by John Angell James, 1825
TRANSIENT DEVOTIONS
"The church," said Saurin, "had seldom seen happier days,
than those described in the nineteenth chapter of Exodus. God had never
diffused his benedictions on a people in a richer abundance. Never had a
people more lively gratitude, or more fervent piety. The Red Sea had been
passed; Pharaoh and his insolent court were buried in the waves; access to
the land of promise was opened; Moses had been admitted to the holy mountain
to derive felicity from God the source, and sent to distribute it among his
countrymen; to these choice favors, promises of new and greater blessings
yet were added; and God said, 'You have seen what I have done unto the
Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles' wings, and brought you unto myself.
Now therefore, if you will obey my voice indeed, and keep my covenant, then
you shall be a peculiar treasure unto me above all people, although all the
earth be mine.' The people were deeply affected with this collection of
miracles. Each individual entered into the same views, and seemed animated
with the same passion; all hearts were united, and one voice expressed the
sense of all the tribes of Israel—'all that the Lord has spoken we will do.'
But this devotion had one great defect—it lasted only
forty days. In forty days the deliverance out of Egypt, the passage of the
Red Sea, the articles of the covenant; in forty days, promises, vows, oaths,
all were effaced from the heart, and forgotten. Moses was absent, the
lightning did not glitter, the thunder claps did not roar, and "the people
made a calf at Mount Sinai; they bowed before an image made of gold. They
traded their glorious God for a statue of a grass-eating ox!" Psalm
106:19-20
Here, my children, was a most melancholy instance of
transient devotion. Alas! that such instances should be so common! Alas!
that Jehovah should so frequently have to repeat the ancient reproach, and
his ministers have to echo, in sorrowful accents, the painful complaint—"O
Ephraim! what shall I do unto you? O Judah! what shall I do unto you? For
your goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the early dew it passes away."
Nothing, however, is more common than such short-lived
religious impressions. Disappointment of the bitterest kind is very
frequently experienced, both by parents and ministers, in consequence of the
sudden turning aside of those young people, who, for awhile, seemed to run
the race that is set before us in the word of God. At one time, they
appeared to be inflamed with a holy ambition to win the prize of glory,
honor, and immortality; we saw them start with eagerness, and run with
speed—but after a while, we met them turning back—leaving us, in the
bitterness of our spirits, to exclaim—"You did run well; what hindered you?"
"The religion I am now describing is not the hypocrisy of
the pretending Christian, nor is it the backsliding of the real one; it goes
further than the first—but does not go so far as the last. It is sincere of
its kind, and in that it goes further than hypocrisy—but it is unfruitful,
and in that it is inferior to the piety of the weak and backsliding
Christian. It is sufficient to discover sin—but not to correct it;
sufficient to produce good resolutions—but not to keep them; it softens the
heart—but does not renew it; it excites grief—but does not eradicate evil
dispositions. It is a piety of times, opportunities, and
circumstances—diversified a thousand ways, the effect of innumerable
causes—but it expires as soon as the causes are removed."
"Inconstans" was a youth who had enjoyed a pious
education; he developed many amiable qualities, and was often impressed by
the religious admonitions he received—but his impressions soon wore off, and
he became as careless about his eternal concerns as before. He left the
parental roof, and was apprenticed; and his parents having taken care to
place him in a pious family, and under the faithful preaching of the word,
he still enjoyed all the external means of grace, and still, at times,
continued to feel their influence. His attention was oftentimes fixed when
hearing the word, and he was sometimes observed to weep. On one occasion in
particular, when a funeral sermon had been preached for a young person, a
more than ordinary effect was produced upon his mind. He returned from the
house of God pensive and dejected, retired to his closet, and with much
earnestness prayed to God, resolved to attend more to the claims of true
religion, and to become a real Christian. The next morning he read the
Bible, and prayed before he left his chamber. This practice he continued day
after day. A visible change was produced in his deportment. His seriousness
attracted the attention and excited the hopes of his friends. But, by
degrees, he relapsed into his former state, gave up reading the scriptures,
then prayer; then he reunited himself with some companions from whom, for a
season, he had withdrawn himself, until at length he was as unconcerned
about salvation as ever.
