enemies, but now long ago
cleared of them. When we are at peace, we do
not bar and fortify our dwellings, as if we were in
a country swept by warfare. We throw down our
walls and strongholds. We dwell securely each
man under his vine and under his fig-tree. So it is
in religion. After a course of repentance, and the
hard struggle of conversion to God, we find ourselves at large. After the “winds and the sea” are fallen, “there is a great calm.” It is a blessed
state, full of quiet and refreshing; full of calm
acquiescence in our lot, and of unexcited joy in
the service of God, in self-denials and prayers,
in frequenting the offices of the Church, and the
holy sacraments. There grows every day a fuller
persuasion that the point is turned; the great
work over; our lot sealed; that God loves us, and
has “brought us nigh unto” Himself; that we
have passed from death unto life, and are His sons.
And all this is most true: Blessed be God. But
there are certain habits of mind which go with
such a state; and to these habits certain peculiar
temptations are incident.
I. First, people who are really religious some
times trust in God’s keeping, without considering
the limits and conditions under which that keeping is promised to them. It is not promised
absolutely, as if they should be safe anywhere, or in any thing, go where they may, do what they
will. Neither are they extravagant enough to
think so. They know very clearly that they have
no warrant to look for His keeping, if they should
go out of the path of duty, or run themselves
into temptation. All deliberate courting of the
tempter they know does at once cancel God’s promise of protection; and yet the very clearness of
this truth somehow deceives them. Because it is
so clear, they feel confident that they can never act
in defiance of it; and therefore that this or that
particular line which they are entering upon is
not in defiance of it. It is very certain, however,
that people someway advanced in a religious life
do exceed these conditions, and find it afterwards
to their sorrow, when some great fall has broken
their security, and filled them with a sudden confusion. It is all then, in a moment, clear and
plain, as if a veil had suddenly fallen, and their
eyes were opened to behold their shame.
II. Again, the reason why they make these
dangerous mistakes is, that, through habitual practice of the system of personal religion, which belongs
to their lot in life, they sometimes become self-trusting; not expressly, perhaps, as if they did not
know that God alone is their support, but virtually
and by implication. For instance, we trust to our
first impressions of what is right and wrong, safe or dangerous, expedient or inexpedient. We believe
our judgment to be as sound as our intentions;
and that our religion is a second nature, of which
the impulses and instincts have come to supersede
forethought and deliberation; that they may be
trusted without much scrutiny. We think ourselves out of the danger of such temptations as
have long failed to overcome us: so that either
they will not approach us, or that, if they do, we
should certainly overcome them. A multitude of
sins we feel that we are in no danger of being
tempted to commit. They are so contrary to our
whole life; to our formed habits; to our every
thought; would do so great a violence to our in
most nature; our time is so much spent in reproving and trying to correct the same in others, that
we should be almost inclined to laugh if any one
should warn us against them.
Nevertheless, it does happen, and that not unfrequently, that really religious people fall into
those very sins against which they believe themselves altogether proof. God in His mercy suffers
them to find out their self-confidence, by a fall which
breaks them asunder. They wake up, to find that
they have been walking upon the brink of endless
dangers; that Satan has beset all their path with
snares; that all the while he has ceased to tempt
them, he has been lulling them into security, bribing them to take off their outposts and watches;
and, at the same time, he has been laying traps
and digging pitfalls on every side, so that they can
scarce turn without falling into a snare. Perhaps
nothing short of a heavy fall would open their
eyes; nothing less would kindle the self-reproach
and the shame which must abase their pride, and
teach them their own utter helplessness, and the
tenderness with which they ought to handle the
sins of other men. There is an ingratitude in self-confidence; a forgetfulness of God, by whom alone
we stand. It is like the self-complacency of He
rod, when he made his oration unto the people;Acts xii. 21.
or the self-exaltation of Nebuchadnezzar, when he “walked in the palace of the kingdom of Babylon, . . . and said, Is not this great Babylon,
that I have built for the house of the kingdom
by the might of my power, and for the honour
of my majesty?”Dan. iv. 29, 30.
For these things God brings
us down, leaving us to ourselves. He withdraws
His hand; and we fall heavily, and become a by
word and a reproach. “They that sit in the gate
speak against” us, “and the drunkards make songs
upon” us.Ps. lxix. 12.
One great fall makes the scales to drop from
men’s eyes, and they see themselves surrounded by
the danger of many worse; that this is perhaps the least, yet it is very stunning. They see how
far they have ventured into dangerous ways; how
they have chosen their own path; withdrawn from
God’s keeping; how relaxed is their whole character; how open to the inroads of sin; how many
of their best points consist only in not being
tempted. And God, in His love, suffers them to
learn this at any cost, for fear of worse; and all
that they have been in time past seems cancelled.
All their profession, acts of religion, almsdeeds,
fasts, prayers, humiliations, seem to be gone, as
things they have now no right in. They have
brought a shame on all, and shewn its hollowness;
and after many years of professed religion, while
others are looking on them as saints, they are with
in full of shame and desolation; words of respect
are dreadful rebukes, especially if they were once
deserved. They are now forced down to begin all
over again; to come to God as the poor prodigal;
to take the lowest place of all, that of “the servant
who knew his Lord’s will, and did it not.”St. Luke xii. 47.
Fearful
discipline, full of a searching anguish of heart. Yet
necessary, and, if necessary, blessed; for all things
are better than to be a castaway. Any suffering
in this world, rather than to perish in the world to
come. Any shame now, rather than shame before
Christ at His coming with the holy angels.
I have endeavoured to suggest briefly what is
the nature of those temptations by which religious
people are peculiarly beset; and have very slightly
noticed what seems to be the cause of their liability
to be overcome by them. We will hereafter consider the mysterious design of God in permitting
them to be abased with such falls. To sum up
what has been said in the fewest words, I will add,
that want of circumspection and of a watchful salutary fear of falling, is in itself a tempting of God.
How much more, then, the venturous way in which
some men enter upon paths which are either not
pointed out to them by God’s providence, or even
forbidden! But at present we have chiefly to consider the dangers which beset religious minds. A
few words will be enough to shew, what need there
is even for the most advanced and practised in religion to watch without ceasing against the
manifold dangers of our fallen state. Our whole life is
a spiritual combat. While we live we must contend. This is not our rest.
(1.) For it must be remembered, that the great
est saint may be tempted to the worst of sins. I
do not say the temptation will prevail; God for
bid; but that temptations may be addressed to
him; and if the most saintly minds may be tempted,
how much more are we open to the incursions of
temptation! It is true of our blessed Lord alone, that the devil, after he was once fully foiled in his
endeavour to seduce Him from God, began thence
forward for ever to oppose and to afflict Him.
There was no hope of prevailing against Him,
because the prince of this world had nothing in
Him. There was no inward sin on which to work
by allurements or stimulants. Not so with us: to
the end of life we carry a fallen nature, with its
taints and proneness to evil. This is mortified and
kept under in those that live a holy life, but still
in some sort remains within. To the end the
prince of this world has something in us; and to
this he addresses his flatteries and persuasions.
How strange it seems to us to read of Abraham’s falsehood, David’s awful and complex sin, the
denials of Peter, the contention of Paul and
Barnabas! If such saints were tempted and overcome, how shall we escape temptations and down
falls? It is true that, as men grow in grace,
temptation loses much of its power over them, St.
John says, “Whosoever is born of God doth not
commit sin; for His seed remaineth in him: and
he cannot sin, because he is born of God.”1 St. John iii. 9.
And
again: “We know that whosoever is born of God
sinneth not; but he that is begotten of God
keepeth himself, and that wicked one toucheth him
not.”1 St. John v. 18.
That is to say, that in every saint there is
the power of the Holy Ghost, which is more than sufficient to ward off
temptations. The gift of regeneration, unfolded into a new spirit, is so at
variance with the solicitations of evil, that it would do a great violence to
itself if it should deliberately sin; the circumspection of the regenerate is
such that the snares and assaults of Satan are powerless and vain. All this
describes the spiritual strength and matured stedfastness of those that are
holy. It is not an immunity from temptation, but a moral power residing in the
will, by which the tempter is perfectly repelled. It does not say, that holy men
are not tempted. It does not mean, that the holiest cannot fall. To the end, all
stedfastness is subject to the laws of probation. But in us, who, alas,
are neither strong nor holy, save in the measure
common to ordinary Christians, there must ever be
the danger of being, not only tempted, but overcome. Our past religion will not save us. Our
stedfastness is not in what we have been, but in
what we are: and we are, most of us, still weak and
frail. What may befall a saint may easily prevail
against us. So long as we are in the flesh, the eye
and the ear are open, and the imagination is rest
less and full of visions. These may be mortified
indeed, and then sin will address itself to them in
vain. But address itself it will; and the habits of
watchfulness and self-control may be relaxed, and the character let down to a pitch where sin has a
greater sway and a surer dominion.
Spiritual declension is a very awful reality, and
the most devout may fall into it. Of this we have
sufficient proofs and examples in holy Scripture;
and any one who has examined his heart must also
know how his state has varied at various times. In
times of sorrow, or any great fear, we know what
a peculiar tenderness of conscience; what a dread
of trifling even with a thought of sin; what gentleness and kindly dispositions we have felt towards
all, even unworthy persons, and to their very faults;
what an awful, and yet blessed, perception we have
had of God’s nearness to us, and how open our
hearts have been towards Him; what circumspection in all the least actions of our life. After the
lapse of a few years, or sometimes of a few months,
how has all this been changed; what a slumber
and inertness of the inner life; what dulness of
conscience; what fearlessness of sin; how little
compunction at having inwardly assented to temptation! We seem not to be the same persons: as
if we had lost our identity—had become altogether
changed, and had passed into a worse nature.
There is something fearful and depressing, in the
highest degree, to find ourselves so fallen. The
recollection of past times, when our heart was
clear and peaceful, is both an humiliation and a rebuke. And it is with a bitter sadness that we
say, “Oh, that I were as in months past, as in the
days when God preserved me; when His candle
shined upon my head, and when by His light I
walked through darkness; as I was in the days
of my youth, when the secret of God was upon my
tabernacle!”Job xxix. 2-4.
(2.) Another truth to be remembered is, that
the worst sins come on insensibly. They seldom,
if ever, present themselves to a holy mind in their
full outline at once. They very seldom become
really visible in their first approaches. They lie
masked behind indifferent things, mingled in the
duties and offices of our station, covered even with
a religious aspect; then they shew themselves only
in part, which, taken alone, may be harmless, but
prepares the way for that in which the true evil
lies. When the serpent tempted Eve, he did not
at once put before her the act of disobedience,
but first engaged her thoughts with the question, “Yea, hath God said?” There needs much
preparing to break the startling effect of a temptation.
If we could see at once the full reach and depth
of the evil, we should be saved by our very fears.
Dread would make us recoil. We should not so
much as trust ourselves in the indifferent things
which are the avenues to it. We would rather die than commit it. Besides, most of the dangers
of religious people lie in the region of things that
are lawful. They do not overstep the boundaries
which separate things permitted from things for
bidden; into the latter they seldom, if ever, willingly allow themselves to go. The tempter must
overtake them within the range of their own permitted sphere, and therefore must use lawful
things as the matter of his temptations. Lawful
things out of season or out of measure, become to
them the occasions of falling. Breaches of self-control, of self-chastisement, of vigilant watchfulness, of circumspect care over acts, words, and
even thoughts; these are the beginning, and
through these he prevails to entangle us in excesses, irregularities, immoderation. At the outset
we see nothing, and there really is nothing, in which
we may not allow ourselves. But in the season,
measure, and use, there lies the whole character of
the act, and the whole probation of our will.
(3.) And once more; it is the nature of such
temptations to prevail before we become aware of
them. It is only by retrospect that we really find
ourselves to be fallen; as we cannot mark changes
of our natural growth and countenance but by recollection. I do not mean, that all along there are
no intimations that things are going wrong. Such,
indeed, there are; but they are very subtil and very gradual, so as to be almost imperceptible in
their advance. They seem to be checked when
really they are advancing, and to be kept at bay
when they have already gained the mastery. And
then, when we find ourselves taken in the snare,
we see also the whole course of the temptation;
and how many times we might have withdrawn
ourselves; and how many admonitions we received;
and how uncalled for was our original self-exposure
to the danger: we then see how self-sought it was,
how gratuitous, how wanton. And we bitterly reproach ourselves when it is too late, and see a
thousand things which ought to have been our
protection; a thousand warnings, any one of which
would now seem to be enough to startle us into
a posture of defence. These are among our saddest thoughts. We can but reproach our folly.
We feel to have shut ourselves out from God; to
have forfeited all claim to be heard. When we
pray, it seems as if He had surrounded Himself
with a cloud, that our prayer should not pass
through. The sin we have been betrayed into
stands before us in a fearful stature, and seems
to overshadow us, hiding the face of God and the
cross of Christ from our sight. That which men
would have chosen martyrdom rather than commit,
they sometimes find themselves to have committed
at the suggestion of an ordinary temptation.
Now, I have intentionally avoided giving examples of any particular sins, because there is a
danger of seeming to limit to certain classes of
temptations that which is common to all. Examples make general statements more vivid and
definite; but they also narrow and circumscribe
the reach and extent of them. What has been said
will apply to any kind of sin, whether of the flesh
or of the spirit, which can prevail against any one
who in the main lives a life of obedience. What
sins can so prevail, and the particular forms of
them, it is not my intention now to consider; but
one caution may be given. Let us all, in whatsoever state we are, howsoever long we may have
lived a religious life, nevertheless watch against
every sin of every kind, great and small, of the
flesh and of the spirit. There is none we may
give over watching against; for we are in most
danger of those against which, feeling ourselves
secure, we watch the least.
Let us now consider, in a few words, what is
the mysterious design of God in permitting even
religious people to fall.
1. First, it is evidently to break their presumption, to destroy self-trusting, and to awaken a
watchful and humble dependence on His grace
and keeping. There is a tendency in us all, even
in the midst of the acts of a holy life, to tower too high, and to become unsteady in our exaltation.
This must be abased, “lest, being lifted up with
pride,” we “fall into the condemnation of the
devil.”1 Tim. iii. 6.
This one temper will destroy the whole
spiritual life. It makes all religion a mere formality. Prayers, confessions,
fastings, humiliations what are all these to a mind that is possessed with a
self-trusting spirit? Even ascetic rules only brace this self-confidence more
intensely, and raise it to a higher pitch. It is so easy to be severe to
ourselves, when we are not tempted to be otherwise. Half of our severity has in
it no real principle of self-discipline, as we soon find when we are tempted to
relax. This is a secret we must needs learn, or we shall have but imperfect
knowledge of ourselves; and through imperfect self-knowledge, imperfect
repentance, imperfect humiliations. It is by such falls that God reveals to us
what is in ourselves, and excites in us a horror of our own obstinate
corruptions. They are the scourges of our sloth, the chastisements of our
lukewarmness, and judgments upon our presumption in “tempting the Lord our God.”
2. Another purpose of God in thus humbling
even those who in many things are His servants
is, to teach them to be forbearing and compassion
ate towards those that are fallen. A self-trusting spirit is almost always censorious, harsh, exacting.
With an artificial standard of its own, it is in
considerate and unsympathising to others. Such
people are quick to see blots in others, and to
censure them; ready to observe their falls, and
to find out the aggravating features of their case.
They have an honest zeal against sin; but they
have little tenderness for sinners. Their admonitions have a sharp edge, and their reproofs sound
like reproaches. Even truth in their mouth is uncharitable, and their warnings are without mercy.
People often are not aware of all this. They speak
as they feel. What they say seems deserved; and
perhaps it is so; but, it may be, they are not the
persons who ought to say it. It may be that the
very same sins, or even worse, lie coiled within
them. All the time they are virtually what those
they reprove are in act. In others they are, by
anticipation, condemning themselves. They go on
recording hard censures, laying up unsparing verdicts, against the day when a sudden fall shall
point them all against themselves. Now this sort
of character is by no means uncommon; nor is it
necessarily hypocritical, but simply self-deceiving.
They have presumed upon God, and their own
strength; and have learned to speak in a language
above themselves. And God corrects this by leaving them to themselves, and suffering them to be tempted in a season of weakness, when their
natural strength, on which they rest, is all they
have. They fall; and learn what St. Paul meant
when he said, “Brethren, if any man be overtaken
in a fault, ye which are spiritual restore such an
one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself,
lest thou also be tempted.”Gal. vi. 1.
The consciousness of
having fallen in the like way, makes a man afraid
to act the reprover. He feels his words recoil upon
himself; and he speaks as he himself can bear it,
making his own heart the measure of his words, and
his own case the interpreter and pleader for the falls
of others. All his past censures come back upon
him with a fearful severity; and he feels as if he
could never rebuke any one again. It seems as if
the worst he ever had to reprove were better than
himself. It seems to him as if he could never any
more use rebukes, but only beseech them, with
tender compassion, and even with tears, to join him
in humbling themselves before One who alone is
without sin. It is true, indeed, that the perfect
holiness of saints has in it a tender compassion and
a loving pity, like to the Spirit of Christ Himself.
They have received of Him the gift of tenderness
to sinners, without the fearful discipline of personal
falls; and theirs is the highest and most healing
sympathy. But for us, weak Christians, the school of pity is the melancholy experience of our own
humiliations. And well is it to learn compassion
any how; for the harsh and impatient are not near
to the kingdom of heaven. Let us not venture to
reprove any without a vivid recollection of our own
past falls; nor in any way speak of the sins of
others without a deep sense of our own .
3. And, lastly, it is to teach us our need of fixed and
particular rules for the government of our lives; and that not in great matters
only, but in the least; because it is in little things that the first approaches
of sin are made to religious minds. We must not trust in general rules, in good
intentions, in the expectation of being able to meet
particular temptations by defences adopted on the
spot. We need much forethought, foresight, and
determination. Our system of discretionary rules
must spread over all our life; over our duties, our
devotions, our intercourse with others, whether of
the Church or of the world; it must prescribe to
us counsels of wisdom for our whole bearing, our
words, our personal habits. Wherefore, St. Paul
says, “Whether ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye
do, do all to the glory of God.”1 Cor. x. 31.
No part of our
daily life is too slight to admit of a holy intention,
as none is too small to become the seat of great
temptations. Another reason for this carefulness in prescribing even the detail of our daily life is,
that unless our rules are fixed, they cannot become
habitual and confirmed. The very strength and
life of all self-discipline is order, certainty, and
decision. Our true safeguard against temptation
is, to be the same at all times, in all companies, in
all places; not to vary, and adapt ourselves to the
humour of others, thereby adopting their temptations with their habits; but to be always and every
where ourselves, and to oppose to the temptations
of the world the consistency of a matured and
practised habit of self-control. Indeed, in this
most men err grievously. They are strict at home,
and lax abroad; that is, they are rigid when they
are not tempted, and loose when they are in the
midst of temptations; watchful where the danger
is little, and off their guard where it is great:
whereas they ought, on the contrary, to be all the
more severe, rigorous, watchful, and guarded, be
cause they are out of their sheltered retirement,
and beset by the illusions and solicitations of the
world. Yet we seldom see men who are devout and
careful at home even equally so in society. And to
what bitter reproaches, to what hours of miserable
retrospect, to what fearful havoc in the spiritual
life, does this relaxation lead! How do men that go forth with many saintly
tokens upon them, come home in remorse, to put ashes upon their heads!
Alas, the world’s kisses are death to the hidden
life. The world is perilous in its array; full of
seducing spirits, crafty, fair- seeming, versatile, and
deadly. We may well fear it. Well is it if we
fear it greatly; for few there be that fear it at all.
Happy are they who walk unspotted of the world,
in ways of lowliness and self-mistrust; and happy
they whose pride is abased, and whose presuming
hearts are brought down by a salutary humiliation.
Piercing as the discipline may be, better is it to
have a spiritual sorrow, “sharper than any two-edged sword,” than to walk proud and blindfold,
“deceiving and being deceived,” tempting the
Lord our God.
SERMON VIII.
WORLDLY AMBITION.
ST. MATT. iv. 8-10.
“Again, the devil taketh Him up into an exceeding high mountain, and sheweth Him all the kingdoms of the world, and
the glory of them; and saith unto Him, All these things
will I give Thee, if Thou wilt fall down and worship me.
Then saith Jesus unto him, Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt
worship the Lord thy God, and Him only shalt thou serve.”
THIS temptation seems to be an offer of worldly
power on an unlawful condition. The tempter
addressed himself to that inclination of our nature which, when perverted in us, is ambition and
vainglory. We are wont to call ambition an infirmity which lingers last and longest of all, even
in minds that are noble and pure. It has in it,
as we think, nothing low, mean, or little. It
is closely allied with the consciousness of great
powers, right intentions, high purposes of unselfish
devotion for the welfare of others; it is upon a large scale, and takes a wide sweep and range in
its aims and endeavours; it thereby lifts itself out
of the common level of mankind, and rises above
all lesser inducements, and the motives which sway
other men; its whole tone and bearing has a breadth, dignity, and grandeur nearly allied to moral
greatness. Perhaps it was in the belief that our blessed Lord was at least
susceptible of some such pure and exalted allurement, that Satan presented to
Him “the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them.”
He “taketh Him up into an exceeding high
mountain.” We shall do best to understand this
as we read it. The truest interpretations are
those that are nearest to the letter. We do not
know by what laws of motion or of place this
mysterious passage was controlled. All the conditions of the spiritual world are inscrutable to
us. As in the book of the prophet Ezekiel we
read of his rapture to Tel-abib: “The spirit took
me up, and I heard behind me a voice of a great
rushing, saying, Blessed be the glory of the Lord
from His place. I heard also the noise of the
wings of the living creatures that touched one
another, and the noise of the wheels over against
them, and a noise of a great rushing. So the
spirit lifted me up, and took me away, and I went
in bitterness, in the heat of my spirit; but the hand of the Lord was strong upon me. Then I
came to them of the captivity at Tel-abib, that
dwelt by the river of Chebar, and I sat where they sat, and remained there
astonished among them seven days”Ezek. iii. 12-15.
—and again, of his rapture to Jerusalem: “And it came to pass in the sixth year,
in the sixth month, in the fifth day of the month,
as I sat in mine house, and the elders of Judah
sat before me, that the hand of the Lord God fell
there upon me. Then I beheld, and lo a likeness
as the appearance of fire: from the appearance of
his loins even downward, fire; and from his loins
even upward, as the appearance of brightness, as
the colour of amber. And he put forth the form
of an hand, and took me by a lock of mine head;
and the spirit lifted me up between the earth and
the heaven, and brought me in the visions of God
to Jerusalem, to the door of the inner gate that
looketh toward the north; where was the seat of
the image of jealousy, which provoketh to jealousy.
And, behold, the glory of the God of Israel was
there, according to the vision that I saw in the plain.
Then said he unto me, Son of man, lift up thine
eyes now the way toward the north.”Ezek. viii. 1-5.
Moreover,
we read of the rapture of St. Philip to Azotus, and
of St. Paul into the third heaven;Acts viii. 39, 40; 2 Cor. xii. 2.
of the mysterious visitations of our Lord after His resurrection, and
of His ascension to the right hand of God. It is,
therefore, more natural to believe, that as our Lord
was “led up of the Spirit into the wilderness to be
tempted,” so Satan was permitted to take Him to
the pinnacle of the temple and to the mountain-height, to consummate the mystery of His temptation. And we shall do best simply to believe,
that from some vast summit, looking down upon a
boundless reach of earth, the tempter did shew the
kingdoms, and pomp, and riches, and splendour,
and glory of the world. It was a vision of worldly
power and greatness, full of allurements and promises; of unbounded means of doing good to man
kind; of wielding such dominion as perhaps man
never wielded before. Whether Satan had any
power to fulfil this promise; whether any indirect
means, through the agency of evil, of bestowing
the kingdoms of this world; whether any control
was permitted to him over the collective actings, as
over the individual acts, of men, so as to give him
a sway in the disposal of earthly crowns—we know
not. It may be that the promise was mere guile—fair and false: but this matters little. The
temptation was simply this, that our blessed Lord
should obtain the powers and gifts of the world by
transferring His obedience from God to Satan.
And this brings the nature of the temptation within the sphere of our ordinary trials. It is, in
fact, the peculiar temptation of those who love and
seek after greatness, power, dominion, that is, of the
ambitious; and as such we will go on to consider it.
Now of those that seek after worldly power,
some seek it in unlawful, some in lawful ways;
some with motives wholly selfish; some with a persuasion that they desire it for the good of others
and for the glory of God. And perhaps these latter,
whatever they might admit in regard to the former
kind of men, would very much resent being told
that they are in danger of falling down and worshipping the tempter. Perhaps this would be gene
rally thought to be a harsh judgment, and untrue.
And yet there will be found in it more truth than
they are aware of; it is therefore well worthy of
our consideration: for there is “an exceeding high
mountain” in the heart of every man, from which
he is ever looking out upon manifold temptations.
1. First of all, it is obvious that to seek for
worldly power and greatness by the use of unlawful
means is a direct revolt from God. It is a deliberate disobedience to His will; a withdrawal of
allegiance, trust, fear, hope, reverence, and worship from Him. It may not, indeed, be followed
by any perceptible addresses to the prince of this
world, or by acknowledged commerce with him.
Men may not, by any deliberate compact, “make a covenant with death,” nor
“be at agreement with
hell;” nor, like Saul, when he had forsaken the
Lord, go disguised, and inquire by night of those
that have a familiar spirit: nevertheless they do,
in the most real and effectual way, fall down and
worship the powers of darkness. For what do
men really acknowledge, in the fact of using unlawful means, such as force, wrong, falsehood,
deception, equivocation, to accomplish their aims,
but that these things have power and efficacy to
aid and foster their designs? and what are these
but powers of darkness, in which they trust, and
venture their hopes of success? Take the case
of Jeroboam. It was God’s will to give him the kingdom of Israel; but in His own time and way.
Jeroboam took it by rebellion, and retained it by
idolatry. He used the policy of the devil to accomplish a promise of God. He fell down and
worshipped him, that he might have the kingdom
at once. And he bequeathed this wicked policy,
and the plausible necessity of maintaining it, to
the kings of Israel for ever; so that he stands
recorded as “Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, who
made Israel to sin.” No doubt, after him, great
reasons of state were found to keep open the
schism from the temple, and to maintain the calves
at Dan and Bethel; wise men, and astute counsellors, were not wanting to lament the necessity, and to perpetuate the sin, till a whole people fell
down and worshipped the powers of evil, from
generation to generation. Wars of acquisition,
crafty diplomacy, the most dazzling splendour of
earthly rule, many of the mightiest exploits in the
history of nations,—what will all these appear in
the day of judgment, but a worship of the world? And what will the princes of
this world, their “governors, and captains, and judges, and treasurers, and
counsellors, and all the rulers of the provinces,”Dan. iii. 3.
be seen to be in that day—except the few that have been saints in secret—but worshippers of power, and
darkness, and vainglory?
But this is as true of private men as of public
and notorious offenders. How few men, with the
baits of power, elevation, applause, before them,
can resist the allurement of indirect means, such
as compromises, abandonment of pledges or obligations, and the like! It is a melancholy and most
instructive fact, that there is hardly one of the
world’s great men in whose private history there
is not to be found some stifling of conscience, some
departure from rectitude, stern fidelity, and deter
mined abiding by truth and right, in the teeth of
danger, or at the cost of failure in their ruling
passion. In the earnestness with which they seek
their aim, they grow precipitate, unscrupulous,
reckless, obdurate; and that in proportion as the
end nears, and the strife thickens, and success or
failure are in the crisis. One last step, the last
act which secures the desires of a life, is often one
that henceforward makes life not worth the living.
They have succeeded; the point is won. But at
what a cost! At the price of their heart’s faith
in the power of truth and right. They have in
some way struck a bargain, or chaffered with a
lie, and put their trust for success in a falsehood,
which, if it be any thing, is an unclean spirit.
They have withdrawn their faith from the supremacy of righteousness, they have forsaken the service of truth and goodness, because these appeared
to be despised, disarmed, and exiled, because the
world seemed too strong for them, and because the
dictates of faith and truth pointed to paths that
seemed to lead away from the desired end. And
yet, if wrong and falsehood can at all bring success, by whose strength do they prevail? Who is
he that works by them in the world, but the same
that said, “All these things will I give Thee, if
Thou wilt fall down and worship me?” Unlawful
means are the laws and policy of the kingdom of
darkness; they are its statute and its common law,
its usages and prerogatives; and any man who invokes them makes himself a subject of that kingdom, and a liege and worshipper of its prince.
2. And, once more. It may be objected, all
this is plain in the case of those that use unlawful
means; but surely it cannot be said of those who
use no means but such as are lawful in the pursuit
of advancement; or, in other words, it is possible
to be ambitious, and yet never to seek the aims
of ambition by means that are forbidden. It may
be said, also, that a man ought to desire to rise
in his profession, to extend his usefulness, to gain
influence, to become an authority, and the like.
Now, to this there are many answers.
First of all, it will generally be found, that
men who set themselves to rise in their profession,
as it is called, do so by unintermitting exertion
of their own natural powers. The world calls it
honourable exertion, a laudable enthusiasm, with
out which a man will never succeed. It is much
to be feared that this is often a mere stretch of
the natural faculties, an unsanctified exertion of
intellect or perseverance, and an entire reliance
on their own powers, with a virtual but real withdrawal of faith from the providence of God. And
what are our natural powers, apart from the illumination and guidance of God, but powers of
this life, of this fallen, deceived, and deceiving
world? What is self-reliance, but a disguise of
the tempter, masking himself from our sight in the
workings of our own minds? The whole life of an ambitious man, trusting to his own powers,
even though he never transgress the strict laws of
truth and uprightness, what is it but weariness,
rivalry, anxiety, self-guidance? Now this is as full a withdrawal of submission
and docile reliance from God, as can be imagined. If he does not fall down and
worship the tempter, he does not worship God by seeking all things as His gift.
And what is this withdrawal of worship from God but a direct worship of self,
or a constructive worship of this world, of its powers, chances, and events?
Another thing that may be said is, that this
withdrawal of the heart from God is all the more
explicit when the subject-matter of a man’s life is
of a kind in which the providence of God is specially manifested; such, for instance, as all offices
in His Church, and all things which lead or relate to them. It is not only by simoniacal
contracts that men may obtain holy functions by bar
ter with the enemy of the Church. The use and
laying out of natural gifts and powers, such as
intellect, learning, dexterity, eloquence, and, much
worse, of the gifts of His Spirit, so as to attract
the notice of those in whose hands is the disposal
of dignities and preferments; the willing acceptance of prominent places; the doing of acts in a
direct line of suggestion or invitation of ulterior ends; the outrunning of the providence of God;
the overpassing of limits which He has drawn
along our path, into spheres where we no longer
have His sanction, which in themselves are lawful,
but are not for us: in these and many other ways
men do distinctly transfer the intention of their
heart and its affections from God, as the guide
and disposer of their life, to an unknown power,
which is partly self, partly the world, and covertly
he who, through the world and ourselves, leads us
captive at his will.
3. And again. Men may most fully entangle
themselves in this sin of transferring their worship from God to the prince of this world, without
ever using any means, lawful or unlawful, to attain
their desires. There is such a thing as a sup
pressed covetousness or ambition, an importunate
and unscrupulous craving after things so far be
yond a man’s reach, that he never attempts to attain them. What is more common than for men
to indulge in visions of what they desire to be and
to possess; to harbour, and to fill up with most
elaborate details, imaginations of great estates,
offices, trusts, and stations, and what they would
do, and say, and look like, if they were in them?
They fancy to themselves all manner of scenes, actions, successes; and people a whole world with
dependants, followers, admirers; and tell themselves most pleasant tales of wonderful undertakings and
achievements, kingdoms exalted, factions abolished,
nations governed, Churches purified, schisms healed,
heresies overthrown, mankind illuminated; in all
of which they are the chief leaders, counsellors,
and actors. Out of all these splendid and gaudy
visions, self emerges at last as the beginning and
the end of all. They live in a dream of self-love;
they have waking visions all day long of their own
importance; and they soothe themselves with the
persuasion, that the greatest men in the world are
often least known and acknowledged.
In all this the spiritual sin is complete. It
is a mixture of self-love, self-elevation, forgetfulness of God, who has revealed His will in appointing our actual lot, and of craving for what He
has not ordained for us, with a secret willingness to attain our desired vision if we could. The
means, indeed, may never come within our reach;
but we are as willing to possess the kingdoms of
the world and the glory of them, as if they were
tendered to our hand. It is to be feared, that if
the means were presented, we should be tempted
to be unscrupulous in using them. Perhaps we
should not venture on direct and visible transgressions of the divine laws; though it is hard to say
to what we may not be led by a habit of self-intoxication and secret vainglory. It is certain that we are thereby disposed, by preparation of heart,
for any thing rather than fail in our cherished desires. It is very awful to think of the unknown
sins which are virtually contained in strong desires
after the things of this world. When they master
a man, they make him impatient of all obstructions,
reckless of moral prohibitions, of the admonitions
of Providence, and the warnings which God conveys when He visibly withholds from us the means
of attaining what we desire. To go on craving
after an end which He keeps back, is morally
equivalent to seeking it by unlawful means. In
either case it is a contravention of the Divine
will. No one can as yet conceive, how deeply the
hearts of some men who never emerge from private
life are tainted by this sin; those, too, who are least
suspected, whose outward life gives no opportunities of expressing in any definite form the particular kind or direction of their ambitious hankering. Perhaps they never exhibit more than
discontent, bitterness, and a censorious temper.
The secret is untold, and dies with them; it is seen
only by the holy angels, and shall never be known
until the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed.
This is true not of those alone who are baffled
in their ambition or disappointed in their expectations, but also of the most successful. Power
reveals what is in man. The sins of self-confidence and self-contemplation reach their height
in the man who has gained his end without seeking and receiving it as a gift from God. Success
is a confirmation, in retrospect, of all his self-choosing, self-guidance, self-advancement. He is,
as men vauntingly say, the maker of his own
fortunes; and strange enough it is, that even
Christians use such a phrase in commendation.
Men who have risen in the world as statesmen,
jurists, warriors, orators, merchants, philosophers,
and the like, are often practical atheists. They
have so long taken cognisance of no powers and
agencies but such as they can measure, calculate,
and control, that they cease to be conscious of any
other. They act as if higher powers did not exist—that is, as if they did not believe them. They
could not ignore them more completely if they did
not believe them; and what in effect is this but to
be “without God in the world?” And this habit
of acting without dependence on God forms first
an unconsciousness, and then an insensibility, of
His presence and power. What do we mean when
we say that a man is intoxicated with the world,
or eaten up by self-sufficiency, but that the world
is his idol, or that his trust is in himself? And
what is this but self-worship—the finest of Satan’s wiles? Something a man must supremely love,
trust, reverence, and obey. If it be not God, it can only be one other. Under whatsoever guise
or array—whether it be the powers of the world,
or the laws of nature, or the agencies of men, or
the gifts of intellect, or moral force, or those faculties which seem most our own, that is, our
very self,—it is no other than he who, on the
top of the mountain, said, “All these things will
I give Thee, if Thou wilt fall down and worship
me.” Self is but the subtilest array and the near
est approach of his presence. When we worship
ourselves we worship him.
And this leads to one or two plain reflections.
One is, that the highest apparent success in
this world is often the most real and utter failure. By accepting of its offers, many men have
in reality lost all. There is something very fearful in the uniform success which seems sometimes
to attend on wicked men. All winds and tides,
and outward influences, and conjunctures of unlooked for events, seem to befriend and to wait
upon their will. They are carried up to the
head of their callings, and to the lead of their
professions; to the summit of kingdoms, and to
the pinnacle of Churches; and wealth pours it
self at their feet, and men seem fascinated by
their tongues, and give way to their plans and
schemes, and offer themselves for tools to carry
them into effect. All this seems the favour of Providence, and the countersign of the Most
High, owning and declaring their acts as the will
of Heaven. God’s servants are often perplexed at
these things, and are in doubt whether, after all,
they have not “cleansed their heart in vain, and
washed their hands in innocency.” It seems, for
a time, either that right and wrong are artificial
and conventional usages, or that the laws of God’s providence are out of course. “Until I went into
the sanctuary of God; then understood I the end
of these men; namely, how Thou dost set them
in slippery places, and castest them down, and destroyest them.”Ps. lxxiii. 16, 17.
