Christian Progress
John Angell James, 1853
MISTAKES Concerning Christian Progress
Suppose a man were on a journey which was of considerable
importance to all his temporal interests, on which it was every way
desirable he should be going forward with all convenient speed. Imagine also
that through some ignorance of the country, or through his lack of
acquaintance with his rate of speed, he should conclude that he was
advancing towards his destined point, while at the same time, though in
constant activity, he was making no progress—but only wandering about in
bye-lanes and crossroads, and still remaining near the spot from whence he
started. In such a case, he might lose the end and purpose of his journey.
Now, there is something like this in the course of some
people in regard to religion. They are in motion—but not in progress!
The mistakes on this subject are very numerous, and require great pains in
those who have to teach, to point them out; and also attention on the part
of all who have any solicitude about their spiritual welfare, in order to be
acquainted with them. The temptations of the father of lies, aided by the
deceitfulness of the human heart, originate many very injurious errors
concerning our spiritual condition, and lull us into a state of complacency,
where we ought to be deeply solicitous and somewhat alarmed.
A. I will first enumerate and correct some mistakes of
those who think they are making progress in godliness, but in reality are
standing still, or declining.
1. It is not an infrequent case for people to conclude
they are advancing, because they are not, in their own view of their case,
actually receding. They do not see any
outward and visible signs of backsliding. They have fallen into no grievous
sin, and have brought no blot upon their character, nor discredit upon their
profession. They are not conscious of any known departure from the way of
rectitude, and have not fallen from their steadfastness. Their usual round
of duties is performed, and they have not subjected themselves, by any part
of their conduct—to rebuke or censure. All this may be so, and yet there may
be no progress. Is it enough to stand still on our path? Would it satisfy
the man on the journey just alluded to, if he could merely say, "I am not
going backwards?" Would this prove he was advancing? It may be said, and we
have already said it, that in one sense not to advance is to recede.
But were it not so, surely to stand still is not to go forward. Have you
more knowledge, more holiness, more love, more spirituality, than you
had? Is your growth at all perceptible, though it be in ever so small
a degree?
Do not compare yourselves with some who are rapidly going
back, and imagine that in relation to them you are going forward, while you
are standing still. Have you ever, when traveling in a steam carriage, while
your own railway train was stopping at the station, and another was passing
slowly in a contrary direction, imagined that it was you that were in
progress? So is it in this case. You may be quite at rest, while, compared
with others going back, you seem to be in motion forwards.
2. Some estimate progress by the TIME they have been
in motion. Suppose a person
unacquainted with the rate of speed of a ship at sea, and not understanding
the influence of contrary winds, and the process of getting slowly on by
tacking, were to calculate thus, "We have been so many hours or days at sea,
and we must therefore be so far on our voyage." Suppose the man on the above
journey to have fallen asleep, or loitered away his time—and then, taking
out his watch, were to calculate that because he has left home so many
hours, he must be getting on very well. Is there nothing like this in some
professing Christians? It is so many months or years since they took up
their religious profession. They have been all this while regular attendants
at public worship, and communicants at the Lord's Supper. They have heard
already innumerable sermons, and read many good books. They have outlived
the novelties of a religious life, and the ways of God are now familiar to
them. How can it be doubted, they say, that they who have been so long on
the road, are advancing?
Ah, this is just calculating spiritual progress by time,
rather than by distance. Be it known to you, that a professed Christian may
be long, very long, in standing; yes, and after all, it is but standing
without going. A dead stick, however long it may be in the
ground, will not grow. Sign-posts stand for ages, and measure distances for
travelers—but never advance an inch. Do not conclude, then, that because
your conversion is supposed to have taken place long since, that, therefore,
your sanctification must be far advanced. It is a pitiable sound, and argues
an imbecile mind, as well as a diminutive body, to hear a poor dwarfed
cripple say, "I must be growing for I am ten years old." Everybody else sees
that the poor child's stature never increases an inch!