Some time after this, Inconstans was seized with a fever.
The disease resisted the power of the medicine, and baffled the skill of the
physician; he grew worse and worse. His alarm became excessive. He sent for
his minister and his parents, confessed and bewailed his fickleness. What
tears he shed! What sighs he uttered! What vows he made! "O, if God would
but spare me this once! if he would but grant me one more trial; if he would
but indulge me with one more opportunity of salvation, how would I improve
it to his glory, and my soul's eternal interest!" His prayers were answered;
he recovered. What became of his vows, resolutions, and promises? The degree
of his piety was regulated by the degree of his malady. Devotion rose and
fell with his pulse. His zeal kept pace with his fever; as one decreased,
the other died away, and the recovery of his health was the resurrection of
his sins. Inconstans is at this moment, what he always was—a melancholy
specimen of the nature of mere transient religion.
What is lacking in this religion? You will, of course,
reply, "Perseverance." This is true. But why did it not continue? I
answer—there was no real change of the heart. The passions were moved,
the feelings were excited—but the disposition remained unaltered. In the
affairs of this life, men are often led by the operation of strong causes to
act in opposition to their real character. The cruel tyrant, by some sudden
and most affecting appeal to his clemency, may have the spark of pity
smitten from his flinty heart—but the flint remaining, the wretch returns
again to his practices of blood. The covetous man may, by a vivid
description of poverty and misery, be for a season melted to liberality—but,
like the surface thawed for an hour by the sun, and frozen again immediately
after the source of heat has retired—his benevolence is immediately chilled
by the prevailing frost of his nature.
In these cases, as in that of true religion, there is a
suspension of the natural disposition, not a renewal of it. All religion
must be transient, by whatever cause it is produced, and with whatever ardor
it should, for a season, be practiced—which does not spring from a
regenerated mind. It may, like the grass upon the house-top, or the grain
that is scattered in unprepared soil, spring up and flourish for a
season—but for lack of root it will speedily wither away. Do not then, my
dear children, be satisfied with a mere excitement of the feelings, however
strong it may happen to prove—but seek to have the general bias of the mind
renewed.
You cannot, if you consider only for a moment, suppose
that these 'transitory impressions' will answer the ends of true religion,
either in this world or in that which is to come. They will not honor
God—they will not sanctify the heart—they will not comfort the mind—they
will not save the soul—they will not raise you to heaven—they will not save
you from hell. Instead of preparing you at some future time to receive the
gospel, such a state of mind, if persisted in, has a most direct and
dangerous tendency to harden the heart. What God, in His sovereign grace,
may be pleased to effect, it is not for me to say—but as to natural
influence, nothing can be more clear than that this 'fitful piety' is
gradually putting the soul further and further away from true religion.
Iron, by being frequently heated, is hardened into steel;
water that has been boiled becomes the colder for its previous warmth; soil
that has been moistened with the showers of heaven becomes, when hardened by
the sun, less susceptible of impression than before; and that heart which is
frequently impressed by pious impressions, without being renewed by them,
becomes more and more insensible to their sacred influence.
They who have trembled at the terrors of the Lord without
being subdued by them—who have outlived their fears without being sanctified
by them—will soon come to that degree of insensibility which will enable
them to bear, without being appalled, the most awful denunciations of divine
wrath. They who have been melted, from time to time, by the exhibitions of
divine love—but have not been converted by it, will come at length to hear
of it with the coldest indifference. It is a dreadful state of mind to be
given up to a spirit of slumber and a callous heart; and nothing is more
likely to accelerate the process than occasional, yet ineffectual religious
impressions.