It is the Divine indignation which
bids them prosper. The world loves its own, and
heaps its gifts and honours on those that are likeminded with itself. They that have most cunning
to advance its interests, touch its sympathies, flat
ter its weaknesses, soothe its disappointments, and
sustain its self-esteem, are its surest favourites.
And, under the supreme control of the Divine
Providence, which orders the universal scheme of
the world and disposes all its issues, there is a
vast body of inferior powers left in the hands of
men, whereby to reward and enrich the servants
of the world. So that there are always at work
two administrations, a lower and a higher, a human and a divine: the human busying itself in details that are visible, proximate, and imperfect;
the divine ordering those laws that are final, perfect, and supreme. Men make beginnings, but
God ordains the endings; so that the same man,
at one and the same time, may both succeed and
fail. He may win all in the lower world of human
action, and lose all in the higher order of divine
rewards. He may be both most exalted and most
abased, most prosperous and most baffled, most
mighty and most powerless, most cherished by
men and most cast off by God. Set him on the
throne of the world, with all creatures at his foot,
and his name blotted from the book of life. “What
shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and
lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?”
Therefore, when success wafts men onward,
they have reason to fear and to look with a twofold scrutiny into their aims, employments, and
alliances. There is something suspicious in the
favour of many men, in general popularity, worldly
reputation, and the concurrent applause of those
who are morally divided. It savours of the woe “when all men shall speak well of” us, and of
the kiss that was given in Gethsemane. How
many men who have begun well, in great fervour
and fidelity to God, have had their active powers
warped, and the warmer affections of their hearts stolen away, by the greetings, gifts, and flatteries of
life! High place, great friendships, open avenues
to elevation, daily approaching success, have been
the ruin and utter loss of thousands. From a simple and saint-like temper, they have become subtil,
designing, and secular. Their worldly powers and
their personal endowments have been every day
developed and multiplied so as to win a double
measure of admiration and a perpetually increasing name; while in the eye of God they have
withered and fallen away from the very root. Prosperous men are seldom devout; religious men generally suffer by success; high characters sink as
their worldly reputation rises; and moral principle deteriorates as men obtain advancement in
the world. They gain their point, but in gaining
it lose all that makes it to be desired. They win
places of power, but by means which make them
powerless when the place is won. Under their
seeming success there is the deepest failure. They
forfeit the kingdom of God for the baits of this
false and fleeting life; or, for a few years of honour in a fallen world, they lose a high place in the
orders of heaven, and are even “saved so as by fire.”
Another remark we may make is the reverse of
the last; I mean, that seeming failure is often the
truest success. It was He that spurned the tempter
when he offered Him all the kingdoms of the world who afterwards said, “All power is given unto Me
in heaven and in earth.” They that forsook houses,
brethren, sisters, father, mother, wife, children, and
lands, for His name’s sake, received all these an
hundredfold, and the heritage of eternal life.
Though they had nothing, yet they possessed all
things.2 Cor. vi. 10.
So it has ever been with the Church. When
she forsook all, then she was most richly endowed
in heaven; when most overcome, she overcame all.
Such has been the secret history of saints. Their
great powers in the world were the reward of their
perfect deadness to it. Because they refused its
offers, therefore they became its rulers. Because
they had no desire, nor love, nor appetite for it,
therefore they were set to dispose of it. Because
they shunned its titles and exaltations, therefore
they were honoured and lifted up to the thrones
of power. They were true followers of Him who,
when He perceived that the people “would come
and take Him by force, to make Him a king,
departed again into a mountain Himself alone.”St. John vi. 15.
They ran counter to it, and yet won its willing
obedience; they were unpopular and unpalateable
to the men of the world, and yet they were followed and obeyed by them; they deprived themselves of its powers and gifts, and did things the most inexpedient in the calculations of worldly
schemers, and yet all things seemed spellbound to
work with them and for them. Nothing is more
certain than that they who have done most for the
kingdom of God on earth have not been the most
popular in their day; and they who have been the
most popular, even among good men, in the kingdoms of the world, have left the fewest and faintest
traces of truth upon mankind. God seems to work
by contraries, and to harden the heart of the world
against His servants, to “make His power to be
known.” For some have been truly outcast, misrepresented, spoiled, and set aside, so that people
have thought them fairly defeated and extinct;
and yet the working of their words and deeds, of
their silent example, and imperceptible influence
on other minds, has spread itself unawares through
out whole nations and Churches. They have courted
no one; were solicitous for no favour, or gift, or
privilege; they have even crossed the wise and
powerful, and resisted the hands which hold the
powers of the world. Many of the greatest benefactors of mankind have died without leaving so
much as to pay their burial, and yet the hearts
of men have obeyed them to the third and the
fourth generation.
And what is the secret of all this, but that they
worshipped the Lord their God, and Him only did they serve? They indulged themselves in no remote visions, in no restless imaginations, in no
exciting self-contemplation. The whole horizon
of their hearts was clear. Nothing lay beneath it
disturbing the truth of their intentions. There
was no end in life they desired but to do the will
of God. They had no cravings for things out of
their sphere, no forecasting and expectation of any
thing to come. What God had made them, that
they simply desired to be—to realise deeply their
present lot, to live wholly in it and for it alone, to
confide in it as the pledge of God’s presence. No
nice calculations of probable gain, or usefulness, or
power to be gotten otherwise or elsewhere, had any
sway over them. They would not hesitate a moment to do acts of the highest indiscretion, as the
world judges, and to throw away all promises and
offers of interest and advantage, rather than seem
to yield even a constructive worship to the powers
of the world. They were of more price than the
world: with all its gifts and all its gold, it could
not buy them. These are they “of whom the world
was not worthy.” It was cheap, slight, and paltry
in their eyes; for by faith they had already “seen
the King in His beauty, and beheld the land which
is very far off.”Isaiah xxxiii. 17.
They had seen the throne and
Him that sat upon it, who is “as a jasper and a sardine stone” to look upon; and all earthly things
waxed pale and dim. They had tasted “the powers
of the world to come,” which are perfect and eternal; and the purest and best things of this life
drew from them not desires, but tears. None so
intensely perceived the good and beautiful which
yet lingers in the earth; yet they shrank from the
savour of death which, by sin, is shed abroad upon
the creation of God. They took refuge in the
unseen kingdom, which is all pure, deathless, ever
lasting; serving and waiting for Him who “hath made us kings and priests unto
God.”
What is this visible world but the disordered
array under which the one only true kingdom
abides the day of “the restitution of all things?”
The world, with its pageantry, is but shadow and
simulation, imitating the order of heavenly things.
What else are its fountains of honours, its patents
of nobility, and the solemnity with which it issues
out its badges and titles of distinction, and arranges its servants in ranks of high and low degree,
according to their fidelity to its service and their
devotion to its will? But there is coming a day
when “the face of the covering” shall be destroyed, “and the veil that is spread over all people,”Isaiah xx. 7.
and
“the kingdom which cannot be shaken” shall stand
forth, and then shall many be first that now are last, and last first. Then will be a strange and
awful cancelling of degrees, and an unexpected
marshalling of God’s elect in a new and wonderful
order. Then it shall be seen for whom the right
hand and the left, which the sons of Zebedec
blindly though nobly desired, are indeed prepared.
Let us beware, then, of the baits and allurements which are peculiarly rife in these latter
days. Let us suspect calculations of expediency,
dexterous plans, great undertakings at little cost,
popular systems of religion, tempting offers of
worldly favour and support—that is, the whole
course and movement of the world. God’s kingdom is to be spread and served in God’s own way.
There is no other than that hard, strait, unpopular
way which prophets, martyrs, and saints have trod.
Let us keep close to this. Let no visions draw us
out of it. They can only beguile us of our reward;
promise us kingdoms, and rob us of our crown;
offer us purple raiment, and make the shame of
our nakedness to appear “before God, and the
Lord Jesus Christ, and the elect angels,”1 Tim. v. 21.
at His
coming.
SERMON IX.
THE RIGHT USE OF REST AFTER TRIAL.
ST. MATTHEW iv. 11.
“Then the devil leaveth Him, and, behold, angels came and
ministered unto Him.”
AFTER the temptation of our Lord was ended,
St. Luke says, the devil “departed from Him for
a season,”St. Luke iv. 13.
implying that in some form or other
Satan was still hovering about His path. And
the forty days of fasting being now over, He was
an hungered, faint, wearied in flesh and spirit,
with the long and sore conflict He had endured.
In this season of peace, angels came and ministered
strength and refreshment to Him. What heavenly
communications they made to His exhausted soul,
it is not for us to imagine. In the wilderness of
Sinai “man did eat angels’ food.” In this desert,
the Son of Man, “the true bread which came down from heaven,” was strengthened with the
bread of God.
Now from this we may learn a lesson applicable
to our own case, namely, that after temptations resisted, there come seasons of peculiar rest: “times
of refreshing from the presence of the Lord.”Acts iii. 19.
The mere cessation of active trial is in itself an
unspeakable relief. So long as the tumult is kept
up within, we are worn, anxious, and depressed.
The vividness of evil thoughts and affections, the
mistrust and repining of our hearts, the useless
and incessant chafing of our desires against our
conscience, the beating of strong wishes against a
clear consciousness of impossibility or of a divine
prohibition—all these make a torment within, to
which hardly any other sorrow can be compared.
At such times all other affections of the soul are
confounded. We seem pent up into one thought,
which besets our whole mind. Such a season of
temptation is a time of havoc and disorder, even
in those who come off with the mastery at last.
Now the mere passing away of this is a refreshment, like the waking up out of a troubled dream,
and finding it to be without reality. When the
tempter is departed, the trial is passed, and we are
full of peace. We have a keener perception of
God’s love shed abroad in us, a consciousness of having overcome in the strength of Christ. It
seems as if “angels came and ministered unto” us
out of the depth of heavenly consolation.
Now such is God’s gracious way of dealing
with us. After our trial comes rest; after our
sorrow comes refreshment. But there are peculiar dangers attending this blessed change; and
we have hardly less need to watch when our
temptation is ended, than while it is yet upon us.
And this we will go on to consider.
1. First, we are in danger of losing the impressions and state of heart which the suffering
of temptation forms within us. While the trial
is upon us, we are wakened up to a trembling and
lively sense of our own weakness, and of the subtilty and strength of our unseen antagonist. The
thought of being closely and personally assaulted
by an evil angel is awful. We feel darkened by
the thought of spiritual wickedness hanging over
us. We do not know in what the trial may issue
at last; how fearfully we may be entangled, or
put to open shame, We summon up before our
minds all manner of dark contingencies and afflicting visions of falls and abasement; and how
we shall stand in the sight of the world with a
brand which nothing can conceal. This sense of
self-mistrust and fear at the presence and power of
Satan, miserable and oppressive as it is, nevertheless is very salutary. It produces great quickness
and tenderness of conscience, sensitiveness, and vigilance over the purity of our hearts, a quick perception of our own hidden sinfulness, of the great
discord between our fair outward seeming and
our real inward state; and all this makes us, for
the time, peculiarly forbearing to others, gentle,
enduring, afraid of impatience, or of a motion of
resentful temper. We cannot bear our wonted
high words, lofty looks, fierce tones, uncharitable
thoughts. Above all, there is no time in which
our prayers are more frequent and earnest, our
self-examination deeper, our desires more importunate and sincere. The posture of our mind is
less worldly, slothful, secure. Our whole inward
life is braced up by a kind of tension of all its
gifts and powers: if I may say so, it is more saintly
than at other times. Such, I say, are the effects
of a present temptation against which we are sincerely contending. The danger is, lest this be not
the character of the mind itself, but a mere antagonism; lest it be only an attitude, an accidental
posture related to the presence of our spiritual
adversary, and therefore existing only so long as
he is about us. Of course, even in the strongest
and most self-possessed Christians, the presence of
temptation will add intensity, consciousness, and
effort, to their habitual state. This must be so, and is not blameworthy. But it is dangerous when
it is chiefly so; when the greater part is the accidental, and the habitual the less. For then, as
soon as the danger seems past, a still more dangerous security comes on. Our feelings grow less
active; we think we have exaggerated our peril,
that we have made excessive efforts and needless
resolutions; our watchfulness over ourselves relaxes; the thoughts of our hearts are less taxed,
our tempers less guarded, our prayers fainter or
fewer; our whole state let down some degrees of
intensity, and our whole posture of mind inclines
to relaxation. So hard is it to use God’s gifts
rightly and thankfully. When the tempter is departed, we forget him; when angels minister to us,
we turn our consolations into dangers, and our rest
into a declension.
2. The next danger of this time of peace is
that our old state, in which the temptation found
us at first, returns; and yet it is seldom altogether
so well with us as before. Temptations are sent or
permitted for many reasons: to try us, to humble
us, to purify us, to waken us up out of lukewarmness, to kindle us with greater fervour of devotion,
to form in us a higher tone of character, and to
perpetuate it. When the temptation is gone, its
effects ought still to survive. The fruits of the discipline are designed to be an abiding grace in our souls. Whatsoever be the peculiar temptation, it
was no doubt designed to elicit and establish in us
the antagonist grace. If we have been tempted to
pride, it was to leave us rooted in humility; if to
worldliness, it was to perfect in us a deadness to
the gifts of life; if it was excess of any kind, it was
to chasten us into definite rules, strong resolutions,
habitual self-denial; and so on. If, with the temptation, these also pass away, we shall but have suffered in vain, or rather for the worse. For, first,
our old character will rise again to the surface;
our old pride, self-consciousness, self-esteem, uncharitableness, luxury, softness, will come out again,
encouraged by the return of calm, the absence of
fear, and even stimulated by repression. They
have been rather irritated than subdued; and a
strange self-complacency spreads itself in our minds
after a season of self-discipline, on the strength of
which we take a larger measure of freedom. For
instance, we think ourselves secure from censoriousness if, while we say sharp things of others, we
have a consciousness of the sin of being censorious still present in our minds; or we think that
the rest we enjoy is an indication from God that
we may indulge it, forgetting that all peace must
be of God’s giving, not of our taking. Or again,
after self-denial, such as fasting, we consciously
allow ourselves a freer diet, as if it were neutralised by past abstinence. Such are the strange
compositions we make with our consciences; and
the effect is to destroy the simplicity of our acts
and the purity of our intentions, to make us refined
and casuistical in plain duties, and so to prepare us
to be deluded by the return of temptation.
3. And once more: another danger is, that
active temptations return as it were from the opposite side. Sometimes, indeed, the very same
comes back upon an unwary mind, almost as soon
as it seems to be gone, with a force sudden and
sevenfold, and fairly carries all before it. We
may have held out for a week under provocation,
until the trial seemed over, and then some unlooked-for event has kindled the anger of seven
days in one, and “the last state is worse than the
first.” So it is in other temptations. But gene
rally it seems that the manifold versatility of Satan
changes the avenues of approach and the form of
his attack. It is but a feint to call all our watchfulness to one point, and then to assault us in
another. People who have overcome temptation
to worldliness often become pharisaical—luxurious
people miserly; they who have been humbling
themselves with fasting become complacent at the
half-admitted suggestion of their humility; or again,
pure minds may become proud, severe spirits harsh
and unsympathising. Such are our infirmities; so are we surrounded by temptation, that we often do
but make exchanges of the sins of boyhood for the
sins of youth, the sins of youth for the sins of old
age, the sins of the flesh for the sins of the spirit,
and of spiritual sins one for another; the more
visible for the less perceived, the lower for the
more sublime. Such is our wonderful and fearful
nature, it revolves in a circle with an instability and
a speed so great, that we rise and fall by an inward
motion of the heart: at our highest we are nearest
to a change, and our changes are often diametrical
and extreme. Verily it is an awful saying, “There
are first which shall be last, and last which shall
be first.” “I saw Satan as lightning fall from
heaven.” Such as the speed of his fall, such of
tentimes is ours; and as his was from heaven to
earth, so is ours from the highest aspiration to the
lowest abasement.
Now it will seem, perhaps, paradoxical to say
that times of temptation are times of safety. Yet
there is a truth in it. And it is true thus far:—Temptations that are resisted
become a whole some and searching discipline. Unresisted temptations, or
temptations only faintly opposed, of course tend simply to perdition. These are
excluded from our present subject by the very terms of it. We are speaking of
Him who bruised Satan under His feet, and of those who, like Him and in Him,
“resist the devil.” I have already said what is the
temper and posture of mind which temptations produce in us; and also that it is doubtless the design
of God, in suffering us to be so tried, that the
spiritual state elicited in the season of temptation
should become habitual, and abide as a gift of
grace in us for ever. It may be, that to beings
once fallen, the pain and toil of this warfare is
the only way to perfect strength and purity. For
our sanctification is the expulsion of evil from the
will, under the help of God’s Spirit, by its own
energies and acts. Every temptation overcome is
such an act of expulsion, and therefore tends to our
perfect cleansing.
Of this we are very certain, that at no time
is the protection of angels and the help of God
more near to us than when “the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall.”Isaiah xxv. 4.
At no
time is the providence of God more directly pointed
upon us than when snares are being spread around
our feet: nor does the intercession of our blessed
Lord, who, through temptation, knows “how to
succour them that are tempted,” ever prevail more
mightily by His infinite merits than when the “hour and the power of darkness” is upon our
souls. Peter was our type: and all that are
tempted were in him, when our gracious Master said, “Simon, Simon, Satan hath desired to have
you, that he may sift you as wheat: but I have
prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not.”St. Luke xxii. 31, 32.
Strange, indeed, through our perversity, that
dangers should come with the cessation of danger; that rest, peace, refreshing, quietness, should
become perils. Yet so, in truth, they too often
are. We are most liable to temptation at times
when we think ourselves least likely to be overcome; for instance, when things have been going on smoothly; when we have been long unmolested by assaults; when we have overcome
some solicitations to things unlawful or inexpedient; when we have done acts, or made resolutions, of higher devotion; when we have been
reading and adopting in intention the example of
saints; when we have been using high and great
words of sanctity and of the cross; when we have
done acts of charity, mercy, faith, and have the
gladness of them still upon our hearts; when we
have been highly accepted and owned of God in
our prayers, or at the holy Eucharist, as Christ
at His baptism, just before He was tempted: all
these are times when we have need to watch with
tenfold care, lest, through our slackness of security,
peace should be more dangerous to us than temptation.
Let us, then, consider how we ought to use this
peace which follows upon a season of trial.
First, we ought to use it for a particular retrospect of the circumstances of our temptation.
So long as the trial lasts, we are less able to take
a true view of our case. We ought closely to
ascertain what were the avenues by which the
temptation came upon us; what occasions, or salient points, or positions of vantage, we gave to the
tempter; what were our thoughts and dispositions
of mind before it made its approach; what were
our intentions; what were its symptoms and effects.
And in all this we shall generally find the spiritual
discernment and guidance of another more penetrating than our own. And the act of laying it
open will bring with it that which will tend to
check our relapse into a like condition.
Next, it will be necessary for us to make such
resolutions of self-discipline, as shall cut off the
occasion of which temptation took advantage before. Sometimes this may not be wholly possible;
but in a great number of cases it will be. The
perpetuating of any one resolution made at such
a time will be a continual memorial of warning and
admonition.
Again: the acts of prayer and humiliation
used by us in a season of temptation may either
wholly or in part be continued, and joined to our daily devotions. Again: the day on which we were
tempted may be noted in every year, or in every
week: and the subject-matter of our trial be made
a topic of self-examination, confession, self-denial.
And, once more; if others were involved with
ourselves, either directly or indirectly, as in cases
of unkindness or selfishness; or if others have
been doubtfully affected by our example, as in
cases of a more public temptation,—we ought to
endeavour, by acts of humility and charity towards
them, and by praying for them that they may be
kept from all evil, to undo the ill effect we may
have caused.
And, also, we ought thenceforward to set ourselves to the especial mortification of that particular sin which our temptation has revealed to us.
Religious people often hinder their own advancement by a vague, indefinite manner of conducting
their personal religion. They aim at too much
at once; and so do nothing deeply. Let us overcome one temptation, mortify one evil desire, and
the effect will be felt throughout our whole character. The habit of self-denial, patience, and endurance, is the same in all; let it be well learned
in one particular, and not only will that temptation
be weaker, but we in ourselves shall be stronger to
subdue all that remain.
2. But by thus confining ourselves to the details of the particular temptation, we shall not
hinder our learning a deeper lesson of the universal
weakness of our nature, and of its susceptibility on
all sides of being tempted. It is a very bitter and
humbling truth, that after many years of a religious life we may be dangerously assailed even by
sins which we had overcome, as we thought, at
the very outset of our conversion to God. Yet so
it is: after years of prayer, strict regularity, unblemished reputation, good works, alms, fastings,
contemplation, all our religious professions will
sometimes grow lofty and unsteady, and old sins,
long ago forgotten, and never so much as thought
of, make their re-appearance. So weak and unstable is our nature; so subtil and tenacious is
sin; so rare is an entire conversion of the heart to
God; so seldom is the foundation of the character
laid deeply enough in perfect humility. We shall
generally find that the point in which we have
been tempted is not the only vulnerable point of
our character; often not that which is chiefly so:
that it was by the force of circumstances we were
exposed to this or that particular temptation; and
that in truth we might have been tempted in many
other ways, and with more fearful success, as we
have points really weaker, which were happily not
attacked. It is a humbling truth to most of us
who may think we have gained for ourselves a right to use the language of saints, that the greater part
of our virtue is in the absence of temptation. Now
this is a lesson we ought, as soon as we have respite
from trial, to set ourselves thoroughly to master.
Let us pray God to give us light to see the universal weakness of our fallen nature; our awful
proneness to offend. Perhaps if we had not been
tempted, we should have fallen; that is, if we had
not been made aware of our weakness, we should
have insensibly declined until we had met some
heavier fall. Therefore, in His mercy, He suffers
us to go so near to the point of being overcome,
that our fear and shame can hardly be greater;
and then, when we are penetrated with a sense of
danger and of horror, He interposes and saves us
when of ourselves we should be lost. How many
seeds of evil lie sleeping in us with the same imperishable vitality we see in the outward world,
waiting only for stimulants to unfold it into life!
The sins of our years before we repented, the
sins of our childhood, are still virtually in our
spiritual nature, held in check often by a weak
and almost a broken thread of discipline, ready
to reappear with the aggravations of our maturer
state of light and profession. This is a truth we
have need thoroughly and mournfully to learn.
3. And lastly, we ought to set ourselves to
deepen the whole habit of our devotion: our humiliations, abstinence, fasting, meditation, prayers,
especially in our approaches to the holy Communion. Without doubt, the trial from which we
have escaped was permitted as a warning to chasten
us into a more fervent spirit. By it we ought to
gain at least one degree of advance in holy living.
It found us lukewarm, let it leave us fervent; it
found us armed only in part, let it leave us clad
in “the whole armour of God.” There is much
deep significance in St. Paul’s charge to the Ephesians. “Be strong,” he says, “in the Lord, and
in the power of His might. Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against
the wiles of the devil.” Why does he say so emphatically “the whole armour,” but because with
out it we are wholly naked: because our forefather stripped himself and us of all the glory which
was our defence:Isaiah iv. 5.
we were laid open in body and
soul, eyes and ears, hand and heart, desire and
will; and sin had entrance on all sides. We have
universal need of this impenetrable mail, and can
spare no part of it. “Wherefore,” he says again, “take unto you the whole armour of God, that
ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and
having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having
your loins girt about with truth, and having on the
breastplate of righteousness; and your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; above
all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall
be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked,
and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword
of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”Ephes. vi. 10-11, 13-17.
It is
a complete coat of mail, having in it a perfectness,
leaving no part unarmed, covering the whole man;
a girdle, a breastplate, sandals, shield, helmet,
sword: what does this mean but the unity and perfectness of sanctity, the entire conversion and full
devotion of the soul to God? This shews us how
all His saints have overcome, and sat down in His
throne. They were armed at all points; they
counted no part of obedience or devotion small or
of little import, knowing that the smallest imperfection will mar a whole defence; and that the
whole armour is no stronger than its weakest part,
that one breach will unlock a whole position.
Therefore, if we enter upon a devout life, we must
not do it by halves, but with decision. There must
be no reserves, but a full surrender of ourselves,
to be wholly sanctified “in spirit, and soul, and
body.” Such was the life of Abraham and Joseph,
Moses and Daniel, apostles and saints, and of all
whose warfare is ended, who have put off the armour of the cross, and put on the white raiment,
where rest has no more dangers.
And we see also how it is that so many are
overcome. Because they have armed themselves
only in part. There is something wanting in their
moral habit; some sin unmortified; some lust still
living and importunate; or there was some neglect
in their rule of devotion; in prayer or confession,
or reading, or meditation, or self-knowledge; some
thing left undone which leaves them naked in the
day of battle.
This, then, is the use to which we should apply the seasons of rest following on our times of
trial; to repair what has been marred in our conflict; to deepen and multiply our defences on every
side; to renew the perfectness of our spiritual armour; by cutting off occasions of which sin has
taken advantage; by binding ourselves with stricter
resolves; by deepening our exercises of humiliation, prolonging our seasons of prayer, multiplying our works of charity; by watching more
intently over the workings of our whole spiritual life,
and devoting ourselves, with more perfect deadness
and renunciation of the world and of our own will,
to God. There is a time at hand when angels
shall minister to them that overcome, in the paradise of God. There rest and refreshing shall be
unbroken and eternal. Meanwhile we must endure hardship as good soldiers of Jesus Christ.
Let us, then, when we can, flee temptation with all fear; but if at any time you be encompassed by it, then turn, and cast your fear aside. “Blessed is the man that endureth temptation:
for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of
life, which the Lord hath promised to them that
love Him.”St. James i. 12.
Here is a benediction and a crown. “The God of all grace, who hath called us unto
His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye
have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish,
strengthen, settle you.”1 St. Peter v. 10.
Here is strength and
quietness. “Fear none of those things which
thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some
of you into prison, that ye may be tried; and ye
shall have tribulation ten days: be thou faithful
unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.”Rev. ii. 10.
Here
is our Helper. “Because thou hast kept the word of my patience, I also will keep
thee from the hour of temptation, which shall come upon all the world, to try
them that dwell upon the earth.” Here is our safety. “Behold, I come quickly:
hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown.”Rev. iii. 10,
11.
SERMON X.
THE SYMPATHY OF CHRIST.
HEBREWS iv. 15.
“We have not an high-priest which cannot be touched with the
feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet
without sin.”
ONE great and blessed truth contained in the
mystery of the Incarnation is the sympathy of
Christ: that as He is truly Man, so He truly
and really partakes of our infirmities, and has a
fellow-feeling of them with us. St. Paul had said
a little before, in speaking of the Incarnation, “in
that He Himself hath suffered being tempted, He
is able to succour them that are tempted.”Heb. ii. 18.
The word
tempted here includes, of course, all trials of soul and body, such as sorrow,
pain, anguish, as well as what we commonly call temptation: but it is to this
last that we will now confine ourselves. In the text, St. Paul adds, “yet without
sin.” And this raises a question which it concerns
us much to consider. We can readily understand
how our Lord’s perfect humanity should sympathise with ours, because both are of one nature;
but how He who is sinless should sympathise with
us sinners,—this is the difficulty. He had no
taste of the bitterness of conscious sin; that one
greatest of all afflictions was positively unknown to
Him. He made trial of all things of which our
humanity in a sinless state is susceptible; but of
that which comes upon us as sinners, it were blasphemy to suppose Him to have tasted—I mean, the
fears, shame, remorse, self-abhorrence, which come
with sin. It would seem that here His sympathy
cannot reach: that it must be confined within the
limits of our purer sorrows; such as affliction
and pain. How, it may be asked, can He sympathise in repentance, deserved shame, and guilt of
conscience? This is no easy question to answer:
but so much of the consolation of true penitents
must depend on it, that we shall do well to find,
if we can, some reply.
It may be said, then, that this difficulty carries
its own answer; for His sympathy with penitents
is perfect, because He is sinless: its perfection is the consequence of His
perfect holiness. And for these reasons:
First, because we find, even among men, that
sympathy is more or less perfect, as the holiness
of the person is more or less so. There is no real
sympathy in men of a sensual, worldly, unspiritual
life; unless we are to call that inferior fellow-feeling which ranks with our natural instincts, and is
to be found also in the lower animals, by the name
of sympathy. There is a natural pity, benevolence, and compassion, which, even among heathen,
expresses itself in congratulations and condolences,
and we may in one sense call it sympathy; but it
is its lowest and most irrational form, little differing
from the perceptions of cold and heat, sweet and
bitter, which are common to all mankind. There
is little distinct consciousness about it. And even
these sympathies of nature are crossed and crushed
by personal faults. Ambition, covetousness, selfishness, will extinguish them; much more actual familiarity with sin. Just as a man becomes infected
by the power of evil, he ceases to sympathise with
others. All his feelings centre in himself. Sin
is essentially a selfish thing. It sacrifices every
thing to its own lust and will. It is also peculiarly merciless. Reckless as it is of the evil of
sin, and therefore lenient to the worst offenders,
it is, nevertheless, peculiarly uncharitable, hard,
and unfair. Sinners put the worst construction
on each others words and acts. They have no consideration or forbearance. Their apparent sympathy is but a fellowship in the same disobedience. And so also the sympathy of the world;
how hollow, formal, and constrained it is! How
little soothing or consoling in our sorrows and
trials are worldly friends, even the kindest hearted
of them! And why, but because it is peculiarly
the property of true sanctity to be charitable? and
in the grace of charity is contained gentleness,
compassion, tenderness of hand in touching the
wounds of other men, fair interpretations, large
allowances, ready forgiveness. These things ripen
as personal holiness grows more mature. We may
almost measure our advance in the life of God
by the tenderness of our feeling towards sinners.
The living compassion, active emotion of pity, the
tears and tenderness with which the holiest men
have ever dealt with the sinful, is a proof, that
in proportion as sin loses its power over them,
their sympathy with those that are afflicted by its
oppressive yoke becomes more perfect. It may be
said, indeed, that they know by present experience
what is the distress and shame of sin; that they
really have in them the original taint; and that it
is by virtue of this that they are able so intimately
to sympathise with the trials of others who are repenting. Nevertheless, it is most certain that this
sympathy becomes more perfect in proportion as their repentance is perfect, and their warfare turned
into the peace of established sanctity; that is, in
proportion as they cease to be like those they sympathise with in the very point of sinfulness.
And if we may venture a while to dwell on
thoughts beyond our probation, in which some
have presumed too far, may we not believe that
this law prevails to perfect the mutual sympathy
of those who are in the higher state of separation
from this evil world? Of the invisible Church we
can only speak by conjecture and hope, grounded
upon such internal suggestions as are contained in
truths undoubtedly revealed. We know that they
are without sin. “He that is dead is free from
sin.”Rom. vi. 7.
We know that they are “made perfect.”Heb. xii. 23.
We cannot doubt that they are replenished with
charity—perfect in the sympathies of love and
compassion—that they are knit one with another
in a perfect bond of fellowship. And moreover,
with their personal identity, doubtless, they retain
a recollection of this world of sin, and of the
trials, infirmities, and falls, from which they have
been redeemed.Rev. v. 9.
And their sympathy is more vivid, intense,
and pure, because they are set free from sin and self. For what but these, our
in born evils, are the hindrances of our sympathy now in this world? In the
midst of our truest compassion there is something which rises up to
tinge it, and to infuse thoughts of self into it.
They have the truest sympathy who are most
perfectly dead to themselves. Therefore, of all
the members of Christ’s mystical body, they must
mutually sympathise most perfectly who are most
free from the taints of evil.
2. And from this our thoughts ascend to Him
who is all-perfect; who being from everlasting
Very God, was, for our sakes, made very Man,
that He might unite us wholly to Himself. Above
and beyond all sympathy is that of our High
Priest. It stands alone in its incommunicable
perfection. “Such an High Priest became us,”
that is, was required by our spiritual necessities, “who is holy, harmless, undefiled, and separate
from sinners.”Heb. vii. 26.
Because we are sinners, we need
One who is without sin to sympathise with us.
How can it be reverently or safely thought that
any sympathy can be perfect but His? Does
not such a thought imply that we do not clearly
distinguish what we are speaking of? He can
not, indeed, partake of the awful knowledge, derived from experience, which they possess who
have ever consented to sin, who have ever been
defiled by it. But that knowledge does not perfect sympathy: it only mars the perfection of the
person. Even the holiest must be delivered from
this knowledge of sin before their sympathy is
raised towards His unapproachable tenderness. In
one sense it is true, that to have been darkened and defiled is the way to learn a bitter
knowledge of sin. But it is only so because it
inflicts on us the miseries which follow after sin,
and scourges us through repentance to purity of
heart, whereby we learn its hatefulness. None
hate sin but those who are holy, and that in
the measure of their holiness; and therefore in
the Person of our blessed Lord there must exist
the two great conditions of perfect sympathy:
first, He has suffered all the sorrows and mi
series which are consequent upon sin and distinct from it; next, He has, because of His perfect holiness, a perfect hatred of evil. And these
properties of His human nature unite themselves
to the pity, omniscience, and love, which are the
perfections of His divine. To have sinned ourselves is not necessary to perfect our sympathy
with sinners. God forbid the evil thought! Rather, it is the property of spotless sanctity to
flow forth with the fullest stream of compassion.
Who would mourn over a sister’s fall so intensely
as she who is all pure and full of sensitive fear of
so much as a sullying thought? To have fallen
and to have repented could add nothing to her intense love and sorrow, to her absolute humiliation for another’s transgression. Community in sin
is not the source of sympathy, but participation
in holiness. The knowledge of the misery of sin
which our Lord learned by suffering temptation
is no doubt far beyond any thing we can learn by
consenting to it; for it is consent that so far destroys our true perception of it. Temptations are
far more afflicting to holy minds than falls are to
the less pure. And all through the life of the
truest saint, even while the love of God is shed
abroad in his heart, and the stillness of eternal
peace reigns in it, there is, in proportion to the
growth of sanctity, a growth also in his sorrow for
sins long ago repented. His past falls come to be
more intensely seen and abhorred. It is as he recedes from his former self, and passes out of the
sphere of his past temptations, that he feels all
their horror and deadliness. And this explains
what we see in the lives of the holiest men—that as they have visibly advanced in holiness,
they have multiplied their acts of humiliation
and their discipline of repentance; and that instead of being thereby drawn from compassion to
those who are still in their sins, they are of all
men the most tender, pitiful, forbearing, and compassionate. None live for the conversion of souls
so devotedly; none have so ready a sorrow for the sins of others; none deal with them so lovingly,
bind up their wounds so softly, console them, even
against their own will, so persuasively. And why?
Not because of their past sin, but because of their
present holiness; not for what they have been, but
for what they are; not because they have been
sinners, but because they are saints. What they
have learned of sin by past consent and defilement
is a hindrance, not a help, to their true sympathy.
They attain to this high grace of the mystical body
of Christ just as they pass out of themselves into
Him.
Now from all this we may see in what it is
that our Lord, by the experience of humiliation
in our flesh, has learned—wonderful word!—to
sympathise with us.
Not in any motion of evil in the affections or
thoughts of the heart; not in any inclination of
the will; not, if we dare so much as utter it, in
any taint or soil upon the soul. Upon all such as
are destroying themselves in wilful commerce with
evil, He looks down with a divine pity; but they
have withdrawn themselves from the range of His
sympathy. This can only be with those who are
in sorrow under sin; that is, with penitents. It
is in the suffering of those that would be cleansed
and made holy that He partakes. Let us now see
how we may draw comfort from this thought.
They who have sinned may go to Him in a
perfect confidence that He is able to “be touched
with the feeling of our infirmities.” We have
something in Him to which we may appeal.
1. We may plead with Him on His own experience of the weakness of our humanity. None
knows it better than He, not only as our Maker,
who “knoweth our frame, and remembereth that
we are but dust,” but as Man, who made full trial
of our nature “in the days of His flesh.” He
knows its fearful susceptibility of temptation—how
in its most perfect state, as in His own person, it
may be approached and solicited by the suggestions
and allurements of the evil one. And if in Him it
could be tempted to sin, how much more in us!
May we not believe that it was out of the depth
of His mysterious obedience that He spoke, when
He said: “The spirit indeed is willing, but the
flesh is weak?” He did not mean sinful flesh only,
but humanity itself, the weakness of which was
seen in Eden, and was proved by Himself in the
wilderness, when “He suffered being tempted.”