Let the Christian not think of the years he has
professed—but the actual attainments he has made. The length of his
profession ought to be attended by an advance in all that constitutes vital
godliness, proportionate to the advantages he has enjoyed, and the time he
has had them; but alas, alas, how rarely is this the case? In the orchard or
vineyard, young trees may be growing when they bear no fruit, and a stranger
may be ready to say they make no progress—but the skilled gardener says,
"Give them time and they will grow fruit." And when they do bear
fruit, it is in proportion to their age. In the garden of the Lord young
plants ought to bear some fruit immediately, and the fruits of righteousness
should be also in proportion to their age. But is it so? How many whose eye
shall read these pages will blush, if they have any holy shame, to compare
the date of their planting in the courts of the Lord, and the fruit they
produce!
3. There may be an increase of theoretic KNOWLEDGE,
and of ability to talk with fluency upon the subjects of religion, and to
defend the truth against gainsayers—without any corresponding advance in
spiritual feeling and holy conduct.
There is a great deal of very interesting matter in the Bible, apart from
its spiritual and vital power as God's instrument of sanctification. Its
history, its poetry, its sublimity, its chronology, its eloquence, its
prophecies, its pathos—all may become subjects of study, and even of
delightful study—without faith in its doctrines, or obedience to its
precepts. Thousands and thousands of volumes have been written on religion
by men whose hearts were never under its power. Some of the noblest
productions of theology have issued from the pens of those to whom,
it is to be feared, it was all mere theory. Like brilliant lamps, they
lighted others on their way to heaven—but never moved themselves! Or to
raise still higher the metaphor, they were like lighthouses, which directed
ships on their course—but were stationary themselves!
In more private life, and less important attainments, how
many have made themselves acquainted with the theory of divine truth, as
taught in books, sermons, articles, creeds and catechisms, so as to be able
to explain the orthodox system of doctrine, and to argue for it—whose hearts
have never been sanctified by the truth! And even where it may be hoped the
great change has been wrought, and a start made for salvation and eternal
life, there may be a growth in 'knowledge' without a proportionate growth in
'grace'. Many young people are now happily engaged in Sunday-school
teaching, the distribution of religious tracts, and various other operations
of religious zeal—which give them of necessity a growing acquaintance with
the system of religious truth. They can talk with more fluency and
correctness on divine things. History, doctrine, and precept, are all more
familiar to them, and at the same time their thoughts are more drawn to the
subject of 'religion generally' as the matter of their teaching. Hence,
there may seem to be to themselves, a perceptible progress. And so there
is—in theory. But if at the same time there is no advance in holiness,
Christian charity, conscientiousness, self-denial, and humility—these signs
of advance may be, and are—all deceptive. Their knowledge has been
collected, not as the materials of personal sanctity—but of activity. Such
acquisitions may be only the "knowledge which puffs up," but not "the love
that edifies."
There are people whose acquaintance with Scripture is
surprising, and yet who, though they could quote most aptly from nearly all
parts of the Bible, give too convincing proof that their knowledge is of the
letter only, and not of the spirit. I knew a person who was so intimately
acquainted with the Scriptures, that if you gave him any chapter or verse in
most of the books of either the Old or New Testaments, he would immediately
repeat the words—and yet he was altogether an unconverted man! And I was
acquainted with another who was so fond of the study of prophecy that he
became more conversant with the predictions of the books of Daniel and of
the Apocalypse than anyone I ever knew—yet he was at the same time, entirely
a man of the world.
Yet there are many who regard this increasing
acquaintance with the text of the Bible, as an evidence of growth in grace.
While, therefore, we would urge every young convert to make a longer and
larger acquaintance with the Word of God, assuring them that there can be no
growth in grace without some advance in knowledge, and that the more
knowledge of it they have the more they are prepared to be useful, happy,
and holy—provided they couple with it other things. Yet that at the same
time there may be large increase of Biblical knowledge, without any
growth in grace. Ask yourselves then the solemn question, and ask it
solemnly too—whether in proportion as you store your minds with
biblical texts and biblical ideas, you all the while are seeking to have
your heart filled with biblical feelings, and your life with
biblical actions? Is your advancing light attended with increasing
warmth? As you grow in acquaintance with the character of God—do
you reverence him more? As your ideas brighten on the person of Christ—do
you love him more? As you become more acquainted with the perfection and
spirituality of God's Word—do you delight in it more and more after
the inward man? As you see more clearly the evil of sin—do you hate
it with a more intense hatred? As your Biblical knowledge widens—do
you become more profoundly humble, more tenderly conscientious, more gentle,
more spiritual? Unless this be the case you are in a fatal mistake by
supposing you are making progress in the divine life, merely because you are
advancing in biblical knowledge.