Can we conceive of anything more likely to induce Jehovah
to give us up to judicial blindness and insensibility, than this tampering
with pious convictions—this trifling with devotional impressions? These
pious emotions which are occasionally excited, are kind and gentle
admonitions that he has come near to the soul, with all the energies of his
Spirit; they are the work of mercy knocking at the door of our hearts, and
saying—"Open to me, that I may enter with my salvation." If they are from
time to time neglected, what can be looked for but that the celestial
visitor should withdraw, and pronounce, as he retires, the fearful
sentence—"Woe unto you—when my Spirit departs from you."
There is something inexpressibly wicked in remaining in
this state of mind. Such people are in some respects more sinful than they
whose minds have never been in any degree enlightened; whose fears have
never been in any degree excited; who have paid no attention whatever to
true religion—but whose minds are sealed up in ignorance and insensibility.
When people who have taken some steps in true religion return again; when
they who have come near the kingdom of God, recede from it; and they who
have sipped, as it were, of the cup of salvation, withdraw their lips from
the water of life, the interpretation of their conduct is this—"We have
tried the influence of true religion, and do not find it so worthy of our
reception as we expected; we have seen something of its glory, and are
disappointed; we have tasted something of its sweetness, and, upon the
whole, we prefer to remain without it." Thus they are like the spies who
brought a false report of the land of promise, and discouraged the people.
They defame the character of true piety, and prejudice men's minds against
it. They libel the Bible, and persuade others to have nothing to do with
true religion. My children, can you endure the thought of this?
Mere transient devotions have a great tendency to
strengthen the principle of unbelief in our nature. It is not only very
possible—but very common for men to sin themselves into a state of despair
of God's mercy; and none are so likely to do this, as those who have
repeatedly gone back to the world, after a season of religious impression.
In our communion with society, if we have greatly offended and insulted a
man after many professions of decided friendship and warm attachment to
him—we can hardly persuade ourselves to approach him again, or be persuaded
to think he will admit us again to the number of his friends. And, as we are
prone to reason from ourselves to God, if we have frequently repented, and
as frequently returned again to sin, we shall be in great danger of coming
to the conclusion that we have sinned past forgiveness—and abandon ourselves
to guilt and despair.
I have read of a man who lived without any regard to true
religion until he was taken alarmingly ill—when his conscience was roused
from its slumber, and he saw the wickedness of his conduct. A minister was
sent for, to whom he acknowledged his guilt, and begged an interest in his
prayers, at the same time vowing that if God would spare his life, he would
alter the course of his behavior. He was restored to health, and for awhile
was as good as his word. He set up family worship, maintained private
prayer, and frequented the house of God; in short, appeared to be a new man
in Christ Jesus. At length he began to relax, and step by step went back to
his former state of careless indifference. The hand of affliction again
arrested him. His conscience again ascended her tribunal, and in terrible
accents arraigned and condemned him. The state of his mind was horrible. The
arrows of the Lord pierced him through, the poison whereof drank up his
spirits. His friends entreated him to send for the minister, as above. "No!"
he exclaimed, "I who have trifled with the mercy of God once, cannot expect
it now!" No persuasion could shake his resolution; no representation of
divine grace could remove his despair; and, without asking for God's pardon,
he died!
The same despair has, in many other instances, resulted
from the sin of trifling with religious impressions.
These pages will probably be read by some, whose minds
are under religious concern. Your situation is more critical and important
than any language which I could employ, would enable me to represent. If
your present concern subsides into your former carelessness, you are in the
most imminent danger of being left to the depravity of your nature. God is
now approaching you in the exercise of his love, and waiting that he may be
gracious. Seek him while he is to be found, call upon him while he is near.
The soft breezes of celestial influence are passing over you, seize the
favorable season, and hoist every sail to catch the breath of heaven.
Tremble at the thought of losing your present feelings. Be much and earnest
in prayer to God, that he would not allow you to relapse into unconcern and
neglect. Take every possible means to preserve and deepen your present
convictions. Read the Scriptures with renewed diligence. Go with increased
earnestness, and interest, and prayer, to the house of God. Endeavor to gain
clearer views of the truth as it is in Jesus—and labor to have your mind
instructed, as well as your heart impressed.