When we confess our sins before Him, we may
lay open all. Things we hardly dare to speak
to any man, to any imperfect being, we do not
shrink from confessing before Him—things which
men would not believe, inward struggles, distinctions in intention, extenuating causes, errors of belief,—all
the manifold working of the inward life which goes before a fall. Imperfect
friends treat all these things with a hard incredulity, or assign them but a
light weight in the favourable scale; they fasten only on the prominent features
of the case; they cannot throw themselves into our position; their knowledge of
human nature is drawn from their view of their own state and character, often
flattered and self-deceiving; and that makes them so censorious, upbraiding,
unmerciful to lapsed sinners, and so suspicious, distant, and cold, even to
penitents. No doubt the want of vivid faith to realise the awfulness of our
Lord’s presence is partly the reason why we are so much readier to make our
confessions to Him than to a fellow-creature. We feel greatly, in the one case,
the reality and the penitential character of the act, and little or not at all
in the other. Again, confession to any man brings a peculiar shame, which our
secret confessions do not involve. And yet, true as this may be, there can be no
doubt that there is a more persuasive reason still. It is, that with men we are
never safe from false judgments, and severe because imperfect censures; but with
Him is perfect equity, fairness, tenderness. With all His awful holiness, there
is some thing that draws us to Him. Though His eyes be “as a flame of fire,” and
the act of laying ourselves open to Him is terrible, yet He is “meek
and lowly of heart,” knowing all our case, “touched
with the feeling of our infirmities. *
So also we must feel towards the elect angels,
and all the world unseen, whose eyes, St. Paul
seems to say, are on us—a cloud of gazers, ever
looking down upon our course. They, too, in the
measure of their perfection, are perfect; full of pity
and of tender compassion; knowing of what spirit
their King and Lord is; and like Him in charity
to us. And yet it is to Him alone that we are
drawn to address ourselves. Our ultimate account
is not with them, but with Him. If He be pitiful
to us, what more do we need? If He be gracious,
they all, as comprehended in His perfection, are
with us too. If we be sure of His sympathy, we
are sure of theirs. They cannot satisfy the depth
of our case, but He can and will.
We must go to Him, and place ourselves before
Him; uncover our shame; fall to the earth; pray,
if we can speak; if words fail, abase ourselves in
silence; and let the silence of our confounded souls
appeal to His sympathy who in the garden “fell
on His face” under the burden of our infirmities.
He will interpret our silence for us, and, by His
perfect knowledge of our sins, put into our hearts
pleas of deprecation and solace, which we ourselves
neither know nor would dare to utter. Wonderful is the Divine justice, and still more the Divine
equity. He “weigheth the spirits;” He knows
the shades and touches of our case. What to
our dull sight would seem refinements, to His are
realities in our spiritual probation; and with wonderful tenderness and most indulgent forbearance
He notes and measures them all. In His judgment
of penitents He is more gentle than they are to
themselves. Pleas which they reject, He allows
for them. While they are writing bitter things
against themselves, He is recording the circumstances of palliation and excuse. They hardly
dare believe that His face is lifted up in pity and
forgiveness upon them; for His mercy is as great
a mystery of faith as His Incarnation. “When
the Lord turned again the captivity of Sion, then
were we like unto them that dream.” When His peace comes down again into our
afflicted hearts, then, like the apostles, “we believe not for joy and wonder.”
2. Again: we may appeal to His experience
of the sorrow and shame which come by sin upon
mankind. He suffered both as keenly and as fully
as it was possible for one that was without sin.
Wheresoever in the Psalms deeper notes of sorrow,
lamentations greater than repentance, are heard, it
is the voice of the Messiah speaking in prophecy. “My God, my God, look upon me; why hast Thou forsaken me? why art Thou so far from helping
me, and from the words of my complaint? O my
God, I cry in the day-time, but Thou hearest not;
and in the night-season also I take no rest.
. . . As for me, I am a worm, and no man; a very
scorn of men, and the outcast of the people. All
they that see me laugh me to scorn; they shoot
out their lips, and shake their heads, saying, He
trusted in God, that He would deliver him; let Him deliver him; if He will have him. . . . . I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out
of joint; my heart also in the midst of my body
is even like melting wax. My strength is dried
up like a potsherd, and my tongue cleaveth to my
gums, and Thou shalt bring me into the dust of
death.”Ps. xxii. 1, 2, 6-8, 14, 15.
“He is despised and rejected of men;
a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and
we hid as it were our faces from Him; He was
despised, and we esteemed Him not. Surely He
hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows:
yet we did esteem Him stricken, smitten of God,
and afflicted.”Isaiah liii. 3, 4.
“Save me, O God; for the waters
are come in, even unto my soul. I stick fast in
the deep mire, where no ground is; I am come
into deep waters, so that the floods run over me.
I am weary of my crying: my throat is dry: my
sight faileth me for waiting so long upon my God.
. . . . For Thy sake have I suffered reproof;
shame hath covered my face. . . . I wept, and chastened myself with fasting; and that was turned
to my reproof. I put on sackcloth also; and they
jested upon me. They that sit in the gate speak
against me; and the drunkards make songs upon. . . . . me Thou hast known my reproof, my shame, and my dishonour: mine adversaries are all in Thy
sight. Thy rebuke hath broken my heart; I am
full of heaviness: I looked for some to have pity
on me, but there was no man, neither found I
any to comfort me.”Ps. lxix. 1-3, 7, 10-12, 20, 21.
“O Lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before Thee:
oh, let my prayer enter into Thy presence, incline
Thine ear unto my calling. For my soul is full of
trouble; and my life draweth nigh unto hell. . . .
Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, in a place
of darkness, and in the deep. Thine indignation
lieth hard upon me; and Thou hast vexed me
with all Thy storms. Thou hast put away mine
acquaintance far from me; and made me to be
abhorred of them. I am so fast in prison that
I cannot get forth. My sight faileth for very
trouble: Lord, I have called daily upon Thee, I have stretched forth my hands unto Thee. . . . . Lord, why abhorrest Thou my soul, and hidest
Thou Thy face from me? I am in misery, and like unto him that is at the point to die: even
from my youth up Thy terrors have I suffered with
a troubled mind. Thy wrathful displeasure goeth
over me, and the fear of Thee hath undone me.”Ps.
lxxxviii. 1, 2, 5-9, 14-16.
What can we say of this inscrutable mystery of
sorrow? Who would have dared to apply these
words to the Son of God, if the Spirit of Christ
in prophecy had not already done so by His servants? We can only say what the Spirit of Christ
Himself hath said. Sorrow, fearfulness, shame,
scorn, confusion of face, humiliation, abasement,
exhaustion of body, fainting, trembling, blindness
for very tears, what ever went beyond all these? “Behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto
my sorrow, which is done unto me, wherewith the
Lord hath afflicted me in the day of His fierce
anger. From above hath He sent fire into my
bones, and it prevaileth against them: He hath
spread a net for my feet, He hath turned me back:
He hath made me desolate and faint all the day.”Lament. i. 12, 13.
What more can we say? All this came on Him
because God “made Him to be sin for us who
knew no sin.”2 Cor. v. 21.
All that sin could inflict on the
guiltless He endured; and to that experience of
shame and sorrow we guilty may appeal. Though
we suffer indeed justly, yet can He feel with us though He did nothing amiss. Though in the bitterness of soul
which flows from consciousness of guilt He has no part, yet when we take revenge
upon ourselves in humiliation, and offer ourselves to suffer all He wills for
our abasement, He pities us while He permits the chastisement to break us down
at His feet. He looks in compassion on our heavy hours and mournful days, our
secret indignation, our shame which burns inwardly, our bruised and trembling
hearts. When vain remorse and resolution come too late, make us smite upon our
thigh, and accuse ourselves in secret, He—let us hope, believe, and pray—will
pity us with a loving and tender sympathy. “When our heart is smitten down
within us, and withered like grass, so that we forget to eat our bread,” it is a
thought full of consolation, “that we have not an high-priest which cannot be
touched with the feeling of our infirmities.”
Therefore let us ask for consolation from no
other. Let us not go, I will not say to the world,
and its fair words, smooth persuasions, shallow
comforts;—for to these no man whose repentance
has any depth or reality in it can bear to go;
they are miserable, falsifying stimulants, which
heat and bewilder the heart, and leave it open
to terrible recoils of sorrow but let us not go
to books or to employment; no, nor even to the consolation and tender love of friend, brother, wife,
husband, spiritual guide; no, nor to the most perfect saint and nearest to Himself; but to Him for
whose sake all these must be forsaken, in whom
are all the fresh springs of solace which distil in
scanty drops through the tenderest and fondest
hearts. Let us go at once to Him. We are one
with Him, by the mystery of His holy Incarnation,
by the gift of our new birth. There is nothing
can separate us from His sympathy but our own
wilful sins. Let us fear and hate these, as for
all other reasons, so above all for this, that they
cut off the streams of His pure and pitiful consolation, and leave our souls to wither up in their
own drought and darkness. So long as we are
fully in His sympathy, let our sorrows, shame,
trials, temptations, be what they may, we are
safe. He is purifying us by them; teaching us to die to the world and to
ourselves, that He only may live in us, and that our life may be “hid with
Christ in God.”
And again: that we may so shelter ourselves in
Him, let us make to Him a confession, detailed,
particular, and unsparing, of all our sins. Our
safest self-examination is made upon our knees;
our truest confessions are our self-examinations
uttered aloud. Let us confess before Him morning and night our daily disobedience of thought, word, and deed, the forbidden motions of our
hearts, the faulty inclinations of our will; striving truly and thoroughly to know ourselves, and
to lay ourselves bare with entire and self-abasing
sincerity to Him. In this is true peace, deep consolation, calm unspeakable. This will keep our
hearts waking, recall us when we wander, uphold
us when we are weak. Whatsoever be our outward lot,—whether we be high or low, esteemed
or outcast, held in honour or in scorn, trusted or
distrusted,—this one thing is enough. What more
can they desire who have the sympathy of Christ?
What fellowship do they need who have His hourly
presence? When men rebuke us, let us thank
them, as helping our abasement; when they convince us of new faults, let us carry them in confession to our Lord. Reproofs are healing balms; censures are “spikenard very precious.” The more
they humble us, the more fully will He admit
us to His perfect sympathy. O blind and short
sighted! when the world looks dark upon us, we
are afraid. If the great or the many set down our
lives as a folly or a dream, we begin to doubt, and
half to believe what they say. We are tempted
even to give way before their confident censures
and their lofty commiseration. We are too proud
to be pitied, and would sometimes almost conceal
and cast off our sympathy with the Cross, that we may take our share in the smooth and fair things
of the world. But if we be His servants, the Cross
must be our portion. “The disciple is not above
his Master, nor the servant above his Lord. It is
enough for the disciple that he be as his Master,
and the servant as his Lord.”St. Matt. x. 24, 25.
So that we be His,
let us be with this content.
And lastly, let us so live as not to forfeit His sympathy. It
is ours only so long as we strive and pray to be made like Him. If we turn again
to evil, or to the world, we sever ourselves from Him. The dominion of any
sinful habit will fear fully estrange us from His presence. A single consenting
act of inward disobedience in thought or will is enough to let fall a cloud
between Him and us, and to leave our hearts cheerless and dark. This all know,
who after any sins of the temper or spirit, begin their accustomed prayers. They
feel themselves in a new condition, and at a strange distance from Him; as if in
broad day the sun had suddenly gone in. And besides positive sins, love of the
world will shut us out from His sympathy altogether. Love of the world casts out
the love of Christ. If, in spite of His word and warning, His life and cross, we
will live on in this fallen world without fear or self-denial, as if it were not
fallen; if we will love it, live in it and for it, accept its flatteries and favours, then we must die
with it. Follies, laughter, excitement, false happiness, bring bitter retrospect, burning consciousness of inconsistency and declension; and all these
hide His presence from our souls. With these
He has no sympathy: but only with the humble,
bruised, and contrite; with them that forsake all
that they may find Him, and follow Him whither
soever He goeth, in darkness and in light, in life
and in death, counting all things loss, that they
may “win Christ and be found in Him” in the
morning of the resurrection.
SERMON XI.
SYMPATHY A NOTE OF THE CHURCH.
ISAIAH lxi. 1.
“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath
anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; He hath sent me to bind up the
broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the
prison to them that are bound.”
THE Person of our blessed Lord is a type of the
mystical personality of His Church. The notes
by which He was manifested to the world as the
true Messiah are the notes by which also His
Church is manifested to the world as the true
Church. Among many false Christs, there is but
one true: He came first, and they arose after Him.
Among many, there was none holy but He alone;
none but He was the Saviour of all. “There is” but “one God, and one Mediator between God and
man.” He only is the “Holy One of God.” He
only is “the Saviour of all men,” “the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world.” He
is the one holy, universal Saviour of mankind, from
whom His Church also derives the gifts and properties which are called signs or notes. The
prophet Isaiah here gives another note, which indeed
is not another, but a development of the same, by
which the true Messiah should be known. He was
to be the true Healer and Comforter of all, bringing good tidings of good, binding up broken hearts,
loosing prisoners out of bondage, comforting mourners, sympathising with all, drawing all that are afflicted to Himself, by the consciousness of their own
miseries, and by the attractions of His compassion.
And this He did by His own divine love, by His
perfect human sympathy, by His own mysterious
experience as the Man of Sorrows. This was a
note of the true Messiah which none could imitate. They might shew . signs and wonders, and
utter words of wisdom and moving persuasions;
make a great shew of holiness and pity for man
kind, and draw away many after them; but the
reality was wanting: the meek and the broken
hearted, the prisoner, the bondsman, and the
mourner, had in them something too deep, vivid,
and piercing, to find rest until the one only and
true Messiah should appear.
Now it is to this that we find our Lord Himself
appealing in proof of His divine commission. Immediately after He
had been manifested by the descent of the Holy Ghost in His baptism, and had
been tempted of the devil in the wilderness, we read that He “returned in the
power of the Spirit into Galilee: and there went out a fame of Him through all
the region round about. And He taught in their synagogues, being glorified of
all. And He came to Nazareth, where He had been brought up: and, as His custom
was, He went into the synagogue on the Sabbath-day, and stood up for to read.
And there was delivered unto Him the book of the prophet Esaias. And when He had
opened the book, He found the place where it was written, The Spirit of the Lord
is upon me, be cause He hath anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor; He
hath sent me to heal the broken hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives,
and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised,
to preach the acceptable year of the Lord. And He closed the book, and He gave
it again to the minister, and sat down. And the eyes of all them that were in
the synagogue were fastened on Him. And He began to say unto them, This day is
this Scripture fulfilled in your ears. And all bare Him witness, and wondered at
the gracious words which proceeded out of His mouth.”St. Luke iv. 14-22.
And soon after we read: “Now when the sun
was setting, all they that had any sick with divers diseases brought them unto Him; and He
laid His hands on every one of them, and healed
them. And devils also came out of many, crying
out, and saying, Thou art Christ the Son of God.
And He rebuking them suffered them not to
speak: for they knew that He was Christ.”St. Luke iv. 40, 41.
Again: “And He came down with them,
and stood in the plain, and the company of His
disciples, and a great multitude of people out of
all Judea and Jerusalem, and from the sea-coast
of Tyre and Sidon, which came to hear Him,
and to be healed of their diseases; and they that
were vexed with unclean spirits: and they were
healed. And the whole multitude sought to touch
Him: for there went virtue out of Him, and
healed them all. And He lifted up His eyes on
His disciples, and said, Blessed be ye poor: for
yours is the kingdom of God.”St. Luke vi. 17-20.
Again we read: “John, calling unto him two of his disciples,
sent them to Jesus, saying, Art Thou He that should come? or look we for an
other? When the men were come unto Him, they said, John Baptist hath sent us
unto Thee, saying, Art Thou He that should come? or look we for another? And in
the same hour He cured many of their infirmities and plagues, and of evil spirits;
and unto many that were blind He gave sight.
Then Jesus answering said unto them, Go your
way, and tell John what things ye have seen and
heard; how that the blind see, the lame walk, the
lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are
raised, to the poor the Gospel is preached.”St. Luke vii. 19-22.
Such was the whole life of our blessed Lord.
He was at all times encompassed by the multitude
of sick and poor, widowed and desolate, mourners
and penitents; all day long “there were many
coming and going;” and He and His disciples had
at times no leisure “so much as to eat.”St. Mark vi. 31.
They
came “from all cities and villages,” and “from all
the country round about,”—Jews, Samaritans, Syro-Phomicians, Greeks, and Gentiles; some to hear
His words, some to touch the hem of His garment,
some to ask Him to “speak the word only,” that
they might be made whole. He was the one only
and all-sufficient Healer and Consoler of the sorrows of all flesh. And He drew to Him all that
mourned in sins, in sicknesses, in desolation of
heart. They clung to Him as their true and only
Rest. In Him they found the answer to all their
perplexities, to all their troubles of heart; He was
the true solace of all their anguish. His words, His
touch, His very looks of pity, soothed and healed their woes in body and in spirit. He was
“a
strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in
his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow
from the heat, when the blast of the terrible ones” was “as a storm against the wall.” The prophecy
was fulfilled in Him: “A man shall be as an
hiding place from the wind, and a covert from
the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry place, as
the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.”Isaiah xxv. 4; xxxii. 2.
Such was His character and ministry; and such
is the character and ministry of His mystical body,
which is the Church. The anointing which was
upon Him flowed down from the Head to the members. It consecrated apostles, prophets, martyrs,
and saints: they were like Him, and prolonged
His ministry on earth not so much by imitation as
by union and incorporation with Him—by actual
participation of the spirit, sympathy, and mind of
Jesus Christ. So we find after His ascension.
The Holy Ghost came upon them in the day of
Pentecost, and thenceforward they opened their
work of compassion and of spiritual mercy by works
of healing and by words of consolation. It was
indeed the dispensation of the Comforter: the
Church was the almoner of the poor, the physician
of souls, the solace of the afflicted; it spoke peace,
forgiveness, ransom, purity, gladness of heart, to all. And after the descent of the Spirit, the Church
passed into that truest discipline of sympathy, the
experience of sorrow. It was led, as it were, into
the wilderness. In all the world it was tempted
of the devil; by allurements and by afflictions he
fought against it, making it thereby, and against
his intent, to be partaker of the sufferings of Christ.
Christians were sons of consolation, because they
were men of sorrows; they inherited the title and
the office of their Lord; they were called to “fill
up that which was behind of the afflictions of Christ
in the flesh, for His body’s sake, which is the
Church.”Col. i. 24.
It was this that gave to the apostolical
ministry such a divine and persuasive power. All
the world answered to its voice, because in all the
earth there were the same afflictions, and in the
Church the same power to heal. From the time
of the humiliation of the Son of God, sorrow, suffering, and pain became sacred
and holy. To the poor was given the first place in Christ’s earthly kingdom:
widows, orphans, and mourners were so many distinct orders, whom the Church
nourished and consoled; little children were among its chiefest cares. The
infirmities of human nature, old age and sickness, were more sacred still, and
were tended with a greater love; for besides natural compassion in its most
perfect form, the body of Christ was quickened by His divine sympathy.
By the anointing of the Holy Ghost, charity and
tenderness were shed abroad in the hearts of His
disciples; and, above all, they knew that, in ministering consolation to sorrow and suffering, they
were ministering to Him who in our nature had
made suffering and sorrow peculiarly His own. “Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of
these My brethren, ye did it unto Me.” This is
the true secret of the wonderful fact, that hospitals
for the sick, poor, aged, and strangers, homes for
the outcast and desolate, are peculiar to the Church
of Christ. Heathenism had none. The cold and
stately cities of the heathen world had no hospitals
or houses of mercy. The very name of hospital
was not in their language, because the grace of
charity was not in their nature. Neither had they
spiritual consolations, because the very idea of repentance and contrition was unknown. It was by
the mystery of the Incarnation, and the coming of
the Holy Ghost, by the regeneration of the faithful, by the knitting together of the members of
Christ’s mystical body, that the ministries of repentance and consolation were opened to mankind.
The whole visible system of hospitals, asylums,
almshouses, and the like, are the expression and
means of fulfilling the ends of mercy for which the
Messiah was anointed by the Spirit of the Lord. It is His commission which was opened in the
synagogue at Nazareth, extended throughout the
earth, and prolonged unto this day. This is the
peculiar note and office of the Catholic Church.
It was not the work of civil powers, nor could be.
Christian states have borrowed the principle, and
reproduced cold and remote imitations of catholic
charity; but the true test is, to look at political
governments before Christ came into the world.
Take Athens and Rome, the greatest and most
vaunted polities the world ever saw as detached
from Christianity. What did they for the alleviation of human sorrows in body or in spirit?
Refinement, and civilisation, and warlike greatness,
and high-sounding patriotism, and subtil philosophy, what did all these for the poor and miser
able? Sorry comforters are the men of this world
at their best estate. It may be very unpalatable
and offensive to statesmen and politicians to be
told, that they can do little or nothing more than
borrow grace and wisdom of the Church they despise and patronise. Yet so it is. Kingdoms and
states can retain the semblance and organisation
of charity only so long as the Church quickens
the mass of a people and the frame of government
with its life. As that declines or withdraws itself,
the distributions of state-charity dry up, and we
hear of famishing poor and spiritual destitution. So also with Christian sects. Whatsoever of
charity they have among them is borrowed of the
Church, and belongs to it. Their institutions, few
and scanty as they are, do but copy and imitate
the ministries of manifold charity through which
the mystical body of Christ consoles meek, bro
ken-hearted, and mourning spirits. And imitations as they are, they are short-lived—they die
out. It has ever been an axiom in the Church, “The branch cut off withers, the stream cut off
dries up.” At the outset, sects are always distinguished by a great profession of sympathy with the
spiritual and bodily sufferings of mankind. They
found themselves on the alleged neglect or inability of the Church to minister to the contrite and
afflicted. Their strength lies in their popularity,
in a moving affectionateness and forward profession of disinterested solicitude, and in stealing
away the hearts of the people. As Absalom said, “Oh that I were made judge in the land, that
every man which hath any suit or cause might
come unto me, and I would do him justice! And
it was so, that when any man came nigh to him
to do him obeisance, he put forth his hand, and
took him, and kissed him.”2 Samuel xv. 4, 5.
But this lasts only
for a time. The first zeal dies when the point
is gained; labour and care grow slack, and self-denying charity cold and scant; the system relaxes, and shews inherent weakness; makes many
attempts to rally, and for a time seems to succeed; but is always going down, losing its hold on men’s hearts, and with its
hold losing its power of unity and control. At last men forsake it, be cause the
deep yearnings of their hearts meet no sympathy; there is nothing to stay their
souls on. They are stirred, excited, and vexed by its soli citations and
upbraidings, its high-sounding words and cold affections; and in the end they
are repelled by its antipathies, and fall into irreligion,
or are drawn away by strong vital attractions of
fervent charity in the Church. So end all schisms;
sooner or later they cease to be. Howsoever long
they may simulate the notes of the Church, adopt
its language, and affect its charity, they sink by
mere exhaustion at last. “Every plant which My
heavenly Father hath not planted shall be rooted
up.”St. Matt. xv. 13.
1. What has been said will shew us the benefit of affliction
to the Church. It is most certain that it was never so like to its Divine Head
as when it suffered for His name’s sake. It was never so full of the Holy Ghost,
of humiliation, penitence, love, compassion, and unity, as in the ages of
persecution. It cost too much in those days to be a member of the Catholic Church for
any to venture upon it but such as were willing
to “lose their life for Christ’s sake and the gospel,” that they might “find it unto life eternal.”
They were knit together in a community of truth
and spirit, of sufferings and sorrows; and the true
sympathy of the members of one body ran through
out the whole. But when the tide began to turn,
and the world to shine upon the Church, it was
an easy and cheap thing to be a Christian; and
it grew to be a custom and a fashion, and multitudes of cold, worldly, unsympathising men mingled
themselves in the Church, and lowered its tone.
As it has grown prosperous, it has left off to sympathise with the same vivid compassion for the
sufferings of humanity. And yet through all ages
of the Church there has been a succession of saints
dead to the world, likened to Christ, bearing the
tokens of the Cross, disciplined in sorrow, full of
living sympathy with the sufferings of the poor
and penitent. Individual characters indeed have
come out with an energy and intensity like apostles
and martyrs. Sometimes they have kindled and,
for a while, have stirred whole churches to the
same fervent charity. But the secret of their perfection was still the same, that they were partakers
of their Master’s cross, and that by sorrow they
were endowed with the gift of compassion and of love. The grace of their regeneration had been
developed by the things that they had suffered.
Outward crosses helped their inward mortification, and wrought for their perfection. They were
endowed with a large measure of that anointing
whereby their Lord was consecrated to preach the
gospel to the poor, to heal the broken-hearted, and
to comfort them that mourn. It is most certain
that the Church has never been less in sympathy
with the inner world of spiritual sorrow than when
it has been outwardly prosperous. And from this
we may derive a great consolation. Whatsoever
adversity be upon us, it is manifestly a token not
only of God’s love, but of God’s purpose to make
us fitter for His work of mercy to the world. Just
as these latter days set in upon us, and the first
days seem to return in the last, just so may we
all the more believe that He is calling His Church
from earthly greatness, civil power, visible offices
of counsel and authority in states and kingdoms,
to its original separation from the world, to a life
of unity, and to higher spiritual gifts.
Surely we may say of the Church what St.
Paul says of individuals. If it be without chastisement, whereof all are partakers, then must it
be of a doubtful legitimacy, and its commission
to witness for God in the world of no certain war
rant. There is something to fear in the sight of a Church easy, peaceful, prosperous, well furnished
with goods, confident of its own purity and of its
own right judgment in all things. There is fear
that it is, or will become, unsympathising, self-regarding, delicate, unhumbled; that it will one day
hear from the mouth out of which goeth the sharp
two-edged sword: “Thou sayest, I am rich, and in
creased with goods, and have need of nothing; and
knowest not that thou art wretched, and miserable,
and poor, and blind, and naked. I counsel thee
to buy of me gold tried in the fire, that thou
mayest be rich; and white raiment, that thou
mayest be clothed, and that the shame of thy nakedness do not appear; and anoint thine eyes with
eyesalve, that thou mayest see. As many as I
love, I rebuke and chasten: be zealous therefore,
and repent.”Rev. iii. 17-19.
And this shews us how needless
are our popular alarms. Many good men, when
they see the outward system of the Church threatened, think the Church is in danger. Ought we
not rather to say, that then it is safe—safe from
surfeit and self-trusting, from hollowness and unreality; safe from false confidence, high thoughts
of itself, and from the pride which goeth before a
fall? Nay, even those greater chastisements and
dangers—the persevering attempts of sectarian bodies to alienate the hearts of
its people, and the loss of many of its members by estrangement and
perversion—even in these too there is safety. They
are rebukes of love to deepen the interior life of
the Church, to quicken a sense of compunction,
to work in it the grace of humiliation, to raise the
tone of its sympathy and the wisdom of its spiritual guides, to mature within it the gift of meekness, contrition, and spiritual mourning, and thereby
to bring out into energy and act the great note
of consolation and compassion which revealed the
true Messiah at His coming.
2. Another thing we may learn from what has
been said is, the design of God in afflicting the
several members of the Church. It is to make
them partakers of this true note of Christ’s mystical body. We are all by nature hard and unsympathising. By our regeneration we learn to
see the great truth of Christian compassion: we
receive the grace through which we may be perfected in love to the members of Christ: but it
lies dormant in us, until by the visitations of His
hand it is unfolded into contrition and spiritual
sorrow. It is God’s deepest way of teaching: and
what we learn by affliction is our truest learning. We are thereby brought to know things by
tasting their reality. The mystery of sin in us,
of which we are so unconscious, becomes a vivid
sense of personal unworthiness, and a source of deep humiliation and sorrow of heart. And these
things make men strangely gentle and tender to
others, full of pity and a softer tone. As they
are taught to be themselves meek and contrite,
so they learn also the exceeding fulness of the
consolation which is in God; and that secret of
consolation is shewn to them not for their own
sakes alone, but for the sake of others. They
are thereby constituted messengers of consolation,
channels of the sympathy of Christ. As St. Paul
says to the Corinthians, “Blessed be God, even
the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father
of mercies, and the God of all comfort; who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be
able to comfort them which are in any trouble by
the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted
of God. For as the sufferings of Christ abound
in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ.
And whether we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation, which is effectual in the
enduring of the same sufferings which we also
suffer: or whether we be comforted, it is for your
consolation and salvation.”2 Cor. i. 3-6.
It is God’s way of
dealing with us, to make those by whom He will
comfort others, first to go themselves through the
darkness and realities of the world of sorrow. Buoyancy, high spirits, untamed
vigour, great health of body, inexperience of the changes of
life, make even the most amiable of men unapt to
console the suffering and sorrowful. They cannot
enter into the depth and reality of their trials.
They are out of place in sick-rooms. Houses of
mourning are not their natural home. With the
kindest intentions and most sincere desire to minister comfort, they do not know what to say, or
how to address themselves to the offices of consolation. There is an admonition in the fact, that our
blessed Lord was tempted before He began His
ministry. It was the discipline, if we may so speak,
of His perfect sympathy. So is it with His servants. And this goes far to explain the trials
which fall chiefly on the most favoured of His
members; on those that partake His office of love;
on those who minister to His mystical body.
Therefore, whatsoever trial comes upon us, let
us not shrink from it, nor lose any part of the full
lesson of humiliation which it is sent to teach.
Let us fully give ourselves to it, to suffer all it has
to lay on us. There are, it may be, deeper things
to be known of our own sinfulness than we can
know without the teaching of some special chastisements. By them we learn to be severe to none but
to ourselves; to be gentle to the sins of others, as
He that breaks not the bruised reed, while we are
unsparing to our own. It is by the knowledge that we are frail,
and that we dwell on the very brink of great falls, if the grace of God should
be for a moment withdrawn; by this we learn to pity them that are fallen, “to
heal the broken-hearted,” “to set at liberty them that are bruised.” If He
should deal with us as we deal with each other, who should stand in His sight?
What unfair constructions, what hard views of the falls and failings, what hasty
censures and unmerciful interpretations of other men do we indulge in! If we
were true penitents; if we had learned the great lesson of humiliation; if we
knew how to say with St. Paul, “For this cause I obtained mercy, that in me
first Jesus Christ might shew forth all longsuffering, for a pattern to them
which should here after believe on Him to life everlasting;”1 Tim. i. 16.
then we
should learn to be gentle in eye, hand, and heart,
towards the sins and humiliations of our brethren.
For this reason He sometimes lets us fall, to break
our harsh, unsympathising nature, and puts on us
a yoke of secret shame, which makes us for ever to
look with tenderness and compunction on the sins
of others.
So likewise in the sorrows of sickness or bereavement. None
know the unspeakable depth of such wounds but they who have endured them. It is
all in vain to try to imagine their keen and penetrating anguish; how they make the whole
soul faint, and the whole heart sick. Sorrow is
a season of peculiar temptations; and there are
very few who do not yield to waywardness, selfishness, or irritation, when the affliction is upon them.
How deeply do they resent the want of vivid sympathy in others! What thoughts
and feelings of unkindness find their way into wounded hearts, and make all
their wounds tenfold more piercing!
If we truly knew what sorrow is, we should
count it a high calling to be allowed to minister
the least word of consolation to the afflicted.
Therefore if we be called to suffer, let us under
stand it to be a call to a ministry of healing. God
is setting us apart to a sort of pastoral office, to the
care of the sick of His flock. There is a hidden
ministry which works in perfect harmony with the
orders of His Church; a ministry of secret comfort, diffusing itself by the
power of sympathy and prayer. Within His visible Church are many companies of sorrow, many that weep alone, a fellowship of secret mourners; and to them the contrite
and humbled are perpetually ministering, shed
ding peace, often unawares. Things that they
have learned in seasons of affliction, long-pondered thoughts, realities learned by suffering, perceptions of God’s love and presence,—all these are
put in trust with them for the consolation of His elect. They know
not oftentimes to whom they speak. Perhaps they have never seen them, nor ever
shall. Unknown to each other, they are knit in bonds higher than all ties of
blood; they are joined and constituted in that higher unity which is the order
of Christ’s kingdom. When all the relations of this lower life shall be
dissolved, the bonds of their heavenly kindred shall be revealed. Mourners and
comforters shall meet at last in the holy city. “And God shall wipe away all
tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor
crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed
away.”Rev. xxi. 4.
SERMON XII.
THE HOLINESS OF COMMON LIFE.
ST. MARK vi. 3.
“Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James,
and Joses, and of Juda, and Simon? and are not His sisters
here with us? And they were offended at Him.”
ST. MATTHEW, in relating the same event, tells us
that they said, “Is not this the carpenter’s son?”
Such was the repute in which He was held in
His own country, where we should have thought
that an awe would have rested upon the hearts
of all; and that His perfect meekness would have
won their love. “When He was come into His
own country, He taught them in their synagogue,
insomuch that they were astonished, and said,
Whence hath this man this wisdom, and these
mighty works? . . . . And they were offended in
Him. But Jesus said unto them, A prophet is
not without honour save in his own country, and in his own house. And He did not many mighty
works there, because of their unbelief.”St. Matt. xiii. 54-57.
Now it
cannot but appear very strange, that our Lord
Jesus Christ should have been so like to other
men that they should not have discovered Him to
be something greater than themselves. We should
have thought that the events attending first the
annunciation, then His birth, the revelations to
the shepherds and to the wise men, the warnings
of God to Joseph, should have in some way come
abroad, and invested the Child Jesus with awe
and mystery; or, if these things were kept secret,
yet we should have thought that there must have
been in His very gestures and words some indications which should have made people expect from
Him something more than from other men. Yet
it would appear that for thirty years He lay
hid, living among them unheeded, speaking and
acting in the common way of men, so that He
passed for the carpenter’s son, Himself a carpenter, dwelling among His kinsmen, brethren and
sisters as they are here called. They treated Him
as one of themselves. Not only in the Temple at
Jerusalem, where He might be unknown, did they
ask, “How knoweth this man letters, having never
learned?”St. John vii. 15.
but here, in His own city, they asked,
in surprise and incredulity, “Whence hath this man this wisdom?” From all this it would seem
plain, that our blessed Redeemer did not greatly
differ, in what may be called His private life, from
those about Him; that He dwelt under the roof of
Joseph and Mary, in childhood subject to them, in
manhood serving them with a perfect filial duty, in
plainness, poverty, retirement. He, in whom dwelt
the fulness of the Godhead bodily, the brightness
of His Father’s glory, and the express image of
His Person, lay so concealed in the paths of ordinary life, that His own townsmen knew Him
only as the carpenter, as an unnoted member of
Joseph’s household.
Now there are some very important practical
truths to be drawn from this fact: truths full
both of comfort and of instruction to many kinds
of people. What is more common than to hear
people excusing themselves from the obligation of
leading a devout life, on the plea that they are
compelled to mix with the world? Others, again,
who earnestly desire to keep themselves unspotted
from the world, are exceedingly distressed at the
distractions and hindrances of society. Some think
that all high counsels of devotion are for solitaries,
or persons whom God has called out of the tumult
of the world to serve Him in the shelter of sorrow,
sickness, or retirement. They give up the very
thought of aiming at higher attainments; they call them visionary, unpractical, impossible. And
even those who earnestly strive to live above the
context of life by which they are surrounded, are
tempted to think that, if they would live nearer
to God, they must abandon life and its manifold
exactions.
We may learn, then, from this view of our Lord’s example:
1. First, that the holiest of men may to all outward eyes
appear exactly like other people. For in what does holiness consist but in a due
fulfilment of the relative duties of our state in life, and in spiritual
fellowship with God?
Now the relative duties of life are universal.
Every man has his own. There is nothing peculiar but that which belongs to each man’s peculiar
station, and that station explains away the peculiarity of his acts and ways. Whatever we are,
high or lowly, learned or unlearned, married or
single, in a full house or alone, charged with many
affairs or dwelling in quietness, we have our daily
round of work, our duties of affection, obedience,
love, mercy, industry, and the like; and that which
makes one man to differ from another is not so
much what things he does, as his manner of doing
them. Two men, the most opposite in character,
may dwell side by side, and do the very same daily
acts, but in the sight of God be as far apart as light and darkness. Saints and sinners may alike
fulfil the visible acts of their several callings in
life; but with what diversity of motives, with what
contradiction of aims, with what opposite tempers,
purposes, affections of heart! The very same round
of acts may be to one man the subject-matter of
a holy life, to another the occasion of habitual
offences. At all events, the habit of life in each
is ostensibly the same, and there is nothing peculiar
or remarkable in those things in which sinners and
saints alike partake. The commonplace familiar
aspect of every-day life draws a veil over the inward
posture and actings of the mind, as over the holiness of our Lord. And if in these things holy men
are not outwardly distinguishable from others, they
are still less so in the spiritual fellowship which
is between themselves and God. Into this no eye
but that which seeth in secret can enter. No
man can say what passes in the closet when the
door is shut; in secret meditations at eventide;
in nightly vigils; in wakings before the morning-watch; in days when the spirit goes softly before
God, with fasting, and compunction, and tears
which flow inwardly upon the soul.
2. Again: we may learn, what, indeed, is implied though not expressed in the text, that true
holiness is not made up of extraordinary acts.
We may say in this as the Apostle asked of the Church in Corinth: “Are all apostles? are all
prophets? are all teachers? are all workers of miracles? have all the gifts of healing? do all speak
with tongues? do all interpret?”1 Cor. xii. 29, 30.
Although we
know, indeed, and in cooler and clearer moments
acknowledge, that it is not only those who are called
of God to great and emphatic works of faith and
charity, that are truly devout; yet we are some
how often tempted to overstep the lines which are
drawn along our ordinary path. This is especially
true of persons at the outset of a religious life, or
in the first awakening of repentance, or under the
deep thrilling impressions of God’s presence in
sorrows or afflictions. We are tempted to give
way to excited feelings, to exaggerated words, to
unnecessary and almost ostentatious acts; and that
with no desire to be seen of men, and to have our
miserable reward in this world, but because we
fancy that common things do not give scope enough
for a devoted life; that a wider field, and broader
lines, and bolder strokes, are needed.
And this no doubt is the secret of many grave
and sometimes irremediable mistakes. Sometimes?
under the belief that in an ordinary life of duty
they could not serve God with devotion, men have
left their plain path of duty, and committed themselves suddenly to holy orders; or they have made
sacrifices of which they have afterwards repented;
or bound themselves by vows which have turned to
yokes and snares; or, like the foolish builder, have
committed themselves to public professions, which
they have afterwards shamefully abandoned. Now
what is all this, but the mistake that holiness is
to be attained more easily by going out of our ordinary path than by abiding in it? But if there
be any thing true, it is this: that, for the greater
part of men, the most favourable discipline of holiness will be found exactly to coincide with the
ordinary path of duty; and that it will be most
surely promoted by repressing the wanderings of
imagination, in which we frame to ourselves states
of life and habits of devotion remote from our actual lot, and by spending all our strength in those
things, great or small, pleasing or unpalatable,
which belong to our calling and position.
3. And, once more, we may learn, that any
man, whatsoever be his outward circumstances of
life, may reach to any the highest point of devotion.
I do not say that all states of life are equally favourable; far from it; but that outward circumstances are only hindrances, not absolute prohibitions. It is most true, that they who are permitted
by the Providence of God to withdraw from worldly
employments, to wait at His altar, to be content
with food and raiment, to live lives of self-denial, in works of love and spiritual mercy, being
themselves without carefulness, and disburdened of the
many things which cumber other Christians; that
is, in one word, who are permitted to choose with
Mary that “one thing needful,” “that good part
which shall not be taken away from” them; most
true it is, that such persons may, and do, for the
most part, more surely and deeply than others,
perfect in their souls the work of humiliation, penitence, and devotion.
But this is a lot not given to all. And it
is most certain, that for those who are not called
from the duties of the world and the cares of
life, the path in which God is pleased to lead
them must be the best and safest. Nay, one
among the wisest of the Church’s early teachersS. Clem. Alex. Strom. vii. 874.
tells us that the most perfect man is he
who, in the midst of the charges, and cares,
and relations of life and home, yet attends upon
the Lord without distraction. Such a way of
life will indeed require greater spiritual strength.
For worldly cares weigh down the soul, and. entangle it in manifold obstructions. To be in the
world, and yet dead to it, is the highest reach of
faith.
But there is no need for the great multitude
of Christians to weigh these states in a balance against each other. This at least is most certain,
and makes all such comparisons unprofitable—I
mean, that there is hardly one of us whose out
ward circumstances in life do not admit of a far
higher reach of devotion than we actually attain.
We repine at the obstructions of our outward lot,
as if they were the cause of our wandering thoughts,
careless hearts, selfish wishes, inattentive prayers, unchastened tempers, languid affections. We think
we should do better in some other condition, under
some other circumstances, with somewhat less of
ordinary life, and somewhat more of uncommon
events and practices. And yet the hindrance is
not from without but within us. It is not only in
the household, or in the market-place, or at the
seat of custom, or in the crowd of men, that this,
which makes our religious character imperfect,
cleaves to us, and defeats our washes and intentions. We should carry it with us into a cell.
It would lower the tone of our devotions in a
solitude, or even at the foot of the altar: for
what is it but the want of fervour and perseverance , a lack of inward force and of spiritual affections? What do the examples of Holy Scripture
teach us? They shew us that those who have
been called to serve God out of the world, so to
speak, are few; and that they who have served
Him in the world are the multitude of His saints. Samuel was brought up in the temple;
Elijah dwelt in Carmel; Elisha in the school of
the prophets; John Baptist in the wilderness;
the Apostles forsook all for Christ’s sake and the
Gospel: but Enoch walked with God, and had
sons and daughters; Abraham had great possessions; Joseph governed Egypt; Moses was king
in Jeshurun;Deut. xxxiii. 5.
Jeremiah dwelt in a royal court;
Daniel was third ruler in the kingdom of Babylon; Nehemiah was prince and governor in Jerusalem.
So in all ages the saints of the Church have
been mingled in all the duties and toils of life,
until age or the events of Providence set them free.
There was nothing uncommon about most of them
but their holiness. Their very lot in life ministered
to them occasions of obedience and humiliation.
They sought God fervently in the turmoil of
homes and armies, of camps and courts; and He
revealed Himself to them in love, and became the
centre about which they moved, and the rest of all
their affections.
There is no reason why we should not likewise
live unto God, whatsoever be our trade, labour,
profession, or state. A poor mother may live after
the example of the Blessed Virgin in lowliness and
thoughtful care, pondering in her heart, watching over her children, and fostering them for God,
leading them up to His temple, teaching them betimes to be about their heavenly Father’s business.
Children may grow up in affection, patience, gentleness, and uniform obedience, like our Lord. A
poor labouring man may live by the sweat of his
face, tilling the earth, or working with the tools of
his craft, as “the Carpenter” at His toil, and yet
have his “life hid with Christ in God.” States
men, merchants, lawyers, soldiers, all they who “maintain the state of the world,” may reach to
any height of Christian devotion. There is no
limit to their advance, except in the measure of
their own energy, zeal, self-discipline, and purity
of heart.
What has been said may suggest many thought! of comfort in the
present state of the Church among us. It cannot be denied that the visible marks
of sanctity are but faintly seen. The world has out grown the Church, and left
its character and impressions every where. In the whole civil and social state,
in public and private life, in our sciences of government and schemes of
civilisation, in our institutions, undertakings, and usages, that which meets us
every where is the world, its
powers, wisdom, self-trusting, its softness, polish,
and refinement. The notes of the Church are suppressed and seldom seen: the counsels, precepts, laws of holy living, the public solemnities of a
visible religion, are well nigh withdrawn from our
personal, domestic, and political life. Where are
the high days of the Church’s joy, as in the former
days of old? The very consolations of Holy Scripture have become unmeaning to us. Who knows
what is promised when it is said, “Ye shall have
a song, as in the night when a holy solemnity is
kept; and gladness of heart, as when one goeth
with a pipe to come into the mountain of the
Lord, to the mighty One of Israel?”Isaiah xxx. 29.
Where are
our feasts of Christian joy? Chilled off into a
formality, which to the multitude is tame, wearisome, and inexpressive; or the mercies of God are
suffered to pass without any token of acknowledgment. And for our public fasts, even Nineveh shall
rise up in the judgment and condemn us. “The
people of Nineveh believed God, and proclaimed
a fast, and put on sackcloth, from the greatest of
them even to the least of them. For word came
unto the king of Nineveh, and he arose from his
throne, and he laid his robe from him, and covered
him with sackcloth, and sat in ashes. And he
caused it to be proclaimed and published through
Nineveh by the decree of the king and his nobles,
saying, Let neither man nor beast, herd nor flock,
taste any thing; let them not feed, nor drink water: but let man and beast be covered with
sackcloth, and cry mightily unto God.”Jonah iii. 5-8.
But we
have come to partake in great public wrongs, and
can bear to be smitten by awful public chastisements, without confession or humiliation. And,
moreover, those visible institutions and privileged
rules of life by which repentance, devotion, and
charity manifested themselves in other days, are
gone. The surface of religion among us is a monotonous plain, unbroken by variety; marked by
few visible features of devotion, standing out in
relief from the level of ordinary life.
We may hope, indeed, that these things are the
excess of a recoil from a popular system, which may
have been more visible than real; and that the
secrecy of private devotion is a sensitive and not
unwise retirement, into which men are provoked by
the coarse and unfeeling exhibition of fanatical and
self-conscious professors. Let us hope that there is
vet a severe reality at heart, that men have been taught to apprehend with an intense and even over
strained interpretation the words of our Lord in
the midst of an ostentatious and obtrusive religious
profession: “Take heed that ye do not your alms
before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have
no reward of your Father which is in heaven.
Therefore when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the
synagogues and in the streets, that they may have
glory of men. Verily I say unto you, They have
their reward. But when thou doest alms, let not
thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth: that
thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which
seeth in secret, Himself shall reward thee openly.
And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the
hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the
synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that
they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you,
They have their reward. But thou, when thou
prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast
shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret;
and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly. . . . . Moreover when ye fast, be not, as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance: for they
disfigure their faces, that they may appear unto
men to fast. Verily I say unto you, They have
their reward. But thou, when thou fastest, anoint
thine head, and wash thy face; that thou appear
not unto men to fast, but unto thy Father which
is in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret
shall reward thee openly.”St. Matt. vi. 1-6, 16-18.
It is, I think, certainly
true, that what the confusions and worldliness of
these latter days have made inevitable, these words
have been understood even to enjoin; and we may therefore take great comfort in the thought, that
under the cold, naked exterior of our public religion, and the reserve of private habits, there does
exist a deep and severe reality of spiritual life;
that under the most unlikely and adverse appearance there lies hidden a real work of mortification.
We read even of a king of Israel, “that he rent
his clothes; and he passed by upon the wall, and
the people looked, and, behold, he had sackcloth
within upon his flesh.”2 Kings vi. 30.
Let us hope that God,
who weigheth the spirits, does discern the deep
moving of the inmost heart, the tokens of the cross,
the mind of Christ, in those who, to us, seem no
more than just, temperate, amiable, and gentle;
and that many who appear to be drifting to and fro
on the waterflood, are held by “an anchor of the
soul, sure and stedfast, and which entereth into
that within the veil.”Heb. vi. 19.
God only knows. We may
perhaps have spoken, and even dwelt, with men who
had in them the mind of apostles and martyrs.
We have known them only by their outward aspect,
as they who said in His own country, “Is not this
the carpenter?”
Let us hope this, I say, of others: but we must
do more than hope it of ourselves; here there can
be no mistaking. We are within the closet even
when the door is shut. What is seen by our Father in secret is not hidden from us. Whether or
no there be, under our every-day life, the devotion
of a saintly mind, can be no matter of doubt to
those who desire to know themselves. It is plain,
from what has been said, that if it be not so with
us, the fault is not in our outward state, nor in its
circumstances, but in ourselves. We may therefore rest assured, that the duties of the day and
fellowship with God are enough to lead us on to
any measure of Christian perfection. But these
must not be separated. It is impossible for us to
make the duties of our lot minister to our sanctification without a habit of devout fellowship with
God. This is the spring of all our life, and the
strength of it. It is prayer, meditation, and converse with God, that refreshes, restores, and renews
the temper of our minds, at all times, under all
trials, after all conflicts with the world, when our
own carnal will and frailty has betrayed us to our
fall, and breaches have been made in our most
stedfast resolutions. By this contact with the world
unseen we receive continual accesses of strength.
The counter- working of the world is thereby held
in check. As our day, so is our strength. With
out this healing and refreshing of spirit, duties
grow to be burdens, the events of life chafe our
temper, employments lower the tone of our minds,
and we become fretful, irritable, and impatient. Our outward circumstances become provocations
and offences. A busy life, or one that is full of
this world’s duties and gifts, needs much devotion to sanctify it. The less directly our outward
lot disposes us towards inward holiness, the more
need have we of recollection, self-chastisement, and
prayer. Without these we shall never be able to
walk with circumspection, in gentleness, sincerity,
pureness, and love. Our hidden life with God is
the very soul of our spiritual being in our own home,
in the church, and in the world.
And so also, on the other hand, it is impossible for us to
live in fellowship with God without holiness in all the relative duties of life.
These things act and react on each other. Without a diligent and faithful
obedience to the calls and claims of others upon us, our religious profession is
simply dead. To disobey conscience when it points to relative duties irritates
the whole temper, and quenches the first beginnings of devotion. We cannot go
from strife, breaches, and angry words, to God. Selfishness, an imperious will,
want of sympathy with the sufferings and sorrows of other men, neglect of
charitable offices, suspicions, hard censures of those with whom our lot is
cast, will miserably darken our own hearts and hide the face of God from us. It
is mere folly to go from a breach of the second great commandment to attempt
the fulfilment of the first. When a man is ill at ease with others, he is sure
to be so with God. That much-abused proverb is most true, “Charity begins at
home.” It is but Pharisaism and self-delusion for a man that is “a lion in his
house and frantic among his servants”Ecclus. iv. 30.
to make profession of
prayer and fellowship with the Lamb of God.
Let this, then, be our token. Let us whose lot
is cast in these latter times, when the Church has
once more become almost hidden in the world, be
of the holy fellowship of Him who to the eyes of
men was only the carpenter, but in the eyes of God
was the very Christ. Let us look well to our daily
duties. The least of them is a wholesome discipline of humiliation: if, indeed, any thing can be
little which may be done for God. If we were
worthy of greater things, He would call us: if He
do not, He bids us to know ourselves better, to
mortify vanity and high thoughts of our own powers
to do Him service. Every state has its peculiar
graces. They who are blessed with full homes and
many friends are called to goodness, mercy, long-suffering, tender affection towards the burdened
and afflicted. The Jews would have no man to be
a judge but one that had children, that he might
know how to shew mercy as a father. There is a
discipline of humanity in the cares and burdens of life which mellows the hearts of the just. Joseph
is their type and example. Others are otherwise
led and disposed of, and are thereby called to toil,
hardness, deadness to self, patience, humiliation;
to be content with God alone; to have charity to God’s elect, boldness for the
truth, suffering for the Church, and to receive in the “body the marks of the
Lord Jesus.”
SERMON XIII.
THE WORLD WE HAVE RENOUNCED.
ST. JOHN xv. 18, 19.
“If the world hate you, ye know that it hated Me before it hated
you. If ye were of the world, the world would love his own: but because ye are
not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world
hateth you.”
PERHAPS there is no word more commonly in our
mouths than ‘the world;’ and yet hardly any to
which we attach less clear and certain meaning. Indeed, the sense intended by it varies according to the
character of the person that uses it. Some people
denounce the world as unmixed evil; some say it is
for the most part good, or at least innocent; some
profess to see its deceitful workings every where;
some will see them no where: some make their
religion to consist in a separation from the world;
some think the field of their religious duty is in the
world: in a word, there is little or no agreement
or certainty but in this, that there is such a power
and reality as the world, and that it is of great moment to us to know what it is. Let us therefore
endeavour to come at something better than these
floating notions about it.
Our Lord here says to the apostles, that the
world hated Him, and would hate them; and also,
that they were not of the world, because He had
chosen and taken them out of it.
Now to this it is sometimes said, that our Lord
spoke of the unenlightened world before and at His
coming, of the world by which He was rejected
and crucified; that since He overcame sin and
death, and cast out the prince of this world, it
has been won to Himself; that now it is the
Christian world. And again, that these words
are spoken to the apostles, not to us; to those
who had to encounter the world while unconverted,
and by their words and sufferings to turn it to
God: that they were indeed taken out of it, all
unchanged as it was then; but that when the
world became Christian, our place was no longer
out of it, but in it; and it was no longer opposed
to Christ and His servants, but united to them; so
that it is fanaticism, or spiritual pride, or a blind
and shallow view, to speak of the world we see in
the words spoken by our Lord of the world then;
and that it savours of some great personal faults, if
we set ourselves in opposition to it, and bring ourselves under its censure and dislike. It is said with much force, that the ages of polytheism and idolatry, of atheistical philosophy and sophistical schools,
of impure and turbulent rites, lascivious and
bloody spectacles in the theatres and the circus;
of public tyranny, open political corruption, and
all that complex spirit of lordly and daring enmity
against God, which reigned in and through these
things, has been cast out of Christendom; that it
has been exorcised, and the unclean presence is gone
out of it; that it now sits at Christ’s feet clothed
and in its right mind. We are bid to look at the
visible Church throughout the world; at the holiness of saints, the devotion of princes, the purity of
tribunals, the wisdom of legislatures, the multiplication of Christian states, the stedfast order of nations, their internal peace, the safety of the weak,
the consolations of the poor, the reign of right and
truth in all dealings of men, the sanctity of homes,
and the high perfection of private life; the public honour of religion, the crowds that fill the
churches and kneel at the altars of Christ. Can
it be said that all this is the antagonist of Christ;
that this is the world that hates Him, and out of
which He has chosen you? Is not this to speak
evil of His own work, and to set yourselves against
Him in it? to slight His presence in turning from
it, and to commit a kind of schism in separating
from it? No one can deny that there is much force in this; and many people who desire to walk
in the way of perfection are perplexed by it: for
after all, it seems strange and unlikely to them that
the world which they renounced in their baptism
should be the world at Christ’s coming—the world
before Constantine—a thing of history. It was a
safe vow, which we could never be tempted to break,
and no hard thing to renounce that by which we
could never be assailed. But this will not satisfy
any earnest conscience. We must find, therefore,
some better and fuller view; and for this purpose
we shall do best to begin at the beginning of this
entangled subject.
In its original sense, the world is altogether
good. By the work and will of God it is all sinless and pure. “The earth and the world is the
Lord’s.”Ps. xxiv. 1.
It means no more than the creation of
God. It is only in its second intention that the
world has an evil sense; but that sense is its prevailing and its true one. The first intention of it
is cancelled for awhile, until the day of the restitution of all things.
In the second sense the world is the creation of
God as it is possessed by sin and death. So subtil
and far-spreading is the original sin of man, that
no living soul is without a taint. The living powers
of the first man fell under the bias of evil, and the same has more or less swayed every one since born
into the world. There is no doubt that sin be
comes more complex and energetic as time goes on,—that there is in the character of the world a law
of deterioration, like that which we see in the character of individuals. The original sin was not a
measured quantity, so to speak, of evil, which, like
a hereditary disease, might exhaust itself in the
course of two or three descents. Every several
generation renewed it afresh; every several man
reproduced it, and sustained the tradition of evil
by example, habit, and license; it was perpetuated
in races, in nations, in families; by custom, usage,
and law. And what is this great tradition of
human thought and will, action and imagination,
with all its illusions, misjudgments, indulgences,
and abuses of God’s creatures, but the world? We
mean by it something external to our minds, and
yet not identical with the creation of God; some
thing which has thrust itself between it and us;
something parasitical, which has fastened upon all
God’s works, and has wound itself into its inmost
action, and into its very being. For instance,
Enoch, as we are told, was born into an idolatrous
race: he found himself surrounded by a mighty
delusion, which had grown up out of no one mind,
or people, or age; it was the accumulated error of
centuries, in which man had been forgetting God. And this great lie offered itself to him as a truth
and a reality. It forced itself upon him with all
the presumption of an established and long-admitted doctrine.
So, again, in the case of Abraham, until God
called him out from his kindred, who “served other
gods beyond the flood;” and so, likewise, with
those born in the times of the Judges, and in the
times of the last kings of Judah, when the abominations of the Gentiles had filled the inmost chambers of Jerusalem. In all these there was a system of belief and practice, which spread corruption throughout the public and private life of the
Jews; and that system was the worship and the
kingdom of the God of this world, the great heathen tradition of mankind which had re-entered
the precincts of Israel. And what makes this the
more striking is, that they were specially God’s elect. Abraham was chosen out of this world, and
his children in him. Separation from the world
was the very law of their existence as God’s people.
The world was, in all truth, external to the family
of Abraham. In one sense it may be said that they “were not of the world,” and that God had chosen
them “out of the world.” And this continued to
be true of them to the very last, through their captivity, and their restoration, down to the time of
Christ’s coming. They were strictly an elect people; and around them lay the world, out of which
they were taken and set apart.
And yet it was specially out of this very people
that our Lord chose His apostles. It was of that
very people that He said, “If the world hate you,
ye know it hated Me before it hated you.” This
was not said of Moabites or Idumaeans, but of Israelites. All elect and separate as they were, they
were the world still; and they hated Christ, and
crucified the Lord of glory. And it was of this
election of His apostles from among God’s people
Israel that He said, “If ye were of the world, the
world would love his own; but because ye are not
of the world, but I have chosen you out of the
world, therefore the world hateth you.” Now, what
does this mean, but that the world was in the very
heart of Jerusalem—in its Priests, in its Levites,
in its Scribes, in its Elders, in Sadducees, Pharisees, Herodians; in its ecclesiastical order, in its
civil state, in its gates, at its altars, in the midst
of the temple, in its rulers houses, in its feasts and
fasts, in the council and in the sanhedrim, in all
houses, in all chambers, in all hearts: that the
great world-wide tradition of lust, pride, unbelief,
selfishness, will-worship, prejudice, blindness, with
all its vanities, pomps, glitter, and lies, was spread
like a net over the whole face of the land? They
had been born, as Abraham and Enoch, into the midst of an age at enmity with God, The world
had interwoven itself with the whole framework
of national and individual life; and between the
presence of God and the conscience of man had
hung a film, ever-shifting and many-coloured, which
tinged and distorted all things. The great tradition of the fall weighed upon the whole order of
life in Galilee and Judea. The revelation of God
was darkened by the grossness of their spiritual
state. The work of grace which God had wrought
by prophets and seers, and all the forerunning
tokens and types, which should have prepared them
for the Son of God, for His sorrows, and for His
spiritual kingdom, were all misread by their eyes
of flesh. When they read Moses and the prophets,
the world was their expositor. As they lusted,
so they believed. Therefore they eat and drank,
planted and builded, married and gave in marriage,
disputed in their synagogues, went to law with the
poor, devoured the houses of widows and the bread
of orphans, prayed in public, fasted visibly, gave
alms with observation. This was the world out of
which Christ elected His apostles,—the state of
fleshly indulgence, dull infidelity, confident profession, fatal non-expectation of the day of His coming.
He first broke up the way through, this bond
age of death, and called them to follow Him forth
into the realities of God’s kingdom. All that they were born into they shook from them, and stood
afar off, as from a thing under a curse.
The world, then, out of which they were taken,
was not the Gentile world, but the disobedience of
the visible Church.
We have here a clue which will lead us safely
out of this question.
1. First, it is true to distinguish between the
Church and the world, as between things antagonist and irreconcilable: for the Son of God, by
His incarnation and atonement, and by the calling
and mission of His apostles, has founded and built
up in the earth a visible kingdom, which has no
other Head but Him alone. That visible kingdom is so taken out of the world, that a man must
either be in it or out of it; and must, therefore,
be either in the Church or in the world. In the
visible kingdom of Christ are all the graces and
promises of life; in the world are the powers and
traditions of death. We know of no revealed salvation out of that visible kingdom; we can point
to no other way to life. There is but one Saviour,
one Mediator, one Sacrifice for the sin of the world;
one baptism for the remission of sins; one rule
of faith; one law of holiness. “We are of God,”
writes St. John, “and the whole world lieth in
wickedness.”1 St. John v. 19.
“I have manifested Thy name,” saith our Lord, “unto the men which Thou gavest
Me out of the world: Thine they were, and Thou
gavest them Me; and they have kept Thy word.
. . . I pray for them: I pray not for the world,
hut for them which Thou hast given Me; for they are Thine. . . . . I have given them Thy word; and the world hath hated them, because they are
not of the world, even as I am not of the world.
I pray not that Thou shouldest take them out of
the world, but that Thou shouldest keep them from
the evil. They are not of the world, even as I
am not of the world.”St. John xvii. 6, 9, 14-16, 20, 21.
He made His Church so
separate and visibly distinct from the world, that
it became a broad and enduring witness of His
advent, and of His divine mission to mankind. “Neither pray I for these alone, but for them also
which shall believe on Me through their word;”
that is, for the catholic Church to the world’s end: “that they all may be one; as Thou, Father, art
in Me, and I in Thee, that they also may be one
in Us: that the world may believe that Thou hast
sent Me.” It is needless to multiply quotations
in a thing so plain. It is certain that, in a very
true, deep, and ineffaceable sense, the Church is
so taken out of the world as to be absolutely separate from it, and opposed to it. It is so by the
gifts of election and regeneration; by the graces of righteousness, illumination, and sanctity; by the
laws, precepts, counsels of obedience; by the traditions, sacraments, and institutions of God. And
this is a separation and distinctness not simply external or relative, as of things ceremonially consecrated; though even so, it would be no less actual;
but it is parted from the world as a leavened mass
from a mass unleavened—as a field in which seed
has been sown, from a field lying fallow; that is,
by the unseen presence of Christ, the inward endowments and virtual possession of righteousness
and of immortal life. It is, therefore, no less than
a covert denial of the great mystery of the regeneration, to confound this separation and opposition
between the Church and, the world; and it has
been commonly found, that wheresoever faith in the
sovereign grace of God to us in our baptism has
declined, there the distinction between the Church
and the world has been confounded, and finally
lost. In this sense, then, they that are of the
world are not of the Church, and they that are of
the Church are not of the world. There can be
no real fellowship or intercourse between those that
are of the body of Christ and those that are not.
The only intercourse the Church has ever held
with the heathen has been either such as St. Paul
permitted to the Christians in Corinth, who might
still maintain the relations of outward kindliness with unbelievers, or direct missions for the conversion of nations to the faith. There could be
no closer fellowship; for as the world had its own
complex scheme of political, social, and personal
life, so had the Church, over and above its positive
institutions, a whole moral character, founded on
precepts and counsels both of obedience and devotion altogether separate and distinct. The
communion of saints could no way blend with the fellowship of the impure. It had no unity with the
violent, covetous, and unholy, or of those who believed in nothing unseen. The personal habits of
the Christian, aiming at the example of the Son
of God, could in no way adjust themselves to the
habits of the heathen. And this St. Paul intends
in his counsels about the marriage of Christians.
There was a moral and formal contrariety between
the rules of conduct and aim on both sides, which
held the Church and the world apart.
2. But farther, it is no less true to say, that the
world, which in the beginning was visibly without
the Church, is now invisibly within it. So long
as the world was heathen, it warred against the
Church in bitter and relentless persecutions. The
two great traditions—the one of God, the other of
the world, the powers of the regeneration and of the
fall—kept their own integrity by contradiction and
perpetual conflict. The Church stood alone—a kingdom ordained of God, having her own princes
and thrones, her own judges and tribunals, her
own laws and equity, her own public customs and
private economy of life. All these ran clear from
a source freshly opened, and in a channel newly
sunk to preserve their purity. The streams of the
world had not as yet fallen into the river of God:
its waters were transparent still. It was when the
conversion of individuals drew after it, at last, the
whole civil state; when the secular powers, with all
their courts, pomps, institutions, laws, judicatures,
and the entire political order of the world, came
into the precinct of the Church; then it was that
the great tradition, as I have said, of human
thought, passion, belief, prejudice, and custom,
mingled itself with the unwritten usages of the
Church. I am far from saying this with the intention of those who declaim against those ages, and
sit in judgment on the Church. All this seems to
imply a shortsighted and irrelevant habit of mind.
Without doubt it was as much the design of God
that the Church should possess itself of the empire
of the world, as that Israel should possess itself of
a fixed habitation in the land of Canaan, and that
David’s throne should be set up in Jerusalem. The
typical or temporal import of this is no objection.
It was the design of Heaven that the Church
should overspread mankind, and, like the leaven, work mysteriously in the whole world. Neither
is it any objection to say, that the Church has
thereby lost in purity or devotion, and the like. It
is enough that it is doing God’s behests, grappling
with the world in its own precincts, and in its
seats of power and pride. Whatever be the apparent tide of the struggle, we are sure of this, that
the work of God is being wrought by the Church
upon the world. When the world seems to prevail,
yet even then the elect are being made perfect.
And it is equally certain, that the probation of our
faith is all the more keen and searching. When
Noah was shut into the ark, his faith had a strong
trial to endure; but he was shielded from manifold temptations. It was after he had again possessed the earth that he was tempted and fell.Gen. ix. 20, 21.
In
the beginning the Church had a sorer and a more
fiery trial: but who can say that the peril of souls
is not greater now? In those days it was no
hard matter to discern between the world and
the Church. But now our very difficulty is, to
know what is that world which we have renounced; to detect its snares, and to overcome its
allurements. It is no longer an external adversary, raging, reviling, and wearing out the name
of Christ. Now it is within. The world is inside
the fold, baptised, catechised, subdued, specious,
and worshipping. This is a far more dangerous
antagonist.
According to the sure promise of Christ, and by the power of
His presence, the Church has in a wonderful manner preserved inviolate the whole
tradition of the Faith. All that He taught and commanded for the perfection of
His elect has been kept spotless in the midst of this evil world. But no one can
read the history of Christendom without discerning the same law of decline and
deterioration, which has from the beginning obtained among mankind, prevailing,
not over the Church as it is a work of the Divine presence, but over the moral,
intellectual, social condition of nations professing Christianity. It would be
out of place here to give detailed examples; but I may just refer to the
corruption of Christian Africa in the time of St. Augustin, and of Eng land
under the later Saxon kings, and of the north of Italy in the sixteenth century.
It is most certain that there is a power always working in Christian nations,
which is not of God, nor of the Church, but of the world, of that corruption
which every generation reproduces, and of that aboriginal evil which has been
always working in our fallen race, unfolding itself in endless forms, and
perpetuating its effects by a most subtil transmission from age to age. To be
more particular: I will say, that the state of public morals, the
habits of personal and social life, popular amusements, and the policy of governments, so far as
they are not under the direct guidance of religion,
are examples of the presence and power of that
which is properly and truly called the world.
And nobody need fear to add, that the tone and
moral effect of all these, except when they are
especially guided by religion to a Christian use
and purpose, is almost always, in a greater or
less degree, at variance with God. The laws of
every Christian state, the customs of every Christian society, and the practice of families and individuals as contained in them, are, indeed, always
professedly based upon the laws of God, and limited
by the precepts of Christ. It is not, however, the
outline but the filling in that determines the character: it is not the letter, but the interpretation
that fixes the meaning, and gives emphasis to
the sense: so it is with the complex social state
of a Christian people. The laws of Christian
faith are all there, but so glossed and paraphrased, so interlined by commentaries and lowered by adjustments, that it is no longer the
Church warring its way through the world, but
the world playing the Christian in a masque.
This, then, is the world which in our baptism
we renounced. It was no remote or imaginarynotion, but a present and active reality: that
very same principle of original evil which, in all
ages, under all shapes, in all places, has issued in
lust, pride, covetousness, vainglory. It surrounds
us in the visible Church now as it surrounded the
apostles in the Holy City of old. It cleaves to all
things about us. It is in all places of concourse,
in all business, in all pleasures, in all assemblies
and spectacles, in all homes, in all the circumstances of our personal life. We are not called
to separate ourselves from any outward system,
as they were, but to be inwardly as estranged
from the evil that cleaves to the system around us,
as if we were not of it. “I pray not that Thou
shouldest take them out of the world, but that
Thou shouldest keep them from the evil.” Let
us, then, lay deeply to heart this great truth, that
our only safety is in being inwardly dead to the
love and fear of the world. Let us go boldly
to all lawful work, even though it be in the
midst of it; for in that God will keep us pure.
However secular our toil may be, whether in
trading, or tilling the ground, or in the administration of law, or in the government and service
of Christian states, in all these, when God leads
us, He will be our shield, and we shall be kept
spotless. Only let us watch against craving, or
lusting, or hungering after the honours, gifts, and gains of life. The desire of these things, though
we be never corrupted by attaining them, will
turn all our work to snares, and make our very
duties to be perilous. He that loves these things
is to be bought, and has his price, and all men
know it; and even the world despises while it
buys him for its own. Let us be on our guard
against that basest of all idolatry, the worship of
wealth, or rank, or numbers; and against that
most hateful of all intoxication, the love of popular applause, and the admiration of men that
shall die. The favour of the world is no sign
of the saints. The cross is their portion. The
voice of the many is no test of truth, nor warrant
of right, nor rule of duty. Truth and right, and
a pure conscience, have been ever with the few. “Many are called, but few are chosen.” So it
ever has been and shall be. Let us, therefore,
pray God for strength to do our work in the
world without fear, but to find our rest in Him.
Let us not think ourselves safe in a fancied separation from society around us: we cannot escape
it any more than the light of day. Nevertheless, let us at least stand aloof from it all we may.
Work in the world we needs must; but we need
not to feast and revel, to accept its gifts, nor go
wondering after its greatness. Let us not take li
cense to taste or to possess all its lawful things, for ” all things are not expedient,” “all things edify
not.” The world has too much craft to thrust
upon us at first the offer of forbidden things.
Soft things and fair, things harmless and with
out blame, come first and smooth the way for
more subtil allurements. There is but one safe
guard for Christ’s servants; to be like Him in
whom the prince of this world in the hour of
temptation had nothing he could make his own.
Our safety is not so much where as what we are.
SERMON XIV.
ON MIXING IN THE WORLD, AND ITS SAFEGUARDS.
ST. MATT. xi. 18, 19.
“John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, He hath
a devil. The Son of man came eating and drinking, and they say, Behold a man
gluttonous, and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners.”
THERE is a remarkable contrast between the examples of St. John Baptist and of our Lord. St.
Luke tells us of St. John, that “the child grew,
and waxed strong in spirit, and was in the deserts
till the day of his shewing unto Israel:” but of
our Lord he says, that He went down “to Nazareth, and was subject” to the Blessed Virgin and
Joseph, and that He “increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.”St. Luke i. 80; ii. 52.
There
was a difference in them even from childhood. John
lived apart from men, a severe, ascetic life, in hard
ship and solitude. Jesus dwelt in a house, among the habitations, trades, and cares of men: for thirty
years His was a life such as ours, in all outward
things unnoticed and commonplace. And so they
both grew up; and in full manhood they came
forth, the one a preacher of repentance in the wilderness, having “his raiment of camel’s hair, and a
leathern girdle about his loins, and his meat was
locusts and wild honey.”St. Matt. iii. 4.
The other a preacher
of repentance in the world, sitting at meat in the
houses of Pharisees and Scribes, and at the table
of Levi and Zaccheus the publicans; going, when
bidden, even to marriage-feasts, mixing in life,
and seeming to partake of the habits and courtesies of men. In a word, John lived out of the
world, and our Lord lived in it. And that is the
truth which His enemies distorted against Him. “John came neither eating nor drinking:” he
was severe, mortified, unbending, isolated; and
they cast him out as a demoniac, saying, “He
hath a devil.” “The Son of man came eating
and drinking:” pitiful, tender, compassionate,
stooping to the weakness and burdens of common
life; and they reviled Him as lax, self-indulgent,
and dissolute, “a man gluttonous, and a winebibber, a friend of publicans,” and a partaker in
the revelling of sinners.