Be satisfied with nothing short of a renewed mind—the new
birth. Be upon your guard against self-dependence. Watch against this, as
much as against grosser sins. Consider yourself as a little child, who can
do nothing without God. Study your own sinfulness in the mirror of God's
holy law. Grow in humility; it is not well for a plant to shoot upwards
quickly, before it has taken deep root; if there be no fibers in the earth,
and no moisture at the root, whatever blossoms or fruit there may be in the
branches, they will soon fall off. And in the same way, if your religion
does not strike root in humility, and be not moistened with the tears of
penitential grief, whatever blossoms of joy or fruits of zeal there may be
on the mind or conduct, they will soon drop off under the next sharp gust—or
heat of temptation. Take heed of 'secret sinning'. A single lust
unmortified, will be like a worm at the root of the newly-planted piety of
your soul. Continually remember that it is yet but the beginning of true
religion with you. Do not rest here; believe in the Lord Jesus Christ;
nothing short of this will save you; without faith, all you have felt, or
can feel, will do you no good. You must come to Christ, and be anxious to
grow in grace, and in the knowledge of God our Savior.
Some, it is probable, will read these lines, who have had
religious impressions, and lost them. Your goodness has vanished like the
cloud of the morning; and, like the early dew, has sparkled and then dried
up. Sometimes you exclaim, with an emphasis of deep melancholy,
"What peaceful hours I once enjoyed!
How sweet their memory still!
But they have left an aching void
The world can never fill."
You are not—you cannot be happy. Oh no! the din of
pleasure or of business cannot drown the voice of conscience; a pause now
and then occurs, when its thunders are heard, and heard with indescribable
alarm. Sometimes, in the midst of your pleasures, when all around you is
jollity and mirth—you see a spectre which others do not see, and are
terrified by a mystic hand which writes your doom upon the wall. From that
moment there is no more joy for you. Sometimes you almost curse the hour
when the voice of a faithful preacher lodged conviction in your bosom, and
half-spoiled you for a man of pleasure and the world. You look with almost
envy on those who, by never having been taught to fear God, are wrapped in
total darkness, and see not the dim spectres, the half-discovered shapes of
mischief, which, in the twilight of your soul, present themselves to your
affrighted vision.
At other times, a little relenting, you exclaim, "O that
it were with me as in months past, when the candle of the Lord shined on me.
What would I give to recall the sentiments and feelings of those days! Happy
seasons! But you have fled. And are you fled forever? Can no power recall
you to this troubled mind?" Yes, my young friend, they are all within reach,
lingering to return. Fly to God in prayer, beseech him to have mercy upon
you. Implore him to rouse you from the slumber into which you have fallen.
Beware of the chilling influence of despondency. There is no room for
despair. Covet the possession of true religion.
Search for the cause which destroyed your impressions in
the past. Was it some improper companion? Abandon him forever—as you would a
viper! Was it some situation unfriendly to godliness which you voluntarily
chose—as Lot chose Sodom, on account of its worldly advantages? Relinquish
it without delay. Escape for your life, and tarry not in all the plain. Was
it some besetting sin, dear as a right eye, or useful as a right hand? Pluck
it out, tear it off without hesitation or regret; for is it better to make
this sacrifice, than to lose eternal salvation, and endure everlasting
torments! Was it self-dependence, self-confidence? Now put your case into
the hand of Omnipotence, and call upon God. Ask for the Holy Spirit to
renew, to sanctify, and to keep your soul. Learn from your past failure what
to do, and what to avoid for the future. Believe the gospel, which declares
that the blood of Christ cleanses from all sin. It was saving faith that was
lacking, in the first instance, to give permanence to your religious
impressions. There was no saving belief, no full persuasion, no practical
conviction, of the truth of the gospel. Your religious feelings were like
the stream raised by external and sporadic causes—but there was no spring.
You stopped short of believing, you made no surrender of the soul to Christ,
nor committed yourselves to him, to be justified by his righteousness, and
to be sanctified by his Spirit. This do and live!