Now, of the many subjects naturally arising out of these words, there is one to which we shall do
well to confine our attention: I mean, the lawfulness of intercourse with the world, and the limitations within which it should be restrained. This
is a very difficult question in practice, and often
involves painful doubts and misgivings. We hear it
much talked of, and by some in a very confident
and sweeping way; which, however, for the most
part, turns out to be only words after all. Nevertheless, there is a grave matter of Christian duty
here at stake; and it is of great moment that we
should come both to some clear understanding of it,
and to some fixed and tenable principles on which to
determine our own conduct. It is not to be denied,
that our Lord’s example, as contrasted with that of
St. John, does warrant, as a general principle, our
entering into the world. But there are some points
to be considered which will reduce the apparent
breadth of that warrant to a much narrower measure.
We must remember, then, first of all, why He did so. It was
not for His own sake, or for any of those motives and inducements which it would
be an irreverence even to speak of. He went for the sake of others; He was “come
to seek and to save that which was lost:”St. Luke xix. 10.
as He told Zaccheus, giving
the reason of His making Himself his guest. That
day salvation was come to the publican’s house.ver. 9.
For the same cause, He laid Himself open to the
reproach, “This man receiveth sinners, and eateth
with them;” and suffered also the woman which
was a sinner to wash his feet with her tears. It
was, therefore, plainly in the discharge of His ministry of salvation that He mixed at large among all men. The world was the field of His toil; it
was the wilderness where His lost sheep were scattered abroad, and He therefore went out into the
world to seek them.
And we must not forget Who He was that so
adventured Himself: it was He who had overcome
the tempter in the wilderness; the same in whom,
when the prince of this world came to Him, he
had no share nor title. It was safe for Him who
was without sin to pass to and fro through all
perils of contamination. He could no more be
sullied than the light of day. Perhaps it was for
this reason that, while prophets and seers, even to
John, the greatest of all, had lived apart in watchfulness and mortification, our blessed Lord mixed
among men, entered their homes, sat at their tables, and partook of their common habits, their
food, and feasts, and social life.
These two considerations, however, while they
remind us that both His work and His spotless
sanctity made laws for Him which are not necessarily laws for us, do not take away the force of His conduct as a general rule to guide us in the same
subject. After separating all differences, His is
still our example. Let us see, therefore, how far
it will warrant us.
1. First of all, then, it will not only clearly
warrant, but actually enjoin upon us to mix in the
world, so far as the calling or work of our life
requires. And this must be determined for each
one of us by a multitude of details; such as, our
condition by birth, education, fortune, profession,
outward relations of kindred, neighbourhood, charity, and the like. Every body has his place in
the world, and that place has its duties, charges,
and character. We must be in a great measure
guided by these. For instance, high birth, or the
possession of great wealth, forces people into a
sphere of life which has a multitude of very extensive relations. It is their duty to fulfil the
obligations thereby laid on them. Princes must be
surrounded by their courts; high-born and wealthy
men keep large houses, and have many guests and
numerous entertainments. There need be no
worldliness in all this. It may be, indeed, little
better than worldly ostentation; and it may feed
and kindle all manner of worldly lusts: but it
need not do so. Like all things, it is capable of
perversion; but in itself it is only the natural
sphere of the princes and great men of this world. It is, however, a very different matter, when men
of humbler birth and less fortunes either strive
to gain entrance to the ranks of those that are
above them, or strain to be their equals. There
is a proportion in all the dispensations of Providence: every man has his own range and limit,
within which he is safe; and all things may be
lawful and sanctified by the word of God and
prayer. The administration of property, and the
management of estates, necessarily mixes men up
with the world. So, much more, do professions
and employments: statesmen, lawyers, soldiers,
physicians, merchants, tradesmen of every sort, are
compelled to meet and deliberate, to barter and
consult, to act in common, to combine for worldly
objects, without knowledge of each other’s character—often with the full knowledge of facts
which make them desirous of having no more intercourse with each other than they can help.
Now it is obvious that all this is lawful and necessary; that it is even inevitable; that, as St.
Paul says, to escape it, “we must needs go out of
the world.”1 Cor. v. 10.
We may be compelled to meet very bad men, and infidels, and even heathens, and
to transact with them such things as “maintain the state of the world.” And all
this is plainly not only allowed, but imposed on us by the providence of God, which has determined the conditions on
which all these things depend; such as our birth,
station, fortune, calling, relations in life. In so
mixing in the world, we are carrying out the work
which is set us to do; just as our blessed Lord,
for the fulfilment of His work, went wheresoever it
could be done.
What has been said of those whose duties
are simply of a secular kind applies even more
strongly to those who bear sacred offices. They
are bound, in faithfulness to their commission, to
mix even among the worst of men; not, indeed,
as companions, but as instructors, reprovers, and
guides.
There are, however, multitudes with whom the
pastors of the Church are compelled to mix in an
ordinary way, and to watch their opportunities of
usefulness. To them the example of our Lord is
a direct precedent. The courtesies and kindly
offices of life they are under a sort of necessity to
accept, that they may share the joys and sorrows
of other men, and by their sympathy gain a hearing when they speak in their Master’s name.
Thus far, then, is clear: It is not so much in
the point of necessary work as in the matter of
unnecessary society with the world, that the difficulty arises. And yet it will be found, that the
limit of our common intercourse with people is very much regulated by the facts of our providential lot. Our Lord has sanctioned a marriage-feast by His own presence; and that will shew
that feasting is not unlawful in itself. There is a “gladness and singleness of heart”Acts ii. 46.
in eating our
bread, which is a duty. Sadness and sullenness
are not the gifts of the Spirit; but thankful tempers, cheerful giving, mutual joy, music and dancing and the fatted calf: these things belong to
the new creation, in which once more “every creature of God is good.” Therefore we may fairly
say, that such seasonable and measured participation of God’s good gifts, and of the enjoyments
naturally arising out of the relations which kindred, or neighbourhood, or friendship involves, is
lawful and good, and capable of the Divine presence and benediction. But this nobody disputes—nobody, that is, whose disputation it is profitable to
hear. The true difficulty lies in so limiting these
things in their extent, and so chastening their
character, as to preserve them from being turned
into occasions of temptation, and into hindrances to
the spiritual life.
2. Our Lord’s example, then, suggests to us, farther, that we ought to measure our intercourse with the world by what is safe for ourselves. It
is perfectly certain, that the attraction and operation of the world upon the mind of most persons
is highly injurious. It first hinders the work of
their sanctification, and next changes their tone
of mind into its own temper and spirit. This is
what St. Paul means when he warns the Romans, “Be not conformed to this world; but be ye
transformed by the renewing of your mind.”Rom. xii. 2.
Here is the peculiar danger. All things about
us are charged with some measure of the world’s evil and power. No lines can be drawn round
the infected quarters. They have neither beginning nor ending; no limit or boundary. The
whole visible Church is affected by it; whole nations, states, and households. The evil is
continuous, all-pervading, ubiquitous. If we would
escape the world, we must needs go out of the
world: nothing less than this will do it. And
this shews the impossibility of that which some
excellent persons, with the best intentions, have
endeavoured to do: I mean, to draw peremptory
lines between their households and “the world.”
They might as well draw a line between themselves and the race of mankind; for, draw it where
they will, they do but make a distinction without
a difference; and moreover, they shut out of their
precinct some of the holiest saints, and shut into
it some who are the very worshippers of the world.
And the ill effects of this mistake are
manifold. It savours much of rash judgment, self-preference, and separation; and it fosters a dangerous spirit of security, making people think that
within their circle they are safe, and that this
safety consists in outward lines of separation, in
stead of an inward grace of watchfulness and purity of heart. It is remarkable how, in families
which have isolated themselves from the healthy
unconscious action of open intercourse with others,
evils of the strangest and most unlocked for kind
have unfolded themselves. It is with the spiritual
as it is with the natural life; a false principle of
sustenance or of action, once admitted, works out
the most unwholesome and morbid effects. Perhaps
this is one of the reasons why the children of persons of much real piety have not seldom turned
out sinful or unsatisfactory. They have been
brought up in a state of artificial separation from
the world, without the real discipline of the in
ward character, which nothing but probation, or a
truly devout life, seems to bestow.
Now from all this it is evident, that the danger of mixing with the world is very great; and
that we have need, not only to be afraid of the
positive evils spread throughout the common intercourse of life, and especially
in relaxations, feasts, entertainments, with their exciting and ensnaring pleasures; but also to be afraid of ourselves. The more unlike we are to our Lord, the
less safe is it for us to venture abroad; the more
conscious we are that we are vividly susceptible of
temptations, easily elated, or blinded, or led away,
and that nothing but a strong inward principle of
self-mortification can preserve us, the more we are
bound to withdraw ourselves from the world, as
from a scene of temptation, and a source of peculiar danger. Now it is certain that we shall be
safe from the ill effect of the world just in the
measure in which we are unwilling to mix in it;
and that as we incline to it, the more susceptible
we are of its contagion. If we do not believe it
to be tempting and dangerous, we shall be sure
to fall; if we do not go into it with shrinking and
reluctance, we are certainly in peril. Thus much
is evident already, that the god of this world has
gone far to blind our minds to the reality of his
presence and his wiles; that we must be in a
state of no little hardihood, self-reliance, or insensibility. And in such a temper, all intercourse with
the world must be perilous. This is universally
true, whether our contact with the world be for
business or for pleasure; whether we be laymen
or clergymen; whether it be public or private intercourse. Things in themselves lawful and safe
become inevitable temptations to men who do not know their liability to be tempted in that
particular form. The motives on which we go into the
world, and the aims we set before as, will be no
sufficient security. Statesmen who have thrown
themselves, in pure patriotism, into the struggle
of public life, often end in faction and partisan
ship. Even men in holy orders, who give themselves to a just and seasonable line of public action
for the service of the Church, not seldom end in
ambition and secularity; and others, who go into
private society on the theory of promoting their
influence for good, often grow careless and indevout, and adopt, as a settled habit, the very tone
to which they yielded for a time with a view to
raising it. And if these things happen to guides
of souls, in the path of supposed or of real duty,
what may we not fear for those who mix in the
world only for pleasure? Can any thing be more
frivolous and impertinent than the conversation
which even wiser men sometimes endure to hear
and to partake of? If they would but confess the
truth, would they not acknowledge that the greater
part of their worldly visiting and mutual entertainment leaves them farther from God than they
were when they entered upon it? Can they not
trace the effect of the world on all their private
devotions? Do they not find themselves troubled
in their prayers by a multitude of thoughts? Is not the temptation to distraction and weariness in prayer
greatly increased?
And what does all this prove, but that such
intercourse is not safe for them; that they are
being “conformed to this world;” that the truth
of their character to its own convictions and to
itself is being frittered away; that they more readily catch the tone of those they live with, and adopt their system of judging and speaking, instead of impressing their own convictions on others,
or even preserving their own consistency? To
take one instance, of which this naturally reminds
us: how unspeakably difficult is the government
of the tongue; and how awful a fact it is to reflect upon, that every word we speak is an expression of the posture or inclination of the undying
spirit that is in us; that every such inclination
of the spirit God weighs in a balance; and that
we are swayed by a thousand daily temptations
to speak at random, or in haste, or in excessive
terms, outrunning the truth of our hearts; and
that “every idle word that men shall speak, they
shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.”St. Matt. xii. 36.
There is no stimulus to the tongue so
great as intercourse with the world: men must
talk, that they may not seem morose, foolish, contemptuous, or self-important. And yet what are the laws and conditions on which the world will
allow a man to talk, but that he will adopt its own
phrases, views, maxims, and freedom of speech?
For those who would mix in the world with safety
there is needed just the reverse of the very gifts
which make men the world’s favourites: namely,
gifts of caution, retirement, and silence. In fact,
they mix in it with least peril who are distinguished
either for wanting or for concealing the facilities
and endowments which the world most covets and
cherishes. One principal rule by which to mea
sure what is safe for us is, a thorough knowledge
of our own infirmities—of the frailties of our character. And this, after all, is the true criterion of
what is expedient for us. I say this, because it
seems impossible to enter now into the particulars
of this or that form of worldly amusement. For
the most part, the entertainments and usages of
the world shade off into each other with such graduated tints, that it is not possible in many cases
to draw a line. Some things, indeed, are in their
tone and effects, in the system by which they are
supported, and in the consequences they produce,
so plainly and undisguisedly dangerous, that there
can be no hesitation in naming them. For instance, the whole system of theatres is such, that
I do not see how any one can go to them with
safety. No special pleading about their great moral lessons, and elevated heroic or national character, and the like, will avail to save them from
a simple and direct condemnation, as one of the
most subtil, complex, and wide-spreading snares of
the world. Having said this, it is perhaps best to
add no more than, that occasions and acts of public
concourse, in which the reserve of private life is relaxed, are dangerous to the simplicity and purity of
the mind; and that the entertainments and feastings of private life, where luxury, indiscriminate
acquaintance, display of personal appearance or gifts,
are admitted, are both dangerous and hurtful.
Thus much has been said by way of general
principles and suggestions. All that can be done
farther is, to give some particular precepts, which
will serve as safeguards to counteract the influence
of the world, where it cannot be avoided. When
it can be, the wisest and happiest course for those
that desire, in purity of heart, to see God, is, to
withdraw themselves altogether from paths which
need the force of so many precepts to make them
at best only comparatively safe.
1 . The first rule, then, to be laid down is this:
that we take no lower standard of life than the
example of our blessed Lord. Nothing but this
will set before our conscience a clear definite view
of the true end of our Christian profession, which
is plainly nothing less than to be made like, in life and spirit, to the holiness of our Lord Jesus Christ.
At our regeneration we received a gift of the Holy
Ghost, the grace of a heavenly nature; we were
made inwardly capable of attaining to the sinless
perfection of our Master. Not, indeed, in this life;
but the dispositions, affections, inclinations of soul,
which shall issue hereafter in that perfection, must
be trained and nurtured in us throughout the
whole course of this earthly life. When shall we
bear in mind this plain truth, that the future perfection of the saints is not a translation from one
state or disposition of soul into another, diverse
from the former; but the carrying out, and as it
were the blossom and the fruitage of one and the
same principle of spiritual life, which, through their
whole career on earth, has been growing with an
even strength, putting itself forth in the beginnings and promise of perfection, reaching upward
with stedfast aspirations after perfect holiness?
If we forget this, we shall understand nothing,—our whole life will be a confusion, our whole probation a perplexity; we shall be imposed on by
false judgments, unsound examples, misleading
principles of action. We shall think that the sum
of religion is, what is called, to do our duty in the
world—that is, to be outwardly blameless according to the letter of the second
table of the law; to be honest traders, industrious students, hard-working labourers, kind parents, good-hearted friends.
Truth, a forgiving disposition, benevolence, general
good-will, a kind temper, a moderate and occasional
indulgence in worldly amusements, a decent attendance on religious worship, and regularity in house
hold morals and habits, make up the Christianity
of most people. And so far as it goes, nothing
may be said against it. But tried by the life and
mind of Christ, by the realities of holiness and
of fellowship with God, by the humiliation and
mystery of the cross, which are “the marks of the
Lord Jesus,” how defective, dim-sighted, unenergetic, and relaxed it must appear! The fact is,
that the great multitude of those who live in the
world have little perception of the intense and
searching spirituality of the life of Christ, which
their regeneration binds them to imitate. And
therefore the life of most is as vague, pointless,
and unmeaning as the reasoning of men who do
not know what it is they are going to prove. By
this we may chiefly account for the infinite variety
of imperfect characters, which have something of
true Christianity about them, but are marred,
stunted, and contracted. Of course, want of energy and perseverance will produce many of the
same results; but in a majority of cases, really
well-disposed people go through life with a low,
cold, heartless notion of our Lord’s example. They can see the exterior perfection of His life,
as measured by the second table of the law; but
the motives even of that perfection, much more
the whole interior life which is related to the love
and worship of God, they simply cannot perceive.
It is too high, inward, and deep, for their spiritual senses, which are “exercised” to discern the
broader and more sensible features of Christian
duty, but cannot distinguish the characters and
outlines of God’s kingdom as it is impressed upon
the affections, thoughts, and motions of our spiritual being. How, then, is it to be wondered at,
if they see no inconsistency between habits of free
intercourse with society and a life of religion?
There is, indeed, no inconsistency with a life of
their religion. It has nothing which is at variance
with self-indulgence, and a relaxed tone of conversation. Days spent in visiting, and evenings in
amusements, leave no effects which are traceable in
their morning and evening prayers; because those
prayers have been long said with just so much of
fervour and attention as is compatible with their
habitual way of living: they are therefore no index.
They would judge very differently, if they could
once rightly perceive the purity, gentleness, meekness, deadness to the world, denial of self, subjugation of will, vivid zeal for the salvation of the elect
and for the glory of God, which were in our blessed Lord. If they could understand, for instance, the
meaning of one such word as “Take My yoke
upon you, and learn of Me, for I am meek and
lowly of heart;” or, “I am not of this world;”
they would see all things as if the light of the sun
had waxed “sevenfold, as the light of seven days.”
All the goings on of life—its eating and drinkings, planting and building, its buying and selling,
marrying and giving in marriage—would be seen
as they will be in the day of the Son of man.
The snares and perils of life and ease, of wealth
and pleasure, of business and refinement; the perilous entanglements and depressing influence even
of common life; the false maxims and illusions
of mankind, and the secret atheism of the world,
would all be seen as by an intuition of the spirit.
They would then see that the spirit of the world
is the very antagonist of the mind of Christ; that
none could dwell in it unsullied by its touch but
He alone.
2. And therefore, in the next place, it is plain that we must
so shape our way through life as shall most foster and promote our continual
advance in attaining to the perfection of our new birth, which is the sanctity
of Christ. And what is this but, in other words, to be true to the vows of our
baptism? We then bound ourselves to “renounce
the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the world, with all covetous desires of the
same, and the carnal desires of the flesh;” and
promised that we would “neither follow nor be
led by them.” It is impossible to add strength to
this vow; it is unconditional and peremptory, and
extends over the whole subject of which we are
now speaking. It is no open question for a Christian, whether he shall renounce the world or no:
he has renounced it already; he is already bound
by a perpetual vow; and all that remains is to
fulfil it, or to forswear himself. Now, there can
be no doubt that the majority of baptised men fall
below the standard of their promise: all do, in
deed, in respect to its perfection; but I mean, in
respect to the measure of their ability to fulfil it.
Some do it deliberately, some unconsciously, some
from the power of sin, and some from the weakness of their resolutions; but howsoever various
the causes, it is certain that we may divide the
visible body of baptised men into two classes:
those who do, and those who do not, make the vow
of their baptism the rule of their life.
In the first days of the Church, the vow of
baptism was made perfect in repentance, poverty,
charity, in the fellowship of prayers, and holy communion; the Church was a fold in the midst of
the world, encompassed by it, but separate. And
yet it retained its inward purity only long enough to be a type and prophecy of its perfection in
heaven. At Philippi, Ephesus, Corinth, and else
where, even in St. Paul’s day, Christians began to
fall apart into the two great classes; so that the
apostle had need to lay down precepts and rules,
such as those we are now endeavouring to find.
To the Corinthians he writes: “I wrote unto you
in an epistle not to company with fornicators: yet
not altogether with the fornicators of this world,
or with the covetous, or extortioners, or with idolaters; for then must ye needs go out of the world.
But now I have written unto you not to keep company, if any man that is called a
brother be a fornicator, or covetous, or an idolater, or a railer, or
a drunkard, or an extortioner; with such an one
no not to eat.”1 Cor. v. 9-11.
And again to the Thessalonians: “Now we command you, brethren, in the name of
our Lord Jesus Christ, that ye withdraw yourselves
from every brother that walketh disorderly, and not
after the tradition which he received of us.”2 Thess. iii. 6.
St.
Paul here recognises a class of men within the
Church, or related to it, with whom the faithful
ought to hold no intercourse; and they are either
persons excommunicate, or such as, though still
suffered to abide in the communion of the Church
(for instance, the covetous and disorderly), are living in breach of their baptismal vow. These and many other passages give us the precept of avoiding the contagion of an ill example, even among
those whom the Church has not put under formal
censures. The apostle also gives the most detailed
counsels for purifying our conversation,Phil. i. 27.
for edifying
one another,Rom. xiv. 19.
for sanctifying households;1 Tim. iii. 4, 5.
and these
give us a farther precept of forming our friendships
and relations, both with individuals and with families, on the principle of promoting the entire conversion of our hearts to God. It was, without doubt,
from this that persons of a more devout temper,
and more kindled with the love of the heavenly
kingdom, drew into closer fellowships within the
unity of the Church; whole families, perhaps, such
as that of Philip the evangelist, who “had four
daughters which did prophesy;”Acts xxi. 9.
and “the house
of Stephanas,” and of Chloe and others, gave themselves to a stricter way of life. We may take these
as examples of what is both possible and right for
private Christians and households now. There is
nothing schismatical in a separation which both
preserves all religious unity and makes those that
live apart characteristically humble and charitable.
It is most certain, that the man who does live by
his baptismal vow will find himself much alone in
his habits, thoughts, and sympathies. The face of the visible Church must be very different from
what it has been, before holiness can fail to bring
an apparent separation. So it is with families: if
any household be consecrated to God by peculiar
devotion, it will stand out from other families.
And yet it dare not do less: the vow of its baptism is on it, and it must thereby measure all
things. It must do and leave undone, possess and
give away, seek and renounce, enjoy or deny it
self, according to this rule. The religion of such
a house is not only at the foot of the altar, or in
its own hours of devotion; neither does it take
cognisance only of certain portions of its daily life;
but it is the rule of all its acts, the test of its
friendships, the measure of its intercourse. And
I do not see what any Christian household or
man can do less than this. They are pledged to “work out their salvation with fear and trembling;” to have in them the mind that “was in
Christ Jesus,” in prayer, love, humiliation, and
habitual fellowship with God. And how this is
to be attained without abstinence from dangerous
and inexpedient things, and from all familiar communication with those whose example, spirit, and
habit of life, oppose or retard the work of our
sanctification, it is not easy to understand. Where
is the reason or consistency in habits of prayer,
fasting, and self-discipline, if we do not refuse to expose ourselves to the levity, inflation, and vanity
of the world? Surely all these things feed and excite the sins of the heart, and make miserable havoc
in our habits of simplicity, watchfulness, humility,
and recollection. We are bound to strengthen
and to shelter them against all inroads of unholy
influence. And moreover: our vow binds us not
only to avoid the desecrating and deteriorating
action of society, but to give ourselves up with
singleness of aim to the help and guidance of such
minds and examples, and to such habits and counsels of spiritual wisdom, as shall most directly
promote the unfolding and perfecting of the life of
God which is in us.
And now, before I conclude, I will notice one
general objection which may be expected to what
has been advanced. It will be said, that this is a
theory; that it is impracticable; that to adopt it
men must go into the wilderness with St. John
Baptist; that they must forsake the duties of life,
and the interchange of courtesies and kindness,
which we are bound to maintain.
In answer to all this, we need do no more than
recall the example of our blessed Lord. He lived
in the world; His work lay in it; He went to the
houses of publicans—He went without fear, be
cause He was perfect. It is absolutely necessary
to our safety that we should go with fear, because we are sinners. Nevertheless, His example will
warrant to us the lawfulness of mixing in the
world as our duties and obligations require. What
has been said ought to teach us these two things:
first, to use great and discriminating care in choosing the friends and families with whom we mix,
and the occasions and festivities in which we join.
This principle of spiritual discernment, foresight,
and caution, alone can keep us from serious entanglements, and, it may be, from grievous falls. I
know of no lines of outward demarcation, nor any
sufficient catalogue, distinguishing worldly from innocent amusements: our safeguard must be in ourselves. And the next thing we should learn is,
when we can avoid even such intercourse as is
lawful, to do so. “All things to me are lawful,
but all things are not expedient. All things to
me are lawful, but all things edify not.”1 Cor. vi. 12.
It is
far better to bestow the time which we can rescue
from the world in things that will deepen the work
of God in our hearts, and perfect our repentance.
Or if we think well to go, let us go with a
heart estranged from the fair and smooth things
of this perishing world,—from its honours, powers,
pleasures, and refinements. None ever graced a
marriage-feast as He who knew not the very taste
of earthly happiness. None was ever so meek, gentle, and benign as He that was alive to God alone.
So let us strive to mingle among men—to toil with
them, sorrow with them, rejoice with them; to visit
their homes, and partake of their hospitality, and
not turn even from their days of festival—praying always in secret that we may
be sheltered under His last intercession: “Holy Father, keep through Thine own
name those whom Thou hast given Me, that they may be one, as We are;” “they are
not of the world, even as I am not of the world;” “I pray not that Thou
shouldest take them out of the world, but that Thou shouldest keep them from the
evil.”St. John xvii. 11, 15, 16.
SERMON XV.
POVERTY A HOLY STATE.
2 COR. viii. 9.
“Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though He
was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might
be rich.”
ST. PAUL is here stirring up the Corinthians to
give alms to the poor saints, by the voluntary poverty of our Lord. He tells them of the Macedonians, who, in the spirit of His example, made
large offerings out of their “deep poverty;” and
says that they “first gave their own selves to the
Lord,” and, with themselves, all that they had to
His service. He then says, “Ye know the grace,”
the freeness and largeness of the charity of Christ,
who, “though He was rich,” in His eternal kingdom, in the bliss of His Father, “yet for your
sakes He became poor;” stripped Himself of His
heavenly state, laid aside His glory, “made Himself of no reputation;” was made man, hungered, thirsted; was weary, wandered without a place
where to lay His head; suffered all shame, hard
ship, pain, and death; that through this, His poverty of all things heavenly
and earthly, ye, in the remission of sins, the cleansing of the soul, the grace
of adoption, and the inheritance of the kingdom of heaven, “might be rich.”
Some perhaps might have expected that, at
the coming of the Son of God into the world, He
would have assumed the power and disposal of
all things by which the world is maintained and
governed; that is to say, that He would have
carried on openly, and by a visible disposal, the
divine administration of worldly affairs, as He ever
does in secret; that His providence would have
been manifested in His person. Of course, no one
would expect that He should have affected earthly
state or greatness: the very thought can hardly
be expressed without a sin. It seems almost like
the suggestion of Satan when he shewed Him all
the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them.
And yet, we might have expected Him to be openly
greater than all powers of the earth; to have made
them acknowledge Him, and yield, as the winds and
the waves did, to the power of His word. But, on
the contrary, no man was ever lower in the world
than He—more outcast, destitute, weak, and forsaken; none, perhaps, ever hungered oftener, or thirsted more, or wandered so wearily; was so
banished, not from kings palaces, and princes
courts, and the houses of great men, and the company of the soft, high, rich, and noble, but from
home and hearth, and from the shelter and charities of life. Surely as the world had never seen
before an example of such perfect holiness, so it
had never seen such perfect and willing poverty.
In the Gospels we read of His passing whole nights
on the mountain, and in the fourth watch upon the
sea. Once we read that He went “unto Bethany,
and lodged there,”St. Matt. xxi. 17.
in the house of a friend, the
stranger’s home. His life He began and ended as
a wanderer, from the stable to the sepulchre. So
true to the letter were His words, “Foxes have
holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son
of man hath not where to lay His head.” Of His
own He had little but His raiment; even His daily
food, they that followed Him “ministered to Him
of their substance.”St. Luke viii. 3.
Now this absolute destitution of all things
needful for our bodily life was, without doubt, a
designed feature in His humiliation. When He
took upon Him our manhood, He took it with all
its capacities of suffering; and He placed Himself, so to speak, in that position in the life of man
where all the sorrows which came with sin into the world were surest to light upon Him. Weariness, toil, cold, hunger, loneliness, and shame,
which are the portion of the destitute, He chose
as His lot, and tasted in their sharpest forms.
And He thereby learned to sympathise with the
universal sufferings of humanity. He became a
Saviour, not of any class or condition of men, but
of all mankind: of man as man in his fallen, suffering, sorrowing humanity. It is this that gives
to the poor a peculiar share in the sympathy of
Christ. No man ever was so burdened, naked,
desolate, but He was more so. His example has
consecrated the state of poverty, and converted it
into a discipline, and bestowed upon it a special
grace. It is this that we will now consider.
1. First of all, the poverty of Christ is intended
as an example to all men. To His earliest followers He gave the precept of poverty; He made it
binding on them; He made it even the condition of
entering His service and His kingdom. “If thou
wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and
give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in
heaven;” or, as St. Mark records the same command, “One thing thou lackest: go thy way, sell
whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and
thou shalt have treasure in heaven.” Or again, “Sell that ye have, and give alms; provide yourselves bags which wax not old, a treasure in the heavens that faileth not, where no thief approacheth, neither moth corrupteth.”St. Matt. xix. 21; St. Mark x. 21; St. Luke xii. 33.
Peter
“said unto
Him, Behold, we have forsaken all, and followed
Thee; what shall we have therefore? And Jesus
said unto them, Verily I say unto you, That ye
which have followed Me, in the regeneration when
the Son of man shall sit in the throne of His glory,
ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the
twelve tribes of Israel. And every one that hath
forsaken houses, or brethren, or mother, or sisters,
or father, or wife, or children, or lands, for My
name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall
inherit everlasting life.”St. Matt. xix. 27-29.
“Whosoever he be of
you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot
be My disciple.”St. Luke xiv. 33.
And this precept was obeyed
to the very letter by His first followers, and by
the apostolic Church. They sold their houses and
lands, and laid the money at the apostles’ feet. No
man “called any thing that he possessed his own;” “they had all things common.”Acts iv. 32.
Now, this
community of goods was a close imitation of our Lord’s example—a prolonging of the fellowship which He
had with them and they with Him, after His departure. Poverty, toil, and a common life, were the
daily bonds of their society with Him; and they chose to live on as He had left them, still realising His
presence “who, though He was rich, for our sakes became poor.”
Out of this common life came the fixed endowments of the
Church. First, the bishop and his clergy, and the poor of Christ, lived of one
stock and revenue, as it were at one table, at which the spiritual father
presided in Christ’s stead. After wards, when the Church had peace, and, in
God’s good providence, was permitted to make itself fixed homes and certain
dwelling-places, the necessity which lay on them by reason of the then “present
distress” ceased; the members of the Church were not compelled to give up lands
and houses; they had no longer to forsake their homes, to go out from all that
they possessed; and the poor of Christ, the widows and orphans, had a full and
certain living, “in peaceable habitations, and in quiet resting-places.” That
which was a precept of necessity, became a counsel of perfection. It was a
fuller and closer imitation of the life of Christ for those who, by the
providence of God, were permitted to forsake all for the love of their heavenly
Master. And there have been many, in all ages of the Church, who have willingly
made themselves poor for Christ’s sake, that through their poverty and labour of
love the elect might be made rich in God’s kingdom. Some forsook all that they
possessed at once, and gave all their worldly goods at
one offering to the service of the Church, or to the
poor of Christ, and thenceforward lived by the
labour of their hands or by the work of the gospel.
Others retained their inheritance and their right
to the goods that they possessed, but converted the
enjoyment of them into a stewardship. They lived
of them; but after taking for their own use just so
much as their bare need required, they gave the
rest, by a perpetual and daily oblation, in alms to
the poor. It may perhaps be said, that the state
of the Church at this day, in its intermixture with
the Christian world, with its political and social
relations, is such as to make it neither right nor
possible for most, if for any, to give up all that
they possess, and to throw themselves into a state
of poverty and dependence. Perhaps it may be;
though the question admits of more discussion than
people think; and we may refer to it hereafter.
For the present it is enough to say, that, at all
events, the other principle, of holding the wealth of
this world as a stewardship, as if the title were in
God and the inheritance in the poor, is altogether
possible, and easy to many, if only they have charity
and devotion to adopt it. I do not say that it is
possible for all men; far from it: rather that it is,
like Holy Orders, a high privilege to which a man
is called by God Himself. It is plain that they who have a household and family depending on
them must first maintain them with all needful
provisions. This is the stewardship of most men,
to provide for their own, and is a kind of poverty
in itself. But there are those who either have a
larger income than they and their families require,
or have none at all depending on them. In both
these cases it is quite possible so to pitch the scale
of household and personal expenses, as to leave a
portion of their yearly income to be administered as
a stewardship. I do not undertake to say what proportion ought to be so devoted. The divine wisdom
has prescribed a tenth at least. St. Paul has given
us a rule which cannot be gainsayed: “Having food
and raiment, let us be therewith content.” And
the reason on which he grounds it is very awful,
from its severe and simple truth: “for we brought
nothing into this world, and it is certain we can
carry nothing out.” The needs of an immortal being
are very real, narrow, and few. If we would but
measure our needs by the measure of a death-bed, or
the necessities of a holy state, we should look with
amazement and fear on the excessive and artificial
habits of our daily life. Things we now look on as
necessary would be seen to be wanton indulgences
of self; our wants would be for the most part discovered to be fictitious, and our permitted indulgences to be a luxurious and dangerous softness.
It would seem, then, that the rules by which
any one who has the care of a family committed
to him should proceed are these: First, to provide for those depending on him whatsoever is
really needed for proper food, raiment, and instruction of life; next, for the maintenance of his
relations to others among whom the providence of
God has cast his lot. We hear much of the duty
of maintaining our position in society; and it is
a worldly way of expressing what, beyond all
doubt, is a truth, namely, that the circumstances
of our birth, and the intellectual and moral condition into which we have been brought, are facts
determined by the will of God; and as such demand a reverent observance. The whole political
and social state of mankind is the work and ordinance of God; and therefore all the parts of it
are the subjects of His disposition, and all parts
and members of it have their functions, duties, and
responsibilities, which we may not without strong
and special reasons neglect or withdraw from. It
cannot be doubted, therefore, that we are bound,
for the sake of others to whom we are thus related, to bear our part in the burden of society.
But nothing that has been said warrants our going beyond the strictest interpretation of what
that position absolutely demands. And they that
will fairly, and without secret inclinations to a lax judgment, ascertain what their position in life
really demands, will find its exactions incredibly
small. Again: it is undoubtedly the duty of pa
rents to lay by such a measure of their means of
life as a discreet foresight, checked by an honest
trust in the providence of God, will prescribe.
But this will not warrant hoarding, or carefulness
to increase in wealth, or to leave riches to heirs
and successors. It warrants no more than such
a care for others as prudence, I may say honesty,
prescribes for ourselves. Now these principles
may be fairly and safely laid down for the direction of those that desire, in the midst of worldly
cares and burdens, to imitate at least the spirit
of our Lord’s poverty. If, after satisfying these
obligations, there remain any yearly income, it
may be administered as the patrimony of the poor.
And they that possess it may, to an extent and in
matters which it is impossible to describe, follow
the poverty of Christ by personal self-denials. It
has pleased God to ordain the lot of many of His
most perfect servants in the midst of the riches,
state, and glitter of the world; to charge them
with great possessions, vast revenues, large dominions, high offices, and a numerous retinue. Some
times they have been set on thrones, or detained
in courts and councils of state; or they have had
great lordships, and the responsibility of a spiritual rule, and their whole life and outward condition
has been full of power, and dignity, and worldly
encumbrances. And yet in the midst of all, by
secret self-denial and self-renouncement, they have
lived a life of personal poverty in the presence
of luxury and splendour. I put these as extreme
cases; for what was possible in them must be easy
to us. If they whose outward state was the very
antagonist and contradiction of our Lord’s poverty,
could in secret make themselves poor like Him,
then much more may we all, whose outward state
is moderate and easy to control. All that is
needed is energy of will and perseverance in maintaining the practice of personal self-denial. No
one can say how far he may be able to advance
in the spirit of poverty till he has tried it. A
mind truly bent on following our Lord in this
part of His humiliation will discover seasons, and
times, and opportunities of exercising it, which it
is impossible to set down. If one were to do
so, it would lose its grace and dignity, and seem
trivial, unmeaning, commonplace, unworthy of the
greatness and sanctity of the subject. It must be
left, therefore, to the conscience of each person.
And so it may be dismissed; once more saying,
that what has been here thrown out is practicable
for all persons, in whatsoever rank of life, even
for the very highest in this earthly state; for the most burdened with worldly relations and offices;
for the most encumbered with household cares,
and the like; because, after all, it depends chiefly
upon the secret mortification and impoverishment
of the heart, which may be perfect, even when the
natural expressions of it in act and deed are not
permitted.
But there are others, as has been said, on whom
the providence of God has laid no greater charge
than to provide the little which is necessary for
their own subsistence; and they may much more
closely approach the example of our Divine Master.
Suppose a man to receive an inheritance greater
than his personal needs; what hinders his making
the poor to be usufructuaries of his estate, and himself the steward, whose recompense is his own food
and raiment? He need do no violence to the context of society; he may leave all things in their
natural channel. The legal securities of his possessions would remain untouched. They might be
bequeathed to his lawful heirs; only he would for
sake his life-interest for the love of Christ, and to
follow the example of His holy poverty. Perhaps
the very suggestion may be thought almost fanatical, or at least to be a treason against the prerogatives of a refined selfishness by which the world is
ruled. Nevertheless, there is in it more of reason,
reality, sound sense, Christian prudence, than in the popular theory and practice of ordinary life. It
is capable of being demonstrated by a severer and
more certain proof than any worldly projects will
admit, to be wise, cautious, forecasting, and in the
highest degree expedient to the man that adopts it
for his rule of life, and even to the world. This
is taking the lowest ground. But let us not for
get that there are higher reasons which will occur
hereafter. Hitherto we have spoken only of those
who are rich in this world, because to them the
imitation of the poverty of our Lord may seem at
first sight impossible. It is hardly necessary to do
more than to say, that to those who are actually
poor, His example is a singular consolation. It
elevates their inevitable condition into an opportunity of following His footsteps in a path which
leads to great perfection.
2. Another reason for His choosing so bare and
destitute a condition was, that He, by His poverty,
might set us an example of deadness to the world.
The gifts and allurements of the secular state are
among the chief dangers of Christ’s servants.
There are very few that can resist the offers of
wealth, ease, elevation, power, and the like. The
world is strangely versatile and seducing, and is
at the best a dangerous friend. Prosperity destroys not fools only. There is something peculiarly subtil and persuasive in high station, titles, and appointments, and in full homes, fair prospects,
abundant incomes. What but this does St. John
mean by saying, “Love not the world, neither the
things that are in the world. If any man love the
world, the love of the Father is not in him. For
all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the
lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, are not of
the Father, but are of the world.”1 St. John ii. 15, 16.
It was to be
the note of Christ’s true followers, “they are not
of the world, even as I am not of the world.”St. John xvii. 14.
In
our baptism we renounced it. And He, foreseeing
its peculiar subtilty, and the trial of His Church,
especially in the days when the world was to come
into its fold, stamped for ever in His own example
the visible tokens of perfect deadness to the secular
state, by choosing for Himself a life of poverty. “Though He was rich, yet for our sakes He be
came poor.” He gave Himself for us, “that He
might deliver us from this present evil world.”Gal. i. 4.
And in His own visible example He shewed openly
the work He came to do. He stood out from the
world, apart from all its powers, gifts, and greatness. He had no share in it, and it had nothing
in Him. In the full tide of life He was as dead
to it as upon the Cross. It was simply colourless,
tasteless, powerless. He was there to counterwork the whole mystery of this tempting world, and to
abolish all its lures. And this He did first by
Himself. He stood aloof from it, disengaged and
free to rebuke, warn, condemn, abase it. And
such is the condition on which alone we can overcome the world. Just in the measure in which
we accept its favours, and consent to be honoured,
gifted, enriched by it, we give it hostages or make
ourselves its hirelings. I am not speaking of gross
worldliness, ambition, and covetousness. They are
self-condemned. I mean that far more insidious
form of worldliness, in which interest and advancement seem to coincide with the line of duty. Men
think they ought to refuse nothing that comes to
them: as if all offers were necessarily from God;
as if, by indirect means at least, and through the
agency of the world, Satan could not in some
measure fulfil his words, “all these things will
I give thee.” Now it is a remarkable fact, that
many men to whom the world seems to open itself
that they may set themselves in its very heart, in
places of the greatest power, influence, popularity,
lose their real force in the measure in which they
advance into it, and are simply powerless when
they are at the highest point of apparent mastery.
The world knows with whom it has to do, and
lays its ambush for those who in secret are still
alive to it. While they seem to be carrying God’s kingdom into the very core of the world, they
are only taken in a snare. Their admonitions,
reproofs, and rebukes, with how much soever of
human emotion and effect, fall very light upon
it. The world hires them as eloquent orators to
grace a feast-day, or “as one that hath a pleasant voice, and can play well on an instrument,”
to drive away the vexing spirit, when, in spite of
itself, it is disquieted. In the turmoil and onward
movement of its affairs, when the blood stirs, and
plans are laid deep, and great casts are ventured, for
pleasure, or gain, or self-exaltation, the voice of the
charmer is drowned, or rudely bid to be still, and he
himself cast out. A pitiful lot; full of humiliation
and heart-breaking when any deep or noble thought
is still in a man! What might not such have been
and done, if only they had been dead to the world,
had refused its offers, and used no powers but those
which God bestowed, or they themselves had wrung
by force from the world itself! This is another
great lesson set us in the poverty of our Lord: so
to die to the world, that it cannot find the price
at which to buy our submission. This is the secret
of strength and stedfastness: when the prince of
this world hath nothing in us, nothing to which
he can speak smooth things through the eye, or
through the ear; when for us gold has no brightness, and honour is a burden, and high office wearisome to bear, and the multitude of followers
make us long to be forgotten, and the manifold
duties of exalted station are irksome to the soul
whose single intention is to be united with the
presence of God, then we are beginning to learn
what it is to be dead to the life of the world.
And this temper is an absolute condition to the
doing of any great and high service for Christ in
His Church. There is a poverty of design, a
weakness of purpose, an uncertainty and vacillation about all who still harbour a secret affection for the world. Howsoever high their theories
or aspirations, there is some sidelong glance at the
opinion, or judgment, or standard of others, which
mars the singleness of their aim; some remote interest which pulls them back; some calculation
of results, some forecasting of consequences, which
make them seldom true to their present position or
to themselves. But the man that covets nothing,
seeks nothing, looks for nothing, nay, that would
refuse and reject the solicitations of the world, unless they bore on them some sure and expressive
marks of his Master’s hand, is above all worldly
power. He is truly independent; out of the reach
of hope and fear; self-resolved, and, next under
God, lord of his own spirit.
3. And once more: the example of the Son of
God was no doubt designed to shew us the relation between poverty and holiness. The very state of
poverty is a wholesome corrective of many subtil and
stubborn hindrances of our sanctification. Let us
embrace it with gladness. Let us, when the choice
is before us, choose it rather than to be rich. In
His awful warnings on the danger of riches, our
Lord neither meant to say that rich men could not
be saved, nor that the abuse of riches alone is dangerous; but that the very possession of them is full
of peril. They intoxicate the heart; they raise
its pulse above the natural beat, and make the desires of the mind flushed and feverish. Even the
blameless and upright among rich men are full of
artificial feelings, false sympathies, unreal standards of what is necessary, becoming, and right.
Riches take them out of the universal category of
man, and train them up in a sickly and unnatural
isolation from the real wants, sorrows, sufferings,
fears, and hopes of mankind. Certainly they hinder, in a marked degree, the secret habits of
humiliation, self-chastisement, and self-affliction, without which no high reach
of sanctity is ever attained. How can a man who, without toil, fore thought, or
faith, lives daily on a full fare, and is warm and well furnished, put himself
in the point of sight from which alone the Sermon on the mount or the Passion of
our Lord can be fully read? There must be something of antipathy between states that are so remote, if not opposed.
It is not only the pampered and luxurious, but
the easy and full, who harbour strange desires,
excessive anxieties, irregular wishes, foolish cares.
There is something of self-worship, which greatly
retards their sanctification, and even hinders their
conversion to God. Now, poverty is a very whole
some medicine for all this; sharp, indeed, and
rough to the taste, yet full of potent virtues. It
is a sort of discipline—the ascetic rule of God’s providence. They that are poor are already and
unconsciously under a discipline of humility and
self-denial. What so chastens the desires of the
heart, and restrains them within due bounds and
order? what so reduces a man within the limit of
his own sphere? How great simplicity and abstinence of mind there is in the poor of the world.
A hard life, scanty fare, coarse raiment, plain
food, a low-roofed dwelling, are all they have, and
the continuance of them all they desire. Surely
none stand fairer for Christ’s kingdom than they.
From what unnumbered temptations, day-dreams,
hankerings, schemes, speculations, snares, are they
altogether free. Their whole life lies in the well-known precinct of a lonely hamlet, where, from
birth to the grave, they dwell in familiar daily converse with the very stones, and trees, and brooks,
with simple and true thoughts of life and death, and the realities of our fallen state. How clear
and direct is their insight into the world beyond
the grave. How little have they to divide their
thoughts with God. How soon they release themselves from life. How simply they die. What
are our hurried days and waking nights, but the
tyranny of a multitude of thoughts, which are
worldly, ambitious, selfish, or needless, empty,
and vain? What is it that keeps us perpetually
straining, and moiling, and wearing ourselves away,
but some desire which is not chastened, some
thought of the heart which is not dead to this
worldly state? What makes us lament the flight
of time, and the changes of the world, but that we
are still a part of it, and share its life? What
makes us die so hard, but that we leave behind us
more treasures than we have laid up in heaven—that our hearts are not there, but here? How
much of mercy and meaning does this put into all
worldly reverses. The loss of fortune is, as it were,
a call to perfection; the appointment of a poor lot
in life, or of a precarious livelihood, are tokens of
His will to make us share in the likeness of His
poverty. Let us bless Him for every degree of approach He permits us to make towards His
perfect life. Whether we be in the sacred or secular
state, let us use the narrowness of worldly fortunes
as a means of chastening our desires, subduing our thoughts, strengthening our trust in His care for
us, and in making ourselves independent of all
things but His truth, His Spirit, the laws of His
Church, and the hope of His heavenly kingdom.
SERMON XVI.
DEVOTION POSSIBLE IN THE BUSIEST LIFE.
ST. MARK vi. 30, 31.
“And the apostles gathered themselves together unto Jesus, and
told Him all things, both what they had done, and what they
had taught. And He said unto them, Come ye yourselves
apart into a desert place, and rest a while; for there were many coming and
going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.”
THERE is something very cheerless to our minds,
in this insight into the life of our Lord. What
unceasing toil was His! All day long crowded
upon and thronged by the multitude, “coming and going” early and late; and He
without home or shelter, and “no leisure so much as to eat.” His rest was in
prayers and watching under a mid night sky; His secret chamber the wilderness.
“Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while.” This was, no
doubt, a particular occasion, probably when the Jews were going up to the Passover; and yet such seasons came not
seldom in His life.
It would seem, indeed, as if our blessed Lord
had in all things assumed the most painful lot
of which our humanity is capable. He chose for
His portion every thing we can endure. And
surely in this there is great consolation, and a
direct admonition for our guidance. We may
take His life, as it is here manifested to us, as
an example to those whose lot in this world is
labour.
We are apt to think that a busy life is hardly
compatible with a life of devotion. And we unconsciously make two rules of holy living; one for
those who are busied in the world, and another
for those who are free from the necessity of earning their bread. For instance, we tacitly assume
that the poor can do no more than live lives of
general religious obedience; that habits of devotion % or of minute personal discipline, are too
refined and remote from them. So again in the
case of men who are engaged in traffic and commerce, or in learned professions, or in the administration of law, or the government of the country; that is, traders, merchants, lawyers, politicians,
statesmen, and the like. Whether we are aware
of it or no, we are inclined to think that they may
take a lower tone in the whole life of religion, and indulge themselves in freer habits, and aim
at a less perfect standard of personal devotion.
We seem to allow that attendance at daily prayers
in the church, frequent communion, reading of
holy Scripture in private, habits of religious meditation, and fasting, are next to impossible for
men who lead busy and laborious lives. And
they are ready enough to catch at what we allow.
It is the very plea they put forward for exemption from the higher precepts and rules of a holy
life. Sometimes this is done with no regret, but
rather with a tone of perfect contentment: some
times it is used to justify a thousand omissions of
religious duty, and to make neglects appear inevitable; and sometimes, though, alas, but seldom, it
is a subject of much disquiet, fear, and sadness.
Let us, then, consider this subject in the light
which the example of our Lord throws upon it.
We may learn from His life of toil, that there
is nothing in a life of perpetual labour to hinder
our attaining to the highest measure of perfection.
There was never any one whose life was fuller of
endless employments, or more broken by countless
interruptions, than His. This may shew us that
the most laborious may be the holiest of saints.
Indeed, the greatest saints are those who have
been most like to their Lord in perpetual labours:
as, for instance, the prophets and apostles, the first converters of nations, pastors in all ages, faithful
servants of God in all states and conditions of life.
There are, however, two objections which may
be made against this example. One is, that
He, being sinless, must needs be independent of
the means and conditions on which holiness depends in us, and therefore could suffer no obstruction by the multitude of His employments.
The other is, that His work was not secular, but
sacred; that it is an example in point for the
labours of His pastors in the ministry of the gospel, but not for those whose work and calling lies
in the world, in the merchandise, traffic, and turmoil of this earthly life. One answer will be
enough for both these objections.
1. It is true that He, being sinless, must needs
be beyond the power of the worldly hindrances
which obstruct a life of devotion in us. But is
there not something really unsound in the idea
that any thing which is our duty in life can be an
obstruction to any other duty? Is it not in effect
to say, that two laws of obedience and two obligations of the Divine will can cross each other,
and that God can contradict Himself? Surely the
truth must be, that whatsoever in our daily life
is lawful and right for us to be engaged in, is in
itself a part of our obedience to God; a part, that
is, of our very religion? How long shall we go on believing that there is no worship of God but
prayers, and psalms, and public litanies, and private
acts of devotion? Is not obedience a continual
worship, and the life of a holy man a continual
prayer? Whatsoever we do, if done “to the glory
of God,” is true worship. The tillage of the earth,
the sweat of the brow, the toils of reason, the labours of the learned, the industry of merchants,
the justice of magistrates, the wisdom of lawgivers,
all these severally are the work entrusted to each
of God; and when done in obedience to Him, are
as direct a sacrifice of worship as the praise of
our lips and the chants of choirs, solemn processions and the pomp of festivals. So far, then,
from our worldly duties being obstructions to a
devout life, they are closely and intimately related
to the highest law of obedience, and may be made
the occasion and expression of a fervent spirit of devotion. What were the public burdens of Moses,
or the household cares of Jacob, or the royal offices
and charges of David, but occasions of daily obedience to the Divine will? Whensoever, then, we
hear people complaining of obstructions and hindrances put by the duties of life in the way of
devoting themselves to God, we may be sure they
are under some false view or other. They do not
look upon their daily work as the task God has
set them, and as obedience due to Him; or they are conscious that in their daily work there is
something which is not wholly lawful; or that it
is not carried on altogether by lawful means; or
they know that they permit it to interfere with
the duties of religion; or they do not rightly know
what the duties of religion are; or they think devotion to be an occasional state of the mind separate and remote from the work of life, and even
opposed to it. Now, people talk in this way as if
they really held, with the Manicheans, that this
world is the creation of an evil being, and that all
things relating to it must needs clash with the
holiness of the Supreme God. Let us, then, lay
this down as an axiom, that whatsoever be the
duties of our lot in life, they are the sphere and
field in which God would have us to serve Him.
They can obstruct nothing of the hidden life in
us, so long as we have a clear sight of God in
them, and do them all for His sake. And this
answers the second objection. The distinction of
secular and sacred is but external; all duties are
sacred. Let us not think that there is no serving
God except in the direct ministry of His Church.
It is true that the pastors of Christ have this
great privilege, that all their daily work is visibly
and distinctly related to the will of God and to
the habit of personal devotion. Our duties and
our devotions are almost one and the same act. And this is a singular and inestimable benefit, for
which we must answer with a fearful strictness
at the last day. But the pastor and the peasant,
the catechist and the sower, the bishop ruling in
the Church and the judge sitting in the gate,
the saint in his closet and the faithful householder
ordering his family, all these are serving their
Father in heaven by a simple, direct, and accept
able service. Their circumstances, as we say, in
life, that is, the outer world of relations, duties,
employments, by which they are encompassed, are
the deliberate appointments of God’s providence,
and may be taken as a revelation in fact of the
kind of service He requires of them. It is through
these appointments that we are to worship God
with the reverence and obedience of our whole
heart. A life of devotion does not mean a life of
separation from active duties, but the discharge of
all offices, high or low, from the most sacred and
elevated to the most secular and menial, in a devout spirit.
2. But we may go farther; and say, not only that the duties of
life, be they never so toilsome and distracting, are no obstructions to a life
of any degree of inward holiness; but that they are even direct means, when
rightly used, to promote our sanctification. For what are all our duties, toils,
and cares, but the lot which God in His mercy appointed to man after the fall? “In the sweat of thy
face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the
ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust
thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”Gen. iii. 19.
It
matters not what is the form of our labour, or the
condition of our calling in life. The cares of
princes, no less than the labours of the herdsman
and the tillage of the ground, are all fruits of the
same law of toil which God imposed upon Adam
when he sinned: and it was hardly so much a
curse as a blessing; hardly so much a penalty as
a merciful provision. What would have been the
career and destiny of man, if, after falling from
righteousness and from God, he had been left in
the free possession of all created things; if, with a
heart corrupt, all the fruitfulness and richness of
paradise had still been his earthly portion? Surely
Heaven would have sickened at the sight of man:
earth would have groaned under the burden of his
sloth, lust, and atheism. Is there not mercy in the
niggardliness of the earth, and the overcasting of the sky, and the changes of
storm, and wind, and cold, and tempest, by which this world chastises our sloth
and intemperate desires? If labour were not the lot of sinners, verily Babylon
and Nineveh, Sidon and Tyre, Sodom and Gomorrah, would be but faint types of the
pride and rebellion of mankind. Now, in this view we may look upon our
calling and work in life as a humiliation, as a token
of the fall. In the case of pastors and preachers
of the gospel it is manifestly so. The Church it
self is a witness that sin has entered into the world.
If there were no sin, then there would be no need
of a ministry of reconciliation, of sacraments of
renewal, of the pastoral rod, or the fold separate
from the world. So again in the highest civil employments: what are kings and princes, ministers
and statesmen, but witnesses that the government
of God has been shaken off, and that men must be
governed by the sword? The same truth is still
more evident in the professions which are devoted
to war, to healing, to litigation; and hardly less in
those which relate to the clothing, food, and necessities of this earthly life: the traces of the fall are
upon them all. Now, if men would see their daily
employments in this light, it would work a wonderful change in the feeling with which they undertake
and pursue them: it would hardly be possible for a
man to be proud, covetous, or ambitious in the very
matter which reminds him that he is a fallen beings, and in a condition which is the portion of a sinner.
This is a strange reading of all worldly greatness. How will the world bear to
hear that all the pomp and splendour of thrones and legislatures, of courts and
councils, and all its wealth, its “merchandise of gold, and
silver, and precious stones, and of pearls, and fine linen, and purple, and
silk, and scarlet, and all thyine wood, and all manner vessels of ivory, and all
manner vessels of most precious wood, and of brass, and iron, and marble, and
cinnamon, and odours, and ointments, and frankincense, and wine, and oil, and
fine flour, and wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, and
slaves, and souls of men;”Rev. xviii. 12, 13.
that all this is no
more than a gorgeous display of its fall from God?
This humbling view of our daily work in the world
will be very wholesome, in making us go to it as
sinners, and in admonishing us to do our duties in
humility and patience. In this way it will help to
perfect our repentance; it will remind us that, at
our best estate in this world, if we compare it with
the bliss and rest of paradise, we are as the prodigal, outcast and naked, toiling under a base servitude in a far country. We shall therefore bear
our daily task as a deserved and salutary yoke, by
which we acknowledge our condition as penitents.
The weariness, crosses, disappointments, and vexations, which arise in it; the early hours and late;
the crowding and thronging of the multitude; all
these are but as the dust, ashes, and sackcloth, of
our just humiliation.
3. Another benefit in continual employment is,
that it acts as a great check upon the temptations
which beset an unoccupied and disengaged man.
If we could reckon up the temptations which have
assaulted us in life, we should find by far the
greater number have come upon us in seasons of
relaxation, when the mind is vacant, wandering,
and off its guard. Employment, even of a mechanical sort, much more real toil and active
labour, are most beneficial to us. Next to prayer
and a life of devotional habits, there is nothing that
keeps the heart so pure, and the will so strong
and stedfast, as a life of active duty. This is
no doubt one peculiar blessing of those who live
hard and laborious lives, and accounts, in great
measure, for the singular simplicity, straightforwardness, unconsciousness of evil, which is to be
found among the labouring poor. Their poverty,
and daily intentness of mind upon the pure and
simple tillage of the earth, shields them from a
thousand assaults of evil, and a whole world of
dangerous thoughts, schemes, desires, and designs,
which throng upon the idle or unemployed. Compare the open and natural character of a poor
man with the complex, suppressed, inward mind
of those who live in the world with much time at
their disposal, and little or no laborious work. It
is like the transparency of a child by the side of
a darkened and deteriorated manhood. A lawful and regular employment, somewhat laborious, and
even absorbing (so that it does not estrange a
man’s mind from God), is a great security against
the temptations of the world and of our own hearts.
It shuts out the approaches of temptations with
out number; and keeps the mind in perfect ignorance that such allurements exist in the world.
It is the want of some fixed and regular course
of duty that makes even good people inconsistent,
uncertain, wavering, and sometimes listless, unwary, and infirm. Unsettled thoughts, roving imaginations, idle fancies, vacant hearts, wandering
eyes, open ears, busy tongues, are the inseparable
companions of a man who has little to do, or no
rule and order of daily employment. From all
this, steady labour would be his protection. Work
is the very salt of our fallen nature, and keeps it
from corrupting.
And besides this security against temptation,
daily work is a daily discipline. It taxes us in
those very habits on which a life of devotion rests;
I mean, patience, endurance, self-control. A life
of industry is very nearly related to a life of religion; the staple of the character, so to speak, is
the same.
“He that is faithful in that which is least is
faithful also in much.”St. Luke xvi. 10.
It is therefore most
certain, that a life which is full of order, precision,
self-denial, is not far from the kingdom of God;
of course, I do not mean in men who are tainted
by a worldly, covetous, careful spirit. The presence of any evil disposition will make even that
which is good to be dangerous. The more laborious a covetous or ambitious man is, so much the
worse; so much the more is he estranged from
God, and enslaved by the worship of the world and
of himself. I am speaking only of the habits in
themselves, apart from any particular quality or
direction. They are the very same as those of the
faithful servant, who traded well with his lord’s money, and are therefore capable of being sanctified
by an habitual recollection of heart, and by remembrance of the presence of God. And besides this,
there is in all continual employment, even in the
ministries of faith and charity, a sense of exhaustion and weariness, which is a wholesome memorial
of our infirmity. Every day as our strength goes
from us, and every night as we lie down to sleep,
there is an admonition of our fallen state. We
are not as they “that excel in strength,” whose
living powers of obedience never waste; but one
half of our life is spent in repairing the decays
of the other half; and our Father in compassion
draws a veil of darkness over us, and hides our
humiliation, as it were, from heaven and earth. “Man goeth forth to his work and to his labour,
until the evening;” and then “the night cometh,
in which no man can work.” Toil and rest are
God’s ordinance; He has joined them together,
and man may not put them asunder. We can
not toil without resting, nor rest without toiling:
for that is no rest, but a guilty and dangerous
sloth, in which all the powers and energies of the
soul are slackened and stupified. We find, therefore, one universal sign of a holy life is habitual
work—whether it be spiritual labour or secular is
all one. A true Christian abhors idleness and protracted relaxation: he has something which warns
him that his work is standing still, and that his
own soul needs the discipline of labour to keep it
within the rule of obedience; to tame its motions
and chasten its desires; and for this, the work of
the world may be, in one sense, even a better discipline than that of pastors; for it has in it more of
weariness and humiliation, and less of many subtil
dangers. They who labour in the world, in its
marts, and courts, and treasure-houses, among the
press and struggle of contentious and covetous men,
if they have any reflection, any aspiration after
the unseen rest, will be able to convert their daily
business and profession into a wholesome discipline,
and to look upon it as a burden which has in it
not a little of shame and of the Cross. In this way hindrances shall turn to helps; and that which
others yield to as an obstruction shall to them be
come a furtherance. It teaches them the emptiness and unrest of the world, and drives them, by
a strong counteraction, to the only true rest, which
is Jesus Christ.
But nothing that has been said must be thought
to imply that a life of employment has not its peculiar difficulties. We need only look at busy men,
and see how few are really devout, to satisfy ourselves that there must, after all, be some great
dangers attending a life of constant occupation.
And that is most true. What I have shewn is
this, that it is not labour and business, as such,
that hinder men from a life of religion; but, on
the contrary, that a busy man has many peculiar
advantages, and that he may turn his whole employment into a discipline nearly related to religion. But it must be confessed, that few really
do so. It may be well, therefore, in conclusion,
to notice one or two of the reasons which seem to
account for this fact.
1. And, first, it is because men engaged in
laborious lives are very liable to get too much absorbed in things out of themselves. Their work,
aims, projects, professions, and the like, grow to
an unnatural importance, and encroach upon all
their thoughts. Also, they become fond of the mere energy and habit of business. Dexterity,
skill, foresight, calculation, become things pleasant
in themselves, and are enjoyed for their own sakes.
The effect of this is, that the first and governing rule of their thoughts and habits, and of the
times and arrangements of every day, is their work.
Their prayers in private are regulated as to length
with a view to punctuality in business. The order
of their household also is determined by it. The
public offices of the Church, except on Sunday, are
given up as impossible; frequent communion is
avoided, as needing more habitual preparation than
they can give to it. As a theory, they admit that
the life of a Christian, as we find it in the Bible,—devout, thoughtful, collected, estranged from the
world,—is the standard at which they ought to
aim; but in practice, the example of others engaged
in the same business or calling as themselves is the
measure of their Christianity. As a fact, religion
does not govern their life; it is only one of the
secondary forces which help to determine their
character.
2. Another effect, which is a consequence of the last, is,
that they become forgetful of their own interior life. They live out of
themselves. Their objects, aims, impulses, measures, rules, are with out. They
grow mechanical and external. This is sadly evident in many kinds of men, as,
for example, among such of the hard-working poor as
are not under the power of religion; and it is
from these instances that men draw hasty and
false conclusions. Some of them do, indeed, live
a sort of animal life, toiling, feeding, and restings, as if they were created only to carry burdens,
and to break up the soil of the earth. In such
cases, it is difficult to overstate their insensibility and unconsciousness of all that makes up the
hidden life of the soul. Acts of self-examination,
reflection, religious meditation, and even prayer,
are so strange and remote from their habitual
thoughts and employments, that it is with the
greatest difficulty they can be brought so much as
to understand what these things mean. Theirs is
a life of sight and sense, a life of the body rather
than of the soul. But it is not only among the poor
that such are to be found. It is still more true
of those who live in the midst of ambitious contests or speculations of gain; with this difference,
that there is a high excitement of the intellectual
powers, and a refined hardness of the heart, which
make them even more impenetrable to the power
of truth, and still more estranged from the discipline of their inner life. That
which the world praises as enthusiasm in their profession, self-forgetfulness,
devotedness to great aims, and the like, does really in most cases contain an
utter neglect of their own true immortality. It is one of the saddest thoughts, that some of the greatest men of the
world, as lawgivers, orators, leaders, statesmen, have
lived and died, if not in open breach of the Divine
laws, at least in an utter insensibility to their own
spiritual being, its probation, and its destiny.
3. And lastly, this self-neglect leads directly
to an entire forgetfulness of God. Indeed, it includes it. The two go together and involve each
other. People, by losing sight of their own hidden
life, soon lose also all perception of things unseen,
and of the Divine presence as manifested in this
world. It is this that makes the whole doctrine,
ritual, and discipline of the Catholic Church, the
whole mystery of sacraments and of the communion of saints, seem not only a perplexed and untenable theory, but to be a mere dream or vision
of superstitious minds. To minds that live for this
world, and for what may be seen, touched, and
handled, there must be a provoking unreality about
the whole theory of the Church. The very word ‘mystical’ is a word of reproach in the mouth of
the world. All hidden agencies which are not calculable by science, all preternatural causes which
cannot be reduced to a formula, or explained by
processes of reason, all precepts and rules of which
the direct bearing and consequence is not perceptible, are, to men trained in the service of the world, an imagination and a delusion. Now this
does of course destroy all habits of devotion. There
can be no life of prayer and communion with the
unseen Presence, where the very Presence itself,
if not doubted, is clouded and banished from our
habitual consciousness. If the unseen world with
draw itself, and all its glorious realities become pale
and dubious, how can our hearts open and yearn
towards it? And such is the state to which
the business, traffic, and work of this world may
bring us.
But if there be any truth in what has been said
before, the blame of this must be wholly our own.
We can never come to this state, unless we allow
the world to sap and to seduce our hearts away
from us. What should have been the token of our
humiliation, the chastisement of our spirits, and
the discipline of our life, we have converted into
a temptation and a snare; a burden to oppress
our conscience, and a stimulus to excite our fallen
nature. We have merged our Christianity in the
world, and taken its maxims and rules to be the
laws of our regenerate life.
Most true it is, that a life in the midst of the world is a
life of peculiar danger. Employments, offices, charges, professions, bring great
entanglements, doubts, and absorbing occupations. It needs a strong spirit to
stem them in safety. To withdraw from the world is a sign not only of a desire
for greater perfection, but of a consciousness of our
own weakness. Let these, then, be our safeguards;
first, to be thoroughly aware that, in a busy life,
there must be manifold temptations; and next,
that so far from being a dispensation from higher
rules of devotion, we do indeed more truly need
them. We need all the retirement we can get from
the world to recollect ourselves, and to measure the
deviations of our minds from the law of our Lord’s example. We ought thankfully to take all the
helps the Church provides for us. It was for the
world, and for those who are forced to dwell in
it, that the visible Church was set up. Without
it, this noisy, importunate, besieging world would
soon obliterate from our minds the traces of our
unseen home. We ought to mould all our plans
and habits of daily work upon the order of the
Church, and make secular engagements bend and
subject themselves to its sacred order of offices and
hours. Daily prayers, the continual admonition of
visible rites and tokens of faith, frequent receiving
of the holy communion, days of festival, seasons
of fasting, necessary as they are for pastors and
retired Christians, are still more urgently needed
by those whose habitual work brings on daily decays of fervour. They have to strengthen
themselves against a multiplied action of the world, in depressing and deteriorating the standard of their
inner life. For through our own imperfection, the
most lawful and innocent callings become occasions
of our own hurt. But this we may entirely believe, that, if we will seek God in all our employments, He will convert them into a discipline of
perfection; they will help us onward in our course;
in the work of the world we shall be sanctified.
Even in the unlikeliest duties and seasons, the
most secular and remote from a devout life, when
all seems dry, parched, and earthly, He will make
us to understand that His grace is sufficient for
us. He will fulfil His promise, “When the poor
and needy seek water, and there is none, and their
tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear them,
I the God of Israel will not forsake them. I will
open rivers in high places, and fountains in the
midst of the valleys: I will make the wilderness a
pool of water, and the dry land springs of water.”Isaiah xli. 17, 18.
SERMON XVII.
PRAYER A MARK OF TRUE HOLINESS.
ST. MARK i. 35.
“And in the morning, rising up a great while before day, He
went out, and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed.”
THE Evangelists seem especially guided to record,
for our instruction, the private devotions of our
Lord: they speak of them with a frequency and a
particularity which shews how large a portion of
His life was spent in prayer to God. We read in
one place, “When He had sent the multitudes away,
He went up into a mountain apart to pray: and
when evening was come, He was there alone.”St. Matt. xiv. 23.
Again: “And He withdrew Himself into the wilderness, and prayed.” Again: “And it came to
pass in those days, that He went out into a mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to
God.”St. Luke v. 16; vi. 12.
And again: “And it came to pass about an eight days after these sayings, He took Peter
and John and James, and went up into a mountain to pray. And as He prayed, the fashion of
His countenance was altered, and His raiment was
white and glistering.”St. Luke ix. 28, 29.
Now all these things bring
vividly before us His habitual communing with
His heavenly Father, before daybreak, all night
long, in solitary places, on the mountain, in the
wilderness; they teach us that a large part of His
earthly life He spent in prayer. Now, there are
many points of instruction suggested to us by this;
but that to which I desire to refer is, the mysterious fact that He did pray Who is One with the
Father and the Holy Ghost. Why should He
who was sinless, perfect, and in need of nothing,
pray? In one word, because, although as God He
hears the prayers of men, yet as Man it was an act
proper to His true humanity.
Let us consider, then, the reasons why in this
He must needs have been as we are.
1. First of all, without doubt, He prayed for the furtherance
of that work which His Father had given Him to do. It is remarkable, that the
occasions of retirement and prayer mentioned by the Evangelists are those which
precede the miracle of walking on the water, the going forth to preach, the
choice of the apostles, the transfiguration, the temptation of Peter, and His own betrayal in the
garden. Thus far His prayers seem to have reference to His work; and He Himself declared
of the lunatic whom His disciples could not heal, “this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fastings.”St. Matt. xvii. 21.
It is plain, then, that His praying was no
mere conformity to our necessities, no economy to
serve only as an example for us; but a real supplication for such things as the work He had taken
in hand demanded. What those things may be,
it is not for us to imagine. For Himself, nothing
could be needed. There was in Him virtue to
move mountains, and to suspend the laws of the
world. It may be, that His prayers were for
those on whom and in whose favour His miraculous powers were to be exerted, inasmuch as their
efficacy depended on the moral state of those who
were to be subjects of His grace. In one place
we read, “He did not many mighty works there
because of their unbelief.” To the two blind men
He said, “According to your faith be it unto you.”St. Matt. xiii. 58; ix. 29.
His prayers, then, it may be, were for those on
whom His power and His words should fall, that
they might be disposed by the Spirit of God for
the reception of His saving grace; or, as in the
choice and mission of His apostles, that they might
be true and faithful messengers of the kingdom of
heaven. So also in His prayer for the unity of
His Church at the last supper; and in His supplication on the cross, “Father, forgive them;
they know not what they do:” what were these,
but the beginnings of His all-prevailing intercession for us before the throne of God? The whole
world, from its first sin to its last judgment, lay
before Him; and the subtilty of Satan, the power
of death, the misery of mankind, were ever on His
soul. All holy Himself, yet in the midst of so
great a fall of God’s creation, how could there lack
matter for continual prayer? Amidst the contradiction of sinners, and the deadness of the unbelieving, with the foresight of the great sin of the
world which should be committed in His own Passion, with the whole career and probation of His
Church through this perilous world, before His prophetic intuition, we may in some little measure
understand what yearning desires of love and sorrow moved Him to all but unceasing intercession.
2. But His prayers were not altogether for
others. Deeply mysterious as it is, they were offered also for Himself. We should hardly dare to
say so, if holy Scripture were not most plain and
explicit. For instance, when He entered for the
last time into Jerusalem, He said, “Now is My
soul troubled: and what shall I say? Father, save
Me from this hour: but for this cause came I unto this hour.”St. John xii. 27.
And at the last supper: “Father,
the hour is come; glorify Thy Son.” Again: “And now, O Father, glorify Thou Me with Thine
own self with the glory which I had with Thee
before the world was.”St. John xvii. 1, 5.
And in His agony in the
garden: “O My Father, if it he possible, let this
cup pass from Me: nevertheless not as I will, but
as Thou wilt. . . . He went away again the second
time, and prayed, saying, O My Father, if this cup
may not pass away from Me, except I drink it, Thy will be done. . . . . And He left them, and went away again, and prayed the third time, saying the
same words.”St. Matt. xxvi. 39, 42, 44.
“And being in an agony He prayed
more earnestly: and His sweat was as it were great
drops of blood falling down to the ground.”St. Luke xxii. 44.
It
is, no doubt, of this awful passage of His life in
particular, though perhaps not exclusively, that
St. Paul writes, “Who in the days of His flesh,
when He had offered up prayers and supplications
with strong crying and tears unto Him that was
able to save Him from death, and was heard in
that He feared; though He were a Son, yet learned
He obedience by the things which He suffered.”Heb. v. 7, 8.
And in that last agony we read expressly, as if in
answer to His prayers, “there appeared an angel from heaven, strengthening Him.”St. Luke xxii. 44.
Wonderful
humiliation of the Son of God, to faint, to be in
an agony, to pray, to be strengthened by an angel!
Into this deep and hidden conflict of soul we can
not penetrate; but from it we may learn the awfulness of sin and death, which could thus afflict
the Word made flesh; and the mighty strength
of prayer, which stayed up His soul, and drew
from heaven an angel to uphold Him in the hour
of darkness. It was a property of His true humanity that He should derive strength through
prayer; and a part of His humiliation for us that
He should need to pray.
3. And once more. He prayed while He was
on earth, because prayer was the nearest return to
the glory which He laid aside when He was made
Man. It was, if we may so speak, His only true
dwelling, rest, home, delight. We read of His
weeping, and His being wearied, of His being
troubled in spirit; but we never read that He
rested, except upon the brink of a well by the
wayside; nor that He slept, except in the ship.
Most utterly sad and desolate His outward lot
in this world. “Foxes had holes, and the birds
of the air had nests; but the Son of Man had not where to lay His head.”
Prayer and converse with His Father in heaven was the only shelter into which the world
could not break. Where He prayed was holy
ground, and for the time was altogether His own.
And to the mountain and the solitude He with
drew, leaving all, even the disciple whom He
loved, that He might hold converse with His
Father in heaven. It is remarkable that the
public tokens of love which were given Him from
heaven were all in acts of prayer. At His baptism, St. Luke writes, “Jesus also being baptised
and praying, the heaven was opened, and the
Holy Ghost descended in a bodily shape like a
dove upon Him, and a voice came from heaven,
which said, Thou art My beloved Son; in Thee
I am well pleased.”St. Luke iii. 21, 22.
At His transfiguration we
read that He “went up into a mountain to pray.
And as He prayed, the fashion of His countenance
was altered, and His raiment was white and glistering. And, behold, there talked with Him two
men, which were Moses and Elias: who appeared
in glory, . . . and a cloud overshadowed them; . . .
and there came a voice out of the cloud, saying,
This is My beloved Son: hear Him.”St. Luke ix. 28-31, 35.
What
may have been the visitations of His Father’s love
and consolation in His secret communion with
Him, we cannot so much as conceive. Without
doubt they were times of unspeakable bliss; when
the light of God’s countenance, and the fulness
of His Father’s love, were shed abroad in His
soul. What must have been the communing of the
Word made flesh with His heavenly Father; what
mingling of eternal love, what perfect unity of will!
And may we not believe that He, by whose Spirit
the prophets spake of old, foresaw at all times, but
specially in seasons of retired communion with God,
the full mystery of love, the abolition of sin and
death, the perfect reconciliation of God and man,
the company of the elect, the holiness of the saints,
the glorious martyrdom of His servants, the perfection of His Church, the new creation of God? If in His hours of agony the
darker shadows of the future hung upon Him, may we not believe that in His hours
of prayer the brighter lights of His invisible kingdom shone full upon His soul?
Now, from this view, we may learn, first, that
a life of habitual prayer is a life of the highest
perfection; and that our prayer will be more or
less perfect in proportion as our state of holiness is
more or less advanced. The most perfect example
of prayer is His who was most perfect in holiness.
None prayed such fervent, frequent, unwearied
prayers as He who was without sin.
There is something at first sight paradoxical
in saying, that prayer is the beginning of conversion to God, and also the highest token of perfection. Yet so it is. Prayer is the very breath of
the regenerate life. Without it no spirit of man
can live. Prayer is also the nearest approach to
the work of saints unseen, to the heavenly glory,
to the beatific vision. It is well to bear this in
mind; for in what do people more deceive and
distress themselves than in the duty of prayer?
Sometimes we see people living on in a full belief
that they do pray, when we have every reason to
believe that they have never so much as realised
the very idea of what prayer is; for instance, persons of a correct life, with cold affections, strong
understandings, watchful against what they call
enthusiasm and excited feelings; or again, those
who take the tone of the world, live in society,
busy themselves with it usages and events; people
of an external life, who live out of their own hearts,
having their attention drawn away from themselves, and their thoughts active about this visible world. Now, such people are often exemplary
in their regularity at all stated duties of religion;
and they go through them with such a sufficiency
of outward care and punctuality, that there appears
nothing to be supplied. But, after all, something
seems perceptibly wanting within. Perhaps it may
be expressed in fewest words as the want of realising
their own personal relation to God, and the nearness of His presence to them in acts of prayer. But we have no need to speak of others. Who is
there that does not know what this means? Who
is there that has not passed through such a state
of dangerous insensibility; and has become conscious now, in looking back, for how many years
his prayers were really mere recitations, without
realising the awful directness of our approach to
God? And yet all the time we were as unconscious of it as if there were nothing that we did
not fully perceive. How long this deceit still hung
about us! And though we began at last to be
painfully aware of our blindness and lukewarmness,
our wandering and distraction in the very act of
praying, yet we never half suspected the right
cause. For example, how many of us have felt it
easier to maintain at least external reverence in
public worship than in private prayer, partly be
cause the eyes of others were upon us, and partly
because our attention was stimulated by the devotions of others. When we have gone into our own
private room, we have seemed to become altogether
changed; our thoughts abroad, our affections cold,
and our very body weary of kneeling. On the
other hand, many people greatly distress themselves
about their prayers: I do not say needlessly, for
there is need enough; but their distress is often
an obstruction rather than a help. They complain
of indevotion, of inability to pray, or to fix their minds. It seems to them to be altogether unreal,
and a sort of forced and artificial state of mind.
Now, it is of course impossible to lay down
any laws in a matter so mysterious, and so nearly
related to the inscrutable workings of the Spirit
of God. It is indeed true that sometimes men converted late in life, or after great sins, or by sudden
causes, exhibit a wonderful vividness of compunction and a fervent spirit of prayer. But these are
exempt cases; and even they often subside after
wards into the condition in which the great majority of men are to be found. For the most part
the habit of prayer keeps pace with, or but little
outstrips, the habit of patience, meekness, humility,
and the like; that is to say, it is matured with
the maturing of the spiritual life. And indeed it
seems plain that it must be so; for what are the
springs of prayer but a sense of sinfulness, a desire
of abasement and of sanctification? But before
these can exist, the moral effects of past sins, by
which the edge of the conscience has been blunted
and the purity of the affections soiled, must be in
part taken away. This is not the work of a day,
but of a long season, often of years; and these
hindrances must be borne as a deserved chastisement and humiliation. In this way even the mat
ter of our distress becomes a wholesome discipline
for our correction. We cannot, without long and persevering endeavours, imitate our Lord in His
prayers, any more than in His patience. We must
be first, in some measure, conformed to Him in the
perfections of His heavenly life, before our hearts
can pour themselves out in fervent intercessions.
The most perfect prayers are those of saints and
of little children, because in both there is the same
freedom from the hard, unconcerned, self-contemplative habit of mind which besets the common
sort of Christians, and the same presence of awe,
tenderness of conscience, simplicity, and truth.
The very weakness of children has the same effect
as the strength of saints. Children have not yet
learned to know the world, and saints have renounced it, and both are free from its solicitations
and intrusions.
2. There is another point to be considered.
The spirit of prayer is a direct gift from God.
This great truth has been so abused by the fanaticism and self-delusion of unstable men, that
others of a more chastened temper have recoiled
into the opposite extreme, They confine it practically, though they would not
say so, to the acts of our own minds. To pray is a high grace given to us from
heaven. For prayer does not mean the ready utterance which flows from excitement
of imagination, or fluency of speech, nor any of the mere intellectual powers
with which men have deceived others and themselves; but from the depth
of contrition and self-reproach, from earnest resolutions of self-chastisement, strong aspirations after
perfect holiness and the bliss of fellowship with
God. And all these are the gifts of that One
Spirit which “helpeth our infirmities: for we
know not what we should pray for as we ought:
but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us
with groanings which cannot be uttered. And
He that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the
mind of the Spirit, because He maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God.”Rom. viii. 26, 27.
After all our endeavours and prayers, it is from
Him that we must receive the grace of prayer. “I will pour out upon the house of David, and
upon the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the spirit of
grace and of supplications: and they shall look on
Me whom they have pierced.” It is in proportion
as we receive clearer insight into the depth and
ingratitude of sin, into the passion and love of
Christ, that we shall learn to pray. “And they
shall mourn for Him, as one mourneth for his
only son, and shall be in bitterness for Him, as
one that is in bitterness for his firstborn.”Zech. xii. 10.
Prayer springs from compunction, and compunction from love to Him whom our sins have pierced;
and to perceive this is the gift of God, sometimes
given early in the life of a penitent, but for the
most part after years of fear and mortification; for
these perceptions are not emotions raised by our
own efforts, nor can we by any intellectual process
gain them, or create them for ourselves; they are in
sights and intuitions of the Spirit freely given from
above, and passively received by those who, in truth
and sincerity of heart, have diligently waited upon
God in prayer. There are, indeed, higher revelations with which He favours those whom He will:
but they are not to be expressed in words, nor to be
understood, even if they could be uttered; nor are
they to be sought by us, being too excellent for us;
nor to be contemplated and rested in, when given;
nor are they graces that are necessary for salvation,
but gifts vouchsafed to few. And even they who
receive them have some counter-token to make such
high endowments safe. He who was caught up
into the third heaven, lest he should be “lifted up,”
had also sent unto him “a thorn in the flesh, the
messenger of Satan to buffet him.” Let us therefore leave all, even our prayers, in God’s hand. Let
us not seek high things for ourselves, lest we should
not be able to bear them; lest we should fall into
the delusion of the enemy, and mistake heated and
overstrained fancies for the realities of God’s king
dom. To seek after high tokens of God’s favour,
is to pass a judgment on ourselves that we are such as may expect them, and could receive them in humility and in safety. But they who think so, plainly
shew that they are not such as could endure them
without danger. Such things are rather for those
who like Peter, when he saw the miracle of the
fishes, said, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful
man, O Lord.” Yet even he, after that, when he
saw somewhat of his Master’s glory, talked of building three tabernacles, not knowing what he said.
Therefore let us be lowly even in our prayers;
seeking to be real and sincere, conscious of our
infinite spiritual wants, our manifold and exceeding
imperfections. It is beyond all our deservings that
we should be allowed to speak with Him at all.
It is enough for us that we may “make our requests known unto God.” For all that remains let
us trust ourselves in His hands. He will shew us
such things as it is good for us to see in this state
of humiliation. Let us, like our Lord, withdraw
ourselves at times not only from the world, but
from those dearest to us, from our closest friend
ships and most intimate affections, that we may
be alone with God. Let us learn how precious
are solitary places, and hours when others are
sleeping or away; in the night-season, or “a great
while before day,” when the earth and heaven are
still, and the busy world has not yet come abroad
to trouble the creation of God.
And lastly, we may learn that, as the sacrifice
of Christ is the one only effectual sacrifice, so is
His the one only true and all-prevailing prayer.
All our prayers are accepted in His, which are
the life and strength of all. The intercession of
His Church goes up perpetually through Him
unto His Father. In itself it is weak and imperfect: but He is the life of His mystical body;
and in Him the prayers of saints, the aspirations
of pure hearts, the mourning of the contrite, the
confessions of penitents, the strong crying of the
afflicted, the self-reproaches of convicted sinners,
ascend as one intercession, as a sacrifice of a sweet-smelling savour, to the throne of God. In the
vision which St. John saw, an “angel came and
stood at the altar, having a golden censer; and
there was given unto him much incense, that he
should offer it with the prayers of all saints upon
the golden altar which was before the throne.
And the smoke of the incense, which came with
the prayers of the saints, ascended up before God
out of the angel’s hand.”Rev. viii. 3, 4.
This is He who “continueth
ever,” and “hath an unchangeable priesthood. Wherefore He is able also to save
them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him, seeing He ever liveth to make
intercession for them.”Heb. vii. 24.
SERMON XVIII.
SHORT DEVOTIONS A HINDRANCE TO PRAYER.
ST. LUKE vi. 12.
“And it came to pass in those days, that He went out into a
mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God.”
WE are not to suppose, because we read this only
once in the Gospels, that it was only this once in
His life that our blessed Lord spent all the night in
prayer. The history of His words and deeds, as it
is written by the Evangelists, does not profess to
give all that He said or did. Indeed, St. John
expressly declares, “There are also many other
things which Jesus did, the which, if they should
be written every one, I suppose that even the world
itself could not contain the books that should be
written.”St. John xxi. 25.
We have but a small part in the four
Gospels; and yet that part is so recorded as to contain, imply, and extend over all the rest. If we
may reverently use a phrase of so critical a sound, it may be said that they contain the perfect idea
and outline of His character, together with such
instances as express the whole habit and principle
of His life. Therefore these words of St. Luke
may be taken to imply, not only that He passed
that particular night alone in prayer, or in an
oratoryἐν τῇ προσευχῇ τοῦ Θεοῦ.
on the mountain, as the words may mean,
but that such was His wont: that long retirement
and protracted communing with God were habitual
to Him. Now the point I would notice is, the
great length of time He thus gave to prayer; and
we will consider how far it has the force of an
example or precept to us. Many people will say,
that it applies to us, if at all, in a very remote and
restricted way; and the arguments they bring are
not without a show of reason. But a little deeper
thought will convince us that the reverse is true.
We will, however, take the chief objections, and
weigh them one by one.
1. It is commonly said, that such prolonged acts
of prayer issued from the perfection of His divine
Person; that they were, so to speak, attributes of
One who was without sin, and in unbroken fellowship with God. It cannot be denied that there is
truth in this. We know that angels, who “excel in
strength,” serve God without intermission; and the
heavenly hosts, in their adoration, “rest not day and night.” In fact, it may be said that sustained
devotion is a perfection—an endowment of those
who are delivered from the power of sin. And a
powerful argument comes in aid of this, from the
sensible fact of our distraction and weariness in
prayer, which seem to be universal, and to cleave
to us, even to the best of men, to the end of life.
But does not this objection put out of sight the
most important truth of all? It is indeed most
true, that the sustained and blissful communion
which He held with His Father—a converse with
out the wandering of a desire or thought, a fellowship of consolation, strength, and peace—that this,
indeed, is beyond our reach. Few attain, even in
kind, an approach to it; and they seldom; and
many never. They who enjoy it are admitted to
it only for a while and at seasons; with long intervals, and uncertain returns. In this, indeed,
the example of our Master finds but a restricted
counterpart in us. Yet it does not take off the
force of it. His prayers were blissful as He was
perfect; but ours are necessary because of our imperfections. We must not, however, suppose that
His prayers were only adorations, because from
one who stands in need of nothing. It is a mystery
of faith, how He that filleth all should pray as if
needing of another’s fulness; yet it is only the
mystery of the Incarnation in its consequences. It is akin to His temptation and His agony, in which
He was ministered to and strengthened by angels.
And we are expressly told that He prayed “with
strong crying and tears,” “and was heard in that
He feared.”Heb. v. 7.
His prayers were uttered out of the
depths of His sinless infirmities, and had their answers from on high; but in what way we know not,
nor shall do well too curiously to seek. This brings
His example nearer to us. His nights of prayer,
then, were not simple exercises of His exceeding
spiritual strength; they were also the earnest cleaving of man to God. And if the infirmities of a
sinless being drew Him so mightily to God, how
much more ought the sin that is in us to drive us
to the Divine Presence for healing and for strength!
The contrast of our weakness with His perfection
gives us no discharge from His example: rather, it
adds a greater force. It brings out a farther and
deeper reason, which makes the law of prayer to us
the very condition of life. If we do not pray, we
perish. It is no answer to say we are weak, and can
not continue in prayer as He. That very weakness
is in itself the necessity which forces us to pray.
His perfect prayers are only the standard we must
aim at—the pattern of what our prayers should be. If ours are unlike His, so
much the greater need to give ourselves to greater devotion: the more unlike, the more need there is to pray. All that can be
made of this objection, then, is this: Such is our
sinful and weak state, that His perfect devotions
are beyond our strength. And the conclusion that
follows is, therefore, not that we may contentedly
aim at a lower rule, but that we ought all the more
to humble, and train ourselves upon a discipline
which leads to His perfection. In a word, the very
objection which pleads the difficulty of following
His example, proves the necessity which constrains
us to follow it.
2. Again, it is often said, “There can be no
doubt that more time ought to be given by us all to
the duty of prayer. Well were it if we were able
to follow, in all things, the example of our Lord;
but this is plainly impossible. We are entangled in
the world, burdened by its duties and its employments; our time is not our own; it is very hard
to get an unbroken hour. There is always some
thing demanding our whole attention: business, labour, the claims of others, the
harmless usages of society, the charities of life, the cares of home, the
service of the sick and poor, the instruction of children, and the like. In a
word, it is impossible for those who live an active and a busy life to find time
for long private devotions.”
From the tone in which some people speak,
one would think that our blessed Master had lived a leisurely and unimpeded life; that He had no
thing else to do but to live alone in retirement
and solitude, in prayer and contemplation: and
this of One, whose whole life was toil, amid crowds
and multitudes, hungry and wayworn, full of calls
and interruptions. Certainly the life of our Lord
exhibits to us the most perfect example of constant
employments. If any thing in it be prominent, it is
the multitude of works, the never-ending service of
all that came or sent for Him, in sick chambers, in
homes of sorrow, in synagogues, in Pharisees’ houses,
in the Temple, in the mid-stream of men. It were
rather true to say, that hardly any man’s life was
ever yet so broken in upon, and taken from him by
labour, and care, and the importunity of others, as
His; and yet He is to us the perfect example of devotion. It was the toil of the day that turned His
night into a vigil. That which we plead as excuse
was the very cause why “He went out into a mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to
God.” In which He teaches us, that whatever else
we forego, we may not forego our prayers; whatever
else is at our will to give up, this is not; however
necessary we may think other things, this is the
thing needful above all; our work must be done, and
yet our devotions must not be left undone. Our
Lord’s example in this is especially pointed and instructive to those who are wont to plead their worldly duties in excuse. He has abolished this plea before
hand; He has exposed its untruth by anticipation;
and, moreover, He has taught us that here again
the very reverse of this excuse is the truth. They
who live in the world are so far from being released
from stricter habits of private devotion, that they,
above all, need them most. The busier their daily
thoughts, the greater need of recollection at night.
The more closely the world presses upon them all
day long, the more need is there for them to break
loose from it, and to give themselves up again to
God, when the day is done. What else remains to
them? If the world has indeed the dominion of
their days; if so long as light lasts, their whole
activity and all its powers must be given to trade,
or merchandise, or studies, or official employments,
or the practice of courts, or even to ministries of
healing, as physicians and pastors; what remains to
them, but to reclaim from the hours when at last
the world is at rest some of the time on which it
keeps so tyrannous a hold? Verily these are they
who, most of all men, have need to “redeem the
time, because the days are evil.”Ephes. v. 16.
It is indeed true,
that multiplicity of labours and employments makes
retirement very hard to obtain; but it makes it all
the more necessary. All activity not controlled by
the presence of God, has in it a tendency to withdraw the mind from Him, and to render it less
open towards Him, less susceptible of passive impressions, and less conscious of an unseen presence.
So, again, all excitements, not only of a worldly and
corrupting sort, as pleasure, gaining, ambition, and
the like, but even the purer kinds, are adverse to
devotion. A highly intellectual habit of thought,
such as students or professional men usually live
in, has a very subtil effect on the mind: it makes
it over-active; so that the stillness and fixedness
necessary in prayer are irksome and peculiarly difficult. Also it tends to dry up and to deaden the
affections, on which devotion is chiefly engrafted.
This is true even of pastors, in the study of divine
truth, and in the exercise of their spiritual ministry.
Over-activity often leads to indevotion, and busy
care about others to forgetfulness of our own soul.
And if this be true of us, how much more of those
whose lot is cast in the world, and whose scene of
toil is among the snares and secularities of life!
But into this I will not go farther now; we shall
have need to come back to it hereafter. All that it
is necessary to say is, that the common excuse made
by even well-meaning people for their low habits of
devotion, is no excuse at all: rather, all the force
it has is on the other side, in the way of warning
and admonition. Alas for the man that is too busy
to pray; for he is too busy to be saved.
3. But once more. It may be said, “All this
proves too much; for if it prove any thing, it proves
that we ought to give up our natural rest and our
night’s sleep, and to break the common habits of
a regular life in a way that health and sound discretion, and almost the humility which avoids singularities and extremes, would equally forbid.” It
may be asked, “Do you literally mean, that we
ought ever to ‘continue the whole night in prayer?’
for if not, do you not give up the argument and
the example; and then what measure of time will
you fix?” It may not be amiss to say, that better
men than ourselves, and that in all times, have
seen reason to take these words even to the letter;
and their lives have been a witness to their sound
discretion, and to their humility. The very name
of vigil, which the Church puts into our mouths,
has some deeper and fuller meaning than we are
wont to give it. This is an age of metaphors and
accommodations: words once realities are now but
figures, symbols of vague notions. Now-a-days a vigil is the evening before a Feast, in which men
used
in early times to watch and pray; and it stands for
the duty of watchfulness. We have grown to be great
masters of defining by glosses, and parables. This
at least may be said: there are many of us who
would think it reasonable and discreet to spend a
whole night in study, or writing, or in conversation, or in the levities of the world, or in travelling;
who have done and still do this, and yet have never
passed a night in contemplation and prayer, and
would think it extravagant to do so. My object
in saying this is, to shew in what unequal scales
even fair and religious people weigh these things.
Is it not true, that people who would, without a
word, travel many nights together for business or
amusement, would positively resent the notion of
spending even a few hours of Christmas or Easter
Eve in prayer and self-examination? However,
it is enough for the present purpose to say, that
whosoever would live a life of prayer, must spend
no small part of every day in praying. There is
no art or science, no practice or faculty of which
the human mind is capable, that demands for its
acquirement so much time as a habit of prayer.
One of the chief reasons why we find it so hard to
pray, one of the chief causes of all our distraction,
wandering, and indevotion, is, the infrequency and
shortness of our prayers. It is indeed true, that
prayer is in one sense a gift of God: He pours
out on whomsoever He will “the spirit of grace
and supplications;”Zech. xii. 10.
“the Spirit also helpeth our
infirmities: for we know not what we should pray
for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.”Rom. viii. 26.
Nevertheless, the same is equally true
of purity and humility; they both are gifts of grace,
yet subjected to the conditions of our nature, and
to be made our own by discipline and in time.
So it is with prayer. And, indeed, if we will but
consider what the act of prayer is, we shall see that,
of all the spiritual powers of the regenerate soul,
it is the highest and most nearly akin to perfection. It is no less than speaking with God under a
consciousness of His presence, with kindled desires,
and a submitted will. It implies the presence and
energy of faith, love, and repentance. Such as we
are, such our prayers will be. It is the unfolding
of ourselves in God’s sight; and there must needs
go before it and with it a knowledge of ourselves,
founded on habitual self-examination. And for
this, stated and not short seasons of silence and
retirement in the presence of God are absolutely
needed.
Now what is actually the state of most people?
They pray twice in the day. Their prayers are,
for the most part, certain fixed and ever-recurring forms of devotion; in themselves good, but
necessarily general both in confession and petition.
These prayers are said over with more or less of
attention, desire, feeling, and emotion. They take,
it may be, a quarter of an hour in the morning, and the same at night. They are often not preceded by conscious preparation, nor followed by
prescribed acts of reflection. They are parentheses
in the day, which will not read into the context
of life, but are entered and left by a sensible transition of the mind. To this, perhaps, is added, in
most cases, a reading of the Bible once in the
course of the day. With some there lingers still
the remains of an excellent and most significant
practice of reading the appointed Psalms and Lessons—a memorial of better times, and an unconscious act of unity, in spirit and intention, with
those who daily pray before the altars of the
Church. Now the time spent in these habits is
half an hour in prayer, and perhaps the same in
reading. If to this be added family prayers, a
quarter of an hour in the morning, and the same
at night, I believe we shall have taken no unfavourable sample of the measure of time given to
their daily prayers by persons even of a serious and
religious character. It cannot be doubted that
such people would pass for devout persons; nor
will I, which God forbid, gainsay their claim to
be so esteemed. But what does it come to, after
all? One hour and a half in every twenty-four.
And how are the rest allotted? Nine or ten to
sleep and its circumstantials, two or three hours spent over food; four or five,
that is, whole mornings and whole evenings, given up to conversation,
visits, amusements, and what the world calls society;
the rest consumed in various employments of various degrees of nearness to, or remoteness from, the
presence and thought of God. Now, assuredly, if
this world were not a fallen world, if all its spontaneous daily movements were in harmony with
the will of God and the state beyond the grave,
there would be no harm in resting upon those
movements, and in being borne along with them.
But if it be indeed a world fallen from God; and
if in its fairest forms it be still, at least by privation of righteousness, sinful in His sight, then
to live in it as if it were not fallen cannot but
estrange us from real communion with Him. An
hour and a half of better thoughts in every day
will not disinfect our hearts, and counterwork the
perpetual and transforming action of the world in
all the rest of our time. In this point, busy and
toilworn people have an advantage over the more
leisurely; for business and labour are a part of the
fall, and have in them chastisement and humiliation. There is great danger, in cases like that
which I have taken, lest such minds, though in
many ways blameless and pure, should be strangers
to the deeper things of God, and to the realities
of compunction and devotion.
To the case I have supposed, one more point may be added: I mean, attendance at the daily
prayers of the Church. Measured by time, this
adds somewhat more than another hour in the
day; but after all, what is it? Not so much
as three hours for God, and one-and-twenty for
ourselves. Alas for us! what would they judge
of us, those saints of old, who wore the very stones
with their perpetual kneelings? What would they
say of our distribution of time? Would they acknowledge us among the number of those that
pray? What would they answer to our complaints
of wandering and distraction, and unseasonable
thoughts, and unconsciousness of God’s presence?
Would they wonder that it is so with us? I trow
not. Should we not hear: “In the evening, and
morning, and at noonday will I pray, and that instantly, and He shall hear my voice.” “Seven
times a day do I praise Thee, because of Thy righteous judgments.” “Mine eyes prevent the night-watches, that I might be occupied in Thy law.”
“My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they
that watch for the morning: yea, I say, more than
they that watch for the morning,” “My voice
shalt Thou hear betimes, O Lord: early in the
morning will I direct my prayer unto Thee, and
will look up.”Ps. lv. 17; cxix. 164, 148; cxxx.
6.
“At midnight will I rise to give
thanks unto Thee, because of Thy righteous judgments.” “I have thought upon Thy name in the
night-season, and have kept Thy law.”Ps. cxix. 62, 55.
I will add only two remarks, and then conclude.
1. First, it is plain that there can be no exact
measure of time fixed for our prayers. If any were
fixed, we should be in great danger of forming a
mechanical habit, and of resting in it when mechanically fulfilled. It is the very character of our
trial that we are under a law of liberty. It were
easier to many to recite a prescribed number of
prayers in a prescribed space of time, than to say
one prayer with devotion. This is a wholesome
and necessary admonition to those who have the
blessing of the daily prayers of the Church. The
salt which alone can keep the daily service from
corruption is increased prayer in private. If this “have lost its savour, wherewith shall it be salted?” In such frequent, prolonged, public, and,
I may say, familiar approaches to God, there is
great danger of forming a hard, business-like in
sensibility in the very act of praying. No time,
then, can be exactly prescribed. The end alone
can measure what is needful. And that end is,
the fellowship of a wakeful and collected mind
with God. No time that fails to attain this, be
it short or long, is enough. But though no mea
sure of time can be fixed for all, yet one thing
it is safe to say: we ought all of us to be longer
on our knees before God than we are at present.
And longer we should be, if we truly knew our
own state, or if we had so much as a moment’s clear perception of the awfulness of God’s presence,
or of the bliss of perfect prayer. This at least may
be said, that to hurry suddenly into His presence,
and to hurry out of it again, is no sign of our so
much as understanding the first idea of worship.
There is something irreverent in these sudden
transitions; as if our minds were always meet to
approach Him, and there were nothing needed
but a momentary act of our will. Our prayers
cannot fail to be full of distraction, if we enter
upon them without first setting ourselves, by acts
of conscious recollection, in His presence. What,
after all, is the key of our distractions, but the
fact that we so faintly realise the presence of God
when we are upon our knees? Another practical
rule is this: we may be sure that we do not give
time enough to prayer, so long as either the ordinary habits of our life continue to thrust themselves in upon our devotions, or our habits of
devotion fail to check and sanctify the ordinary
habits of our life. Till we reach this point, we
shall be in no danger of giving too much time
to our prayers; and that is a sufficient and a safe
practical answer, and a good rule to go by.
2. The other remark I would make is, that
there are peculiar difficulties and temptations at
tending a habit of prayer, by which people are
often greatly distressed. The more they endeavour
to prolong their acts of prayer, the more sensible
they become of the instability and levity of their
minds. Many feel this in respect to the prayers
of the Church, especially when the Holy Communion is administered. But perhaps
the commonest form of this trial is in the daily service. Really
earnest people, who delight in being, day by day,
before the altar, and would not forfeit the prayers
of morning and evening for any inducement, do
nevertheless sometimes go through the whole service with a perfectly absent mind. At the beginning of every prayer they resolve to unite their
desires to it throughout, and at the end come to
themselves again, and perceive that all has been a
blank before them. This is very disquieting, and
fills them with painful and mistrustful thoughts.
It is indeed a matter for compunction and humiliation. It is a token of their great spiritual
infirmity. But it is a good thing to be made
painfully aware of it. And this is one of the
benefits resulting from the length of the prayers,
and from the habit of daily service. It acts as
a detector to test and exhibit their true internal
state. With shorter and less frequent services they might have gone on for ever without finding out
their secret indevotion; and all the while it would
be no less real, though undiscovered. It is good to
be convicted, lest we deceive ourselves. And the
use we should make of the offices of the Church
when we cannot follow them is, to chastise our
indevotion by them, and to strengthen the habits
of silence, reverence, and attention, which are the
basis of a devout spirit. Even though, through our
weakness or our sin, we fail to sustain our conscious
and direct prayers, yet frequent and stated returns
to God’s presence lay the foundations of obedience,
and obedience is the very source of fervent prayer.
In the relaxed state of our spiritual discipline, it
is good to have this undesigned, though somewhat
austere rule. There is another part of our public
worship, which, though not intended, supplies a
highly beneficial practice of devotion. I mean, the
great length of time while the Holy Sacrament is
being distributed to communicants. Some people
strongly and inconsiderately complain of this. But
it is a blessed and wholesome thing to be so encompassed, as it were, by the presence of God, that for
a while we can employ ourselves in nothing but
prayer and meditation. In our busy, excited, intellectual, distracted life, it is a good thing to have
even our mental activity for a while forcibly suspended, and our minds left wholly without support or stay, except in the thought of God. It is
good to have even religious books withdrawn for
a time; for manuals of devotion often divert the
mind from its own personal acts, and substitute
the thought of devotion for the reality. While the
Body and Blood of Christ are being given to His
people at the altar, we can do nothing but turn
inwardly upon our own consciousness of His presence with us, and of our actual state before Him.
Let us, then, look upon all trials and difficulties in
prayer as no more than we must meet in the discipline of every part of a holy life. And let us be
thankful that we are in any way brought to know
how far we are fallen from God, how unmeet
for the inheritance of the saints in light, whose
ministry of love and worship has no intermission;
only let the consciousness of our distractions in
prayer make us pray oftener, and more; for by prayer alone can they be overcome.
There is no other cure. Let us, in spite of all, cleave to this, and we shall
find all well at last, when we shall no longer worship Him under the veil of His
unseen Presence, but before the Throne, where our “eyes shall behold the King in
His beauty.”
SERMON XIX.
THE LONGSUFFERING OF CHRIST.
ST. MATT. xviii. 21, 22.
“Then came Peter to Him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my
brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times?
Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy
times seven.”
IN St. Luke’s Gospel this same answer is given
with a change of expression which makes it even
more emphatic: “Take heed to yourselves: If
thy brother trespass against thee, rebuke him;
and if he repent, forgive him. And if he trespass
against thee seven times in a day, and seven times
in a day turn again to thee, saying, I repent; thou
shalt forgive him.”St. Luke xvii. 3, 4.
In St. Matthew’s Gospel,
the parable of the two servants who owed, the one ten thousand talents, and the
other an hundred pence, immediately follows. It is therefore evident, that the
great law of mutual forgiveness is founded both on the law of nature, and on the fact of the
still greater forgiveness which we have received at
God’s hand. If He have forgiven us so much, what
is there that we shall not forgive our brother? if
He have forgiven us so often, how can we ever refuse forgiveness? Seventy times seven, seven times
in a day, what is this to those who have the forgiveness of God through the blood of Jesus Christ?
But the point I wish to draw attention to is,
not the duty of forgiveness as it is here enjoined,
but the character of Christ as it is revealed in
these words. It is plain that He does not lay on
us a rule of mercy by which He does not proceed
Himself. He has not two measures, or an unequal balance. As He would have us measure to
others, so He will mete to us. The law He here
lays down is a transcript of Himself: this seventy
times sevenfold remission, what is it but His unwearied mercy? and what is this
“seven times in a
day,” but His all-enduring patience?
Now it is this particular truth which distinguishes the
Gospel from all religions of nature, and even from all other measures of the
earlier revelations of God. The great truth here revealed to us is, the love,
clemency, forgiveness of God to sinners. All this was, indeed, exhibited before
in promises and prophecies, and in God’s manifest dealings with His chosen
people of old; but it was never so fully revealed as by the Incarnation and atonement of Christ. It may be said with
truth, that a full perception of this great mystery
of mercy is the very life of faith; and that there is
nothing we are slower and more unwilling to believe in its truth and fulness. The greatness of it is too
large for our narrow hearts. It is very easy to say,
God is merciful, Christ is full of compassion; but
these general truths, as we utter them, are limited
and overcast by others not less certain. For if the
Gospel has revealed God’s mercy, it has also revealed God’s holiness; if it has taught us that God
is Love, it has also taught us that He is “a consuming fire.” With the atonement, we have learned
the judgment to come; with the sacrifice of Christ,
we have learned the guilt of sin; with the gift of
regeneration, the defilement of our inmost soul; if
baptism has brought us remission, it has made sins
after baptism more fearful. The Gospel is an awful
twofold light, before which even faithful Christians
tremble, and often see but in part, and, through
weakness and fear, and the earthliness of their
hearts, often believe and speak amiss. It seems
inconceivable that God should pardon so great sins
as ours; or if He pardon us once, that He should
pardon us when we fall again. The number and
the frequency of our falls and swervings, the many
warnings and the full light against which we often offend; the periodical returns of temptation, and,
with them, of disobedience; the depth and intensity of guilt which even lesser sins attain by repetition after repentance; above all, when
committed neither by surprise, nor by suddenness, but
with a certain measure of deliberation, and with
enough of resistance to shew that nothing can be
pleaded in excuse: all these, and a multitude more
of particulars, which it is impossible to touch on in
detail, make people often feel that, undoubted as
is the perfect and exhaustless mercy of Christ, yet
in their particular case there are features which
shut them out from the consolation they would
readily minister to others.
Now I am not going to argue against this feelings, so far as it promotes in us bitterness of repentance, fear, humiliation, and prayer for pardon. It
is to be corrected only when it clashes with the
perfect revelation of our Lord’s character, and of
His dealings with us. Too much humbled we
cannot be, too tender of conscience, too fearful to
offend; but we may dishonour Him by unworthy
and faithless mistrusts, by thinking that He is
verily such an one as ourselves, and that His forgiveness is no readier and broader than the
perception we form of it in our hearts. If there be
any one thing of vital force in a life of Christian
obedience, it is a true and full knowledge of Him whom we obey. His character is our very law; it
imposes on us the conditions of our whole life, in
thought, word, and deed, and defines the whole of
our relations to Him. Now these words of His
in the text reveal to us that to those who repent,
howsoever often they may have sinned, there is
perpetual forgiveness; that as often as we turn to
Him, saying in truth, “I repent,” He will take us
back again. And this is, indeed, the very grace
and mystery of the Gospel. Let us consider it a
little more fully.
1. The state of man by creation was this: God
made him sinless; he sinned, and died,—one sin,
and all was lost. The work of creation had in it
no remedial provision; it was a state of sanctity
for a sinless creature; it contemplated no fall, no
imperfection, no infirmity. Once fallen, all was
marred; the relation of God and man once broken,
the power of restoration must be sought in a new
order and law of grace. The state of creation,
then, was awful and severe in its perfection, and
in itself had no remedy or healing for sin. Adam
fell, lost his gift of righteousness, and passed under
the power of death. He begat a son in his own
likeness, and handed on the dark inheritance of
the fall; the tide had set away from God, and
every generation swelled the stream and made it
run more fiercely. The first Adam was shorn of all his powers, and there was no help in him. The fall and sorrow were the heirloom of his
children.
2. Now it is exactly in this point that the Gospel, or the new creation, of which Christ our Lord,
the second Adam, is the head and root, differs from
the first. It is a mystery of restoration; it has in
it an inexhaustible source of healing for the sin
of the world. By one act of disobedience the first creation passed away for ever. The second is the
perpetual remedy of sin. And this is the meaning
of St. Paul’s words: “As by one man sin entered
into the world, and death by sin; and so death
passed upon all men, for that all have sinned. . . .
Death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over
them that had not sinned after the similitude of
Adam’s transgression, who is the figure of Him
that was to come. But not as the offence, so also
is the free gift. For if through the offence of
one many be dead, much more the grace of God,
and the gift by grace, which is by one man, Jesus
Christ, hath abounded unto many. And not as
it was by one that sinned, so is the gift: for the
judgment was by one to condemnation, but the free
gift is of many offences unto justification. For if
by one man’s offence death reigned by one; much
more they which receive abundance of grace and
of the gift of righteousness shall reign in life by one, Jesus Christ.”Rom. v. 12, 14-17.
In the first creation repentance had no place; in the second, repentance is
the first idea and law; it is a dispensation given to
penitents. That is to say, Christ has made atonement for sin; He has taken away the sin of the
world. By His obedience, and by His death, He
has cancelled, in the unseen world, the sentence
which is to us as inscrutable as the existence and
origin of evil, to which mystery it is related. In
this sense, then, the Gospel is emphatically a remedial dispensation; and for this end the Incarnation
and atonement of the Son of God was accomplished.
And farther: by its very first law it contemplates
in us imperfection, frailty, and evil. It is a power
to heal, and its mission is to the sick. That which
could not so much as enter into the scope of the
covenant of creation, fills the whole field of intention, so to speak, under the Gospel. It has to do
with creatures both infirm and infected with sin;
and for their raising, cleansing, and recovery, the
whole ministration of the Spirit by mysteries and
sacraments is shed abroad. And still more: even
in those who are made partakers of these gifts of
peace and grace—that is, in the regenerate—there
yet remains the infection of original sin. To the
end of life, though never so much subdued, it lingers still. The most perfect
saint is not sinless; this, since creation, has been the prerogative of
One alone. It will be the inheritance of saints
in bliss; but on earth, so long as they are in the
flesh, there is in them the mystery of the fall. In
some it is the spur to watchings, fastings, mortifications, prayers; it keeps them in perpetual watchfulness. God wonderfully keeping them, their foot
steps never slide. These are they of whom St. John
says, “Whosoever is born of God doth not commit
sin; for his seed remaineth in him: and he cannot
sin, because he is born of God.” And again: “He
that is begotten of God keepeth himself, and that
wicked one toucheth him not.”1 St. John iii. 9; v. 18.
There is, doubt
less, a state in which the fallen nature, though still
in us, does not shape itself into sin—a high and rare
endowment, the earthly crown of those who walk
with God in a perfect way. In others (and they
are the greater number, even among such as may
be counted holy), the sin of our nature still abides,
in the form of ignorance, obliquity, passion, frailty,
and the like. Though these things be not imputed
to them to their condemnation; though they do
not so far prevail as to break their bond of peace
with their unseen Lord; yet they are imperfections
which the law of the first creation would not endure;
they could find no sufferance but in a dispensation
of healing, and under a law of restoration. The obedience of imperfect saints, though it could in
nowise bear the severity of God’s judgment, yet is
pleasing in His sight for Christ’s sake; and their
imperfections are not laid to their charge as sins.
The Incarnation of the Word made flesh has laid
the beginnings of a new creation, in which, until
they be made perfect, the imperfect obedience and
imperfect nature of His servants is accepted as well-pleasing in the sight of God. Not that the Gospel
is a relaxation of the Law, or a sort of easy compromise, by which, for Christ’s sake, a lower standard of obedience is accepted in full, as if it were
perfect. Far from it. As the light of truth has
from the beginning waxed stronger and stronger in the world, shining more and more, through the
ages of patriarchs and prophets, unto the perfect
day, so did both the law of righteousness and the
gifts of grace expand and grow upward to the law
of Christ’s example and the gift of regeneration.
As a law of obedience, the Gospel is higher, deeper,
holier, and more peremptory, in proportion as the
grace of the Gospel is mightier and more abundant.
It is not of types and shadows that St, John speaks,
when he says, “the darkness is past, and the true
light now shineth;” but of the gift of righteousness, and of the law of love. Except the righteousness of a Christian exceed the righteousness of
Gentile and of Jew, it will go hard with him in the day of judgment. “To whom much is given,
of him shall much be required.” The grace of
regeneration and of the holy eucharist has not
been given to Christians that they should live less
humbly in obedience and fear than the Jews. As
they have greater gifts, blessings, and endowments,
so have they higher laws, more searching precepts,
more perfect counsels of devotion. Thus much is
said by the way, lest in what has been expressed,
any thing should seem by the farthest consequence
to detract from the sanctity of the Gospel as a law
of life. As a law of obedience, it is a transcript of
Christ’s perfection; but as a ministry of grace, it
is full of healing and of divine compassion. It is
a dispensation of forgiveness; and the very spirit
and life of it is in this precept of our Master: “I
say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven.”
Let us now take some particular cases to which
this truth is directly applicable.
1. And, first, of those who fall into sin after baptism. In
one sense this all men do; even those I have spoken of before, in whom the
virtual presence of sin seems to us never to become actual;
even they have all sinned. But I am not speaking
of these, nor, indeed, of any whose life has been
such as to keep unbroken the relation of peace and
forgiveness between them and their Lord. We have now to deal with the case of those who after baptism fall into sins which forfeit the favour and
countenance of God. In dealing with these persons there have been two extremes: one is that of
the Novatian heretics of old, who denied that there
was to such any place for repentance; the other
in these days, of those who treat sin after baptism
as lightly as sin before it. Both these errors are a
dishonour to our blessed Master: the one to His
compassion, the other to His sanctity. It cannot,
for a moment, be denied, that sin done in spite
of the grace of baptism, and of the light of the
Spirit, is far guiltier than the sins of any unbaptised
man can be. We cannot say what wound it may
inflict upon the soul, what it may forfeit in the
kingdom of life, into how great peril it may bring
us of the second death. Nevertheless, we were
baptized into a state of repentance; we were
thereby made partakers of the healing and perpetual restoration of the Gospel; we were put into
a living relation to the Redeemer, in which there
is the law and the grace of repentance for all sinners. We were regenerated, that we might be
penitents; not, indeed, that we should lay up new
matter for repentance—there is no need of that,
God knoweth; but that we should repent all our
days of the fallen nature which by our birth-sin is
within us. And this regeneration contains in it also the grace of repentance for those who fall again, and
after their fall turn to Him for pardon. The grace of baptism, which should have
been unto holiness, if resisted and baffled, may still become the grace of
repentance. It is the plank of escape after shipwreck, perilous but sufficient,
if clung to with a fast hold and a steady heart. So far, then, is sin after
baptism from being excluded from forgiveness, that it is baptism that lays the foundation both of grace and promise to the repenting
Christian.
2. Again: there is a darker case than that of
those who have sinned after baptism: I mean, of
those who have sinned after repentance. So deep
and lasting is the hurt done to the spiritual nature
of man by sin, that even after it is repented of, it
still soils and weakens his heart; and for this reason so many who have become penitent of their past
sins are again drawn into relapses. The same out
ward solicitations, after a while, address themselves
with subtil allurements and sudden returns to the
same surviving passions; and there are few penitents who have not been more than once retaken
in the same snares, after they have begun to break
them. There is no need to say that this is a dangerous condition. Such a man grieves not only
the Spirit of regeneration, but the Spirit of repentance; he lessens the force and power of warnings and convictions, fears and hopes, upon his conscience
and heart. So much of the discipline of salvation
has been tried upon him in vain; his after-backsliding seems to betray the falsehood of his seeming
repentance.
3. And once more: there is a still more fearful
case even than these, namely, that of a Christian
who sins after a course and habit of religion. We
deceive ourselves by thinking that none turn aside
into after-sins but those whose profession of repentance and of religion has been insincere. It is
most certain, however, that people of a sincere but
shallow or secure habit of mind do fall by the
strength and suddenness of temptation, and by
their own want of watchfulness and mortification of
heart. Sins which they would never believe themselves capable of committing, they sometimes wake
up and find that they have indeed committed. For
all such men Satan lays cunning snares: he knows
what baits have most allurement for them; and
he dresses up his temptations with his own stolen
light, making them seem all fair and akin to
God’s service. He knows how to open pitfalls in
all lawful and in all holy places—in our homes,
in our chambers, in church, at the very altar; and
many whose religion is sincere but frail, fall heavily, and with high provocation of the Divine longsuffering. In such men, so enlightened, so familiar with holy things, so aware of temptation, evil
thoughts, unhallowed motions, dishonest casuistry,
cheatings of conscience, evasions of light, deafness
to warning, wilfulness, trifling with the preliminaries of temptation, and the like, have intenser
spiritual evil than the ruder and broader disobedience of less practised and instructed minus. There
is something very awful in the reiterated commission of any sin long known, professedly repented of,
and habitually prayed against. If sin after baptism, or sin after repentance, be a provocation, what
is sin against the light of many years and the realities of a mature probation? In such persons, year
by year sin becomes more exceeding sinful; though
their greater sins be forsaken, yet the less become
more guilty; though they be less frequent, yet each
one outweighs a multitude of sins done in the days
of weakness and of twilight.
Still even for all these there is mercy. There
is unspeakable consolation for them in the words, “not until seven times, but until seventy times
seven;” “if he trespass against thee seven times
in a day, and seven times in a day turn again to
thee, saying, I repent; thou shalt forgive him.”
What else remains to us but this alone? and what
does this teach us, but that no provocations, no
reiteration of disobedience, how often soever committed, even between the sunrise and the sunset, shall shut out the true penitent from pardon?
This is the one and only condition: “if he turn
to thee, saying, I repent.” There is no limitation
in the covenant of God, no tale of sins fixed by
number, no measure of duration or of frequency
registered in heaven. If only the sinner repent—this is the one and only necessary condition; the
longsuffering and compassion of the Son of God
are inexhaustible. If any sinner be lost, he will
be lost through his own impenitence.
Let us, then, fear to lose time in turning to
Him. Delay hardens men’s hearts. “Kiss the
Son, lest He be angry, and so ye perish from the
right way, if His wrath be kindled, yea, but a
little.”Ps. ii. 12.
Let us, when through our great frailty we sin
against Him, go to Him straightway, and cast ourselves at His feet, and put our
mouth in the dust; let us confess all we have done, with all its aggravations,
leaving nothing for the accuser to add against us. Morning and night let us lay
ourselves open before our forgiving and pitiful Lord. When we have fallen into
any definite and particular sin, let us record on our knees before Him our
solemn resolution to avoid, with all watchfulness, all the preambles and
invitations by which we have been betrayed to it. Let us lay the rod upon
ourselves, praying Him to spare, us. Let us ask of Him not forgiveness alone, but bitterness and brokenness of heart, perpetual compunction, shame at
our ingratitude, trembling and awe at our rashness
in sinning against Him, the brightness of whose
Presence would smite our whole being into dust
and ashes. Blessed truth, that with Him is forgiveness seven times a day! for seven times a day
do we commit greater sins than lost the paradise
of God. “How then can man be justified with
God? or how can he be clean that is born of a
woman? Behold even to the moon, and it shineth
not; yea, the stars are not pure in His sight. How
much less man, that is a worm? and the son of
man, which is a worm?”Job xxv. 4-6.
SERMON XX.
THE GENTLENESS OF CHRIST.
ISAIAH xliii. 3.
“A bruised reed shall He not break, and the smoking flax
shall He not quench.”
IN this prophecy Isaiah foretells the gentleness
of Christ. St. Matthew quotes it when he is
recording the longsuffering of our Lord with the
Pharisees. He had healed the man with the
withered hand on the Sabbath day: the Pharisees
lay in wait to entangle Him by questions; and
when He had baffled them, they “went out, and
held a council against Him, that they might destroy
Him. But when Jesus knew it, He withdrew Himself from thence: and great multitudes followed
Him, and He healed them all; and charged them
that they should not make Him known.” This
He enjoined, it seems, lest the Pharisees should
be goaded and provoked, by the unwelcome proofs
of His divine power, into precipitate acts against Him. For their sakes He would have concealed
Himself; lest, by contending with Him, they should
destroy themselves. His whole ministry was full
of the like gentle and tender forbearance, “That
it might be fulfilled which was spoken by Esaias
the prophet, saying, Behold My Servant, whom I
have chosen; My Beloved, in whom My soul is well
pleased: I will put My Spirit upon Him, and He
shall shew judgment to the Gentiles. He shall
not strive, nor cry; neither shall any man hear His
voice in the streets.” His ministry was not a
public disputation, with clamour and popular applause, with factions in the city, and a following
of people. It was silent and penetrating, “as the
light that goeth forth;”Hosea vi. 5.
spreading every where with
resistless power, and yet from a source often with
drawn from sight. “A bruised reed shall He not
break, and smoking flax shall He not quench;”St. Matt. xii. 14-20.
which seems to say, so light and soft shall be His
touch, that the reed which is nearly asunder shall
not be broken down, and the flax which has only
not left off to smoke shall not be put out. A most
beautiful parable of tenderness, of which Moses,
the meekest of men, was a type, when he said in
the Spirit: “My doctrine shall drop as the rain,
my speech shall distil as the dew, as the small rain
upon the tender herb, and as the showers upon the grass:”Deuteronomy xxxii. 2.
and of which the Psalmist prophesied
when he said, “He shall come down like the rain
upon the mown grass: as showers that water the
earth. In His days shall the righteous flourish;
and abundance of peace so long as the moon
endureth.”Psalm lxxii. 6, 7.
The same was foretold by Isaiah: “Behold, a king shall reign in righteousness, and
princes shall rule in judgment. And a man shall
be as an hiding place from the wind, and a covert
from the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry
place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary
land.”Isaiah xxxii. 1, 2.
It was in His gentleness, His tender compassion, His longsuffering and patient endurance
of sinners, that these prophecies were fulfilled.
Let us first take such examples as are recorded
in holy Scripture; and then draw, from this view of
our blessed Lord’s character, the instruction which
is implied in His perfect gentleness to sinners.
We see it, then, in all His dealing with His
disciples. Wheresoever there were the first faint
stirrings of faith or love, He cherished and sheltered them with tender care. In His teaching He
led them on little by little, line upon line, drawing
them first to familiar converse with Himself; not
upbraiding their slowness; not severely rebuking
their faults. When James and John would have brought fire from heaven, He said only, “Ye know
not what manner of spirit ye are of.”St. Luke ix. 55.
To Philip,
when he blindly asked to see the Father, “Have
I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou
not known Me, Philip?”St. John xiv. 9.
And when He detected their ambitious contests which should be the
greatest, “being in the house He asked them,
What was it that ye disputed among yourselves
by the way?”St. Mark ix. 33, 34.
Even at the last supper He said, “I have many things to say unto you, but ye can
not bear them now:” and to St. Thomas, after his
vehement unbelief, “Reach hither thy finger, and
behold My hands; and reach hither thy hand, and
thrust it into My side: and be not faithless, but
believing.”St. John xx. 27.
And to St. Peter, in chastisement for
his three open denials, He said thrice, as in a
doubting, melancholy tenderness, “Simon, son of
Jonas, lovest thou Me?”St. John xxi. 15-17.
And so in like manner to all the people. It
was to the whole multitude He said: “Come unto
Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you, and
learn of Me; for I am meek and lowly in heart:
and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For My
yoke is easy, and My burden is light.”St. Matt. xi. 28-30.
He
permitted so near an access to all men, that it was
turned to His reproach. He was “a friend of
publicans and sinners.” “This man receiveth
sinners, and eateth with them.” Again, we read: “One of the Pharisees desired Him that He would
eat with him. And He went into the Pharisee’s house, and sat down to meat. And, behold, a
woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she
knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, and
stood at His feet behind Him weeping, and began
to wash His feet with tears, and did wipe them
with the hairs of her head, and kissed His feet,
and anointed them with the ointment. Now when
the Pharisee which had bidden Him saw it, he
spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were
a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth
him: for she is a sinner. And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have
somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on. There was a certain
creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other
fifty. And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me
therefore, which of them will love him most? Simon answered and said, I suppose
that he to whom he forgave most. And He said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged.
And He turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest
thou this woman? I entered into thine house,
thou gavest Me no water for My feet: but she
hath washed My feet with tears, and wiped them
with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest Me no
kiss: but this woman since the time I came in
hath not ceased to kiss My feet. My head with
oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath
anointed My feet with ointment. Wherefore I say
unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven;
for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven,
the same loveth little. And He said unto her,
Thy sins are forgiven.”St. Luke vii. 36-48.
And once more: “The
Scribes and Pharisees brought unto Him a woman
taken in adultery; and when they had set her in
the midst, they say unto Him, Master, this woman
was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now
Moses in the law commanded us, that such should
be stoned: but what sayest Thou? This they
said, tempting Him, that they might have to
accuse Him. But Jesus stooped down, and with
His finger wrote on the ground, as though He
heard them not. So when they continued asking
Him, He lifted up Himself, and said unto them,
He that is without sin among you, let him first
cast a stone at her. And again He stooped down,
and wrote on the ground. And they which heard
it, being convicted by their own conscience, went
out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto
the last: and Jesus was left alone, and the woman
standing in the midst. When Jesus had lifted up
Himself, and saw none but the woman, He said
unto her, Woman, where are those thine accusers?
hath no man condemned thee? She said, No
man, Lord. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do
I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.”St. John viii. 3-11.
Now it is obvious that the source of this perfect tenderness to sinners is none other than the
Divine compassion. It was the love and pity of
the Word made flesh. It teaches us, however,
some great truths, full of instruction, which we will
now consider.
1. First, it is plain that this gentle reception,
even of the greatest sinners, implies that where
there is so much as a spark of life in the conscience, there is possibility of an entire conversion
to God. Where there is room to hope any thing,
there is room to hope all things. The greatest of
sinners may become, we dare not say how great
a saint. Such is the nature of sin, and of the
human soul, and of all its energies and actings;
such, also, the virtue of the blood of Christ; and
such the power of the Holy Ghost, that be the
sinner what he may, he may be purged and made white with the purification of the saints. I am
speaking not of what is easy, or common, but of
what is possible, and, by true conversion to God,
pledged and sure: neither am I saying that there
shall not be some difference between what such
converted sinners will be, compared with what they
might have been; but this is certain, that “though
your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as
snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall
be as wool.”Isaiah i. 18.
Such is the mysterious nature of
the human spirit, of its affections and will, such its
energies and intensity, that it may, at any time, be
so renewed by the Spirit of the new creation, as
to expel, with the most perfect rejection, all the
powers, qualities, visions, and thoughts of evil.
We know so little of spiritual natures, that we
are compelled to use metaphors; and often our
illustrations become our snares, and we turn them
into arguments, and reason from visible things to
the inscrutable conditions of our spiritual being.
For instance, we speak of the stains of sin, the
soils of lust, the scars and wounds made by transgression in the soul: and it is true that what
stains, soils, scars, wounds, are to the body, such
are lusts, in deed, desire, and thought, to the
soul. But we cannot therefore say that the spiritual nature is not susceptible of a healing and purgation which is absolutely perfect, to which the
cleansing or health of the body is no true analogy.
For instance, the very life of sin is the will. By
sin it is a corrupt and unclean will; by conversion it becomes cleansed and pure. So long as it
is here subjected to the action of the flesh, it is
imperfect; but when disembodied, what shall hinder its being as pure as if it had never sinned?
What is the substance of the will? What is sin?
And in what does sin inhere but in the inclination
of the will? When this is restored to perfect holiness, what effect of the fall will remain? We are
greatly ignorant of all these things; but it is evident that, be we what we may, if our repentance and
conversion be true, there is no height of sanctification, no approximation to the Divine Image, that
we may not make in this world, and in the world
to come be made sinless in the kingdom of God. And if our spiritual nature may be made sinless
in the life to come, how can we limit its purification in this world? How can we say that it may
not be brought out from the effects of any sin,
or habit of sinning, as intensely and energetically
pure as if it had never been bribed and corrupted
by evil; and, moreover, sharpened with a peculiar abhorrence of the defilement from which it
has been delivered? Such is the mysterious complexion of a spiritual nature, that it may, in a moment, and by an act of volition, virtually and
truly anticipate an habitual condition of the soul;
as, for instance, in a true death-bed repentance
there is contained a life of penance and purity,
though it be never here developed into act. And
this may throw light on many questions; such
as the condition of the heathen, and of those
that are born in separation from the unity of
the Church, and on the state of those who, after
baptism, by falling into sin, have resisted the grace
of regeneration. Of these last, it would appear
that their condition is changed for the worse, in
the point of having sinned with greater guilt, and
done despite to that which should have been their
salvation. By consent to sin, they have made
the work of repentance more difficult and doubtful. The blood of Christ, and the grace of the
Holy Ghost, have yet the power of a perfect healing and purification; but repentance, which, on
their side, is the condition, it is harder to fulfil.
Still, wheresoever there are the lingering remains
of grace, or the least beginnings of contrition,
there is hope of a perfect repentance, and of a
perfect sanctity. It seems, then, that it was for
this reason that our blessed Lord, the sinless One,
suffered publicans, sinners, and harlots, and even
the adulteress, to draw near to Him; because
in them, under the foul gatherings of sin, which spread like a crust of leprosy upon them, and in
the darkness and death of their inmost soul, He
could see the faint strength of a living pulse, the
dim spark of sorrow, fear, remorse, and desire to
be redeemed from the bondage of the devil, and
therefore the susceptibility of perfect holiness, the
unextinguished capacity of an inheritance with the
saints in light.
2. Another great truth implied in our Lord’s conduct to sinners is, that the only sure way of
fostering the beginnings of repentance is to receive
them with gentleness and compassion. This is a
truth which is in the mouth of more than rightly
understand it. Our Lord appears to have dealt
with those who came to Him in two ways. Some
He received, as we have already seen, with a
Divine love and pity, and some with a piercing
severity. But these last were those only of whom,
it seems, there was hope no longer. The reed
was already broken, and the flax was quenched. “Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!
for ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against men:
for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye
them that are entering to go in. Woe unto you,
Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye devour
widows houses, and for a pretence make long
prayers: therefore ye shall receive the greater
damnation. Woe unto you Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye compass sea and land to make
one proselyte, and when he is made, ye make him
twofold more the child of hell than yourselves!”St. Matt. xxiii. 13-15.
These were they that had “rejected the counsel
of God against themselves, not being baptized”St. Luke vii. 30.
by John unto repentance. Jesus said unto them: “Verily I say unto you, That the publicans and
the harlots go into the kingdom of God before you.
For John came unto you in the way of righteousness, and ye believed him not: but the publicans
and harlots believed him: and ye, when ye had
seen it, repented not afterward, that ye might believe him.”St. Matt. xxi. 31, 32.
Now, that which made our Lord so change
His voice was the inward state of those to whom He
spoke. He saw their falsehood, guile, and hollowness; that they were white without, but all unclean
within. Their whole spiritual being was estranged
from Him, and set in array against His truth and
holiness: they were beyond the attractions of pity,
and the power of compassion. Towards these His
perfect sanctity breathed a holy indignation. To
be gentle was to betray the work of God, and to
add boldness to their impiety. He met them as
He will meet them once more, in the day of judgment: but at the time He spoke, even His denunciations were mercies; warnings of a doom still
delayed; offers of pardon to those who would be
converted, that He might heal them.
But on those in whom there is the faintest stirring of
repentance, the love of Christ falls with a soft but penetrating force. For
there are in us, as it were, two minds, with two arrays of feelings, which are
awakened and excited into act just as the tone and bearing of those who admonish
us vary in their character. Impatience, irritation, self-defence, unfairness,
resentment, self-approval, wilfulness, are so marshalled together, that they
move all at once, and oppose themselves in one array and front against a harsh
voice and a severe hand. And all these are the direct stimulants of pride and
hardness; the most fatal hindrances to confession and repentance. To receive
sinners coldly, or with an averted eye, an estranged heart, and a hasty
unsparing tongue, will seldom fail to drive them into defiance or
self-abandonment. A sinner that is out of hope is lost. Hope is the last thing
left. If this be crushed, the flax is extinct. Through rough usage sinners fall
into despair, and through despair into reckless contradiction of God’s will, and
thence into deliberate sinning, into taking pleasure in evil deeds, and, lastly,
into “glorying in their shame.” From this there seems no rising again: it is the
nearest approach to the state of fallen angels. Such are the
effects of a merciless severity; whether it arise
from harshness in the reprover, or from a rigid
tone of morals, and a mistaken jealousy for the
glory of God. I have said that many, who little
understand what they are saying, are wont to speak
boldly of the tenderness wherewith sinners should
he welcomed to repentance: and they shew their
misunderstanding in this; they confound the pure
severity of compassion with personal harshness of
temper. Nothing can be more dangerous and repulsive than a harsh spirit. Truth told without
love is perilous in the measure in which it is true.
The promises of God, held out without tenderness,
are so offered as to turn sinners away from mercy.
But if any thing can be more dangerous than this,
it is the presumptuous way in which men give
largess of God’s mercy, and encourage sinners to
believe themselves to be forgiven before they are
penitents, or to be penitents before they have
more than entered on the threshold of repentance.
What can be more unreal and misleading than
to press on men the belief that they are forgiven,
when their whole soul cries aloud that they have
not repented; or to persuade them that their sins
are blotted out, if only they can bring themselves
to believe so? as if self-persuasion, without contrition of heart, were a full remission of sins. What antinomianism, what superstitious reliance
on forms and rites, what blind seeking to charms
and divinations, can be farther than this from the
forgiveness of the Gospel? Our blessed Lord, who
was so tender and merciful, did not so slightly
heal the wounds of those who came to Him. With
ineffable compassion He spoke words of fear and
warning. It was His very tenderness that gave
them such a penetrating sharpness. “Except ye
repent, ye shall all likewise perish.” “Except ye
be converted, and become as little children, ye can
not enter into the kingdom of heaven.” “Strive
to enter in at the strait gate; for many shall seek
to enter in, and shall not be able.” “Many are
called, but few are chosen.” “He that endureth
unto the end shall be saved.” “No man having
put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit
for the kingdom of heaven.” “He that taketh not
his cross, and followeth after Me, is not worthy of
Me.” As also the parables of the last judgment,
and of the unprofitable servant, the wedding-garment, the barren fig-tree, and the like; what do they teach us, but that
conversion, and a life of repentance, and the reaching of life eternal, are awful
and arduous realities, full of danger and anxious
fear? His tenderness was not to dispel the fears
of penitents, but to change them into a holy and
saving fear; to teach them to be afraid, not of Him, but of themselves; to trust in His tenderness as thoroughly as they mistrusted their own
hearts. One great hindrance in the way of true
conversion is an imperfect knowledge of His
Divine character, and a mistrust of His infinite
compassion. His tenderness is a thing so far
above the thoughts even of saints, that it is no
wonder that sinners, fallen and soiled with evil,
should not be able to believe it. The mysteries
of faith are not more above the understanding
of men to comprehend, than the gentleness of
Christ is beyond their hearts to conceive. That
One so pure, so keen in His holy will, so grievously provoked by habitual disobedience, should endure the approach of sinners, is contrary to every
natural suggestion of their minds. They fear to
come within the range of those eyes that are “as a
flame of fire.” Their own consciousness of inward
sinfulness makes them turn even from repentance.
There is in every sinner a great burden of misery,
soreness, and alarm; but even these, instead of
driving him to confession, make him shut himself up in a fevered and brooding fear. And it
was in this peculiar wretchedness of sin that the
gentleness of our Lord gave to the sinners who
approached Him both solace and hope. They
felt that, shrink as they must from priest and
scribe, Pharisee and Sadducee, ay, and from all human eyes and human hearts, there was in
Him something that no one else possessed, a softness of eye, and a gentleness of speech, a meekness
of bearing, and a compassion in His touch, which
drew them away from all men, and out of their very
selves, to cast their whole being upon Him. It was
a strange courage which came upon them; a boldness, full of trembling, yet an awe without alarm.
What little motions of good were in them, what
little stirrings of conscience, what faint remainder
of better resolutions, what feeble gleams of all but
extinguished light—all seemed to revive, and to turn in sympathy towards some source of kindred
nature, and to stretch itself out in hope to some
what long desired, with a dim unconscious love.
It was an affinity of the spirit, working in penitents,
with the spirit of Christ, that made them draw to
Him. In Him they felt that their worst fears
were quelled. They were not afraid to confess
their unworthiness. They felt Him to be pitiful,
and that He would bear long with them, and not
cast them out, or upbraid them for their soiled and
miserable state; and this opened a new future
to them. It seemed to break through a prison-wall; to make a breach in the thraldom of their
daily round of sins, in the oppressive consciousness of guilt. They seemed to see before them
a promise of peace, and a hope that one day they should be set free from the bondage of themselves. The mere transitory thought that forgiveness is yet possible, that the favour of God is not
for ever gone, that they may even, now one day enter
into bliss all this makes the heart of the weakest
to be strong, and of the hardest to melt away.
And what is the very life of this hope but the
tenderness of Christ, the unwearied patience, the
long suffering, and gentle pity of our Redeemer?
Therefore, it was not only because of His infinite
compassion as God, that He so dealt with sinners; but because, knowing the nature of man,
its strange depths and windings, its weakness and
fears, He knew that this was the surest way of
winning them to Himself.
And to come to ourselves in particular: we
have, each one of us, made trial of this same
gracious and tender compassion. As, for instance,
in the many years between our baptism and our
repentance; for how few they are who, after baptism, have not so fallen as to need a particular
and deep repentance! For how many years the
grace of our regeneration lay in us oppressed, and
to all outward eyes extinguished! What multitudes of early faults, premature sins, even in childhood, have most of us committed; and how soon
did the whole range of evil open itself upon us;
and how consentingly did we enter upon it—first in its outskirts and, perhaps, with fear; and in a
little while with an habitual self-possession, until
we became worldly, selfish, and fearless! What but
His patience would have borne with us? What
but His gentleness would have cherished our few
better dispositions and holier thoughts, and fostered them into the convictions of repentance?
Perhaps there was nothing of God in us but a
few texts of Holy Scripture, a dread of the lake
that burneth with fire and brimstone, and a few
prayers, said with unclean lips in the very midst
of actual sins: and that even this should have
been fostered by Him into the grace of illumination, of holy fear, and of devout prayer; that
the small and all but stifled motions of spiritual
life should be now unfolded into the reign of
Christ’s kingdom in our hearts,—is a strange
and surpassing mercy, a very miracle of patience.
And again, even after bringing us to repentance,
what provocations have we offered to His long-suffering! How shallow and vapid has our
contrition been; at least, for how long a time was it
little better than a sullen fear or a selfish remorse! And by what breaches of better resolutions, by what reservations of indulged faults, by
what retractings of our expressed intentions, has
our repentance been retarded! For how long a
time were we two distinct characters, as distinct as if we had a twofold personality! In secret how
full of confessions and protestations of abasement;
and yet in the sight of the world how buoyant
and self-trusting! How long did we keep back
some sins still unconfessed; how full of wiles were
we in extenuating them, even on our knees; how
often we went back to them again; and with how
little indignation at our relapses! Nevertheless He
bore with all. He gave us time, and the pleadings of His Spirit, and wakened us up to see our
shame, because He saw that the reed was not altogether broken.
And, once more: even in those whose repentance is far advanced there is much to call for His
forbearance and compassion; as, for instance, in
the slow formation of their religious character.
Even in those who live a religious life, what imperfections still remain, what a mixture of motives and purposes, what littleness and inconsistency, what fear of man, what worship of the world!
How few can, even after their conversion to God,
resist impressions from without, as from the maxims, examples, rules, tone of society! How few
are stedfast against the swaying to and fro of
public opinion, and are able to keep themselves
from the fluctuations by which the face of the
Church is disturbed! And well were it if only
these greater things moved us: most men are at the mercy of much less active and powerful causes.
For the remainders of old tempers, such as pride,
anger, self-will, are still within them, and make
them susceptible of manifold temptations. They
acquiesce in a low standard of devotion, and weaken
themselves by yielding to the weaker practice of
others; and all this produces a wavering ambiguous life, which is neither worldly nor devout,
having the beginning of better things, but in a
hindered and obstructed state. Such people often
settle down into a languid and lukewarm habit,
which must be a slight of peculiar point and emphasis to Him who, for their redemption, died
in agony. The tardy, wavering, inconstant, and
often retrograde movement of our religious life
must be highly displeasing in His sight. And
that we are spared and still aided by His grace,
by His truth and Spirit, and by His special providence, is a signal proof of His changeless compassion, and patient endurance even of sinful infirmities. Only let us compare ourselves with
His dealings towards us. Let us see what we are
by the side of what we might have been, if the
grace of our baptism, and the lessons of our childhood, the humiliation and discipline of our repentance, had taken its full effect, and had wrought
their perfect work. Let us compare what we do
with what we know, what we know with what He has taught us, what we pray for with what we
really desire. How laggard and half-hearted is
our religion at its best estate! How full of dark
spots and deep hollows is the brightest and fairest
character! How much do we provoke and try
His pity; ever going back, swerving aside, doing
great things weakly, and high things feebly, and
holy things coldly! “If Thou, Lord, shouldst be
extreme to mark what is done amiss, O Lord, who
should abide it? But there is mercy with Thee, therefore shalt Thou be feared.”
And one more example we may take, in His
dealing with those that are tried by affliction, by
loss of those they love, or by sickness, anxieties,
disappointments. All these things are in His
hand; and He lays them on, not all at once, but
little by little, to prepare us for greater trials.
We never have more than we can bear. The
present hour we are always able to endure. As
our day, so is our strength. If the trials of many
years were gathered into one, they would over
whelm us; therefore, in pity to our little strength,
He sends first one, then another, then removes
both, and lays on a third, heavier, perhaps, than
either; but all is so wisely measured to our
strength, that the bruised reed is never broken.
We do not enough look at our trials in this continuous and successive view. Each one is sent to teach us something, and altogether they have a
lesson which is beyond the power of any to teach
alone. But if they came together, we should
break down, and learn nothing. The smoking
flax would be put out; and we should be crushed “into the dust of death.”
And now to conclude: how great a consolation
there is in this Divine tenderness of our Lord!
How it bids good cheer to those who have at last
begun to amend their lives, but are sorely burdened, and at times tempted to give up for lost!
Be your beginning never so late, yet if it be true,
all shall one day be well. It is a word of cheer
to us all. Alas for us, if He were soon wearied
out as we are, soon provoked, ready to upbraid,
sharp in the strokes of His hand; where should
we have been long ago? What in His sight is
the whole Church under heaven, but a bruised
reed, and weak; a smoking flax, smouldering,
struggling, ready to expire? Even in its best
estate, in its first love, in the fervour of its first
conversion, it is little more. And what is it now?
The age of prophets, apostles, martyrs, is past; and
for the saints, they seem few and hidden. The
Church is bruised by schisms; her strength bowed
down from its ancient stateliness, to droop along
upon the earth; her lights are scattered and dim;
here and there they shine out feebly and alone, as if to say that the flax is not wholly quenched.
Where is now the strength and fervour of other
days? Where are the penitents, and the mourners,
and the prostrate? Where are the companies of
those who chastened themselves with fasting, and
were strong in spirit, following in the path of the
Cross? Where are they that forsook home, and
all that they had, to live as strangers, for the love
of the heavenly country? Where are now the
pure, and the meek, the holy and humble men
of heart, the devoted, and the gifted? Surely
the days are already come, when, because iniquity
abounds, the love of many hath waxed cold; and
truth is perishing, in preparation for that day of
which the Lord asked, “When the Son of Man
cometh, shall He find faith on the earth?”
THE END OF
VOLUME THE SECOND.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY LEVEY, ROBSON, AND FRANKLYN,
Great New Street, Fetter Lane.