4. In some people there is a growing knowledge of
their CORRUPTIONS, and perhaps, an increase of lamentation over them,
unattended by any disposition or effort to mortify them —and
yet this growing light into the depravity of their nature, and this real
vexation, for so it may be called, rather than godly sorrow, leads to no
proportionate mortification of sin. There can be little doubt that many do
know more and more of the plague of their own hearts, and are made
continually more sorrowful by it, who content themselves with venting their
unavailing regrets, and make no progress in removing the evils they deplore,
and yet conclude that this growing self-knowledge is an evidence of growing
piety. So it would be if it were followed up by 'amendment of life'. "Godly
sorrow works repentance," that is reformation. And that sorrow is not
godly sorrow, however pungent it may be, and however miserable it may make
the man—which does not produce reformation. Many a holy Christian is made
more and more holy with less of misery on account of sin, just because his
grief, whether greater or less, leads to amendment; than he who, whatever
may be his mortification of feeling, does not carry it on to a mortification
of sin.
What would we say of a housewife who made herself
continually miserable about the disorder and uncleanness of her house—but
who took no pains to rectify the confusion and to cleanse the filth? It is
to be greatly feared that very many professors of religion satisfy
themselves with being made unhappy by the knowledge and experience of their
sins. They are loud in their lamentations, ample in their confessions, and
seemingly profound in their humiliations. But there the matter ends. They
who heard their self-abasing acknowledgments yesterday—see them no better
today. They are like some chronic invalids, whose diseases arise, in great
measure, from their own self-indulgence , who are ever complaining of their
ailments, and ever lamenting, as well as continuing, their harmful
habits—but who will never exercise that self-denial which is the only way to
restoration, and who yet imagine it is a sign of growing attention to their
health, because there is an increasing disposition to lament their sickness
and to confess their imprudence.
5. A very common error is to mistake a growth of
SECTARIANISM, for an increase of grace.
Perhaps there is no delusion more common than this. Ecclesiastical polity
and sacramental observances, as matters of divine revelation, are both of
some importance; yet it is perfectly clear, from the testimony of
Scripture, that they are of less consequence in the divine life, than
faith, hope, and love. "The kingdom of God is not food and drink; but
righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit." Rom. 14:17. "In Jesus
Christ neither circumcision avails anything, nor uncircumcision; but faith
which works by love." Gal. 5:6. If these passages mean anything, they teach
us the entire subordination of what is ceremonial—to what is spiritual. To
see a person more interested in, and more zealous for, some ritual
observance, than the cultivation of charity—attaching more importance, both
as matter of experience and controversy, to baptism and the external form of
the church, than to the doctrines of justification, regeneration, and
sanctification—marks a state of mind very different from that which is
inculcated by the precepts, and manifested in the conduct, of the sacred
writers. The great object of the apostles was to cherish in their converts
the spirit of faith and the practice of holiness. Yet we very often see a
different line of conduct, both in the teachers and professors of religion
in the present day, by many of whom an extraordinary zeal is manifested for
either established or unestablished churches, as the case might be; and for
a more elaborate or a more simple ceremonial, while little concern is felt
or expressed to inculcate "the fruits of the Spirit, which are love, joy,
peace, patience, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance." Gal.
5:22.
We not infrequently see young professors, when their
first concern about religion is over, taking up with the ardor of eager
novices these secondary matters, and becoming zealots for supporting,
defending and propagating them. This is sometimes especially apparent in
those who have lately transferred themselves from one section of the
universal church to another. Proselytes, as if to prove the sincerity of
their conviction, and reconcile themselves to their new party, usually, in
supporting their novel opinions, excel in zeal those by whom these notions
have been long held. A change of this kind has, in some cases, effected a
complete transformation of character, and they who were before all torpor,
are now all activity and energy; not, indeed, for the great fundamental
truths on which all Christians agree—but for those minor matters on which
they differ. Churchmen, that as such were dull and lethargic, have, on
becoming dissenters, been all life and energy, not so much for faith, love,
and holiness—but for nonconformity. While on the other hand dissenters, who,
while such, were supine and inert, on entering the established church, have
become the zealous advocates and propagators of perhaps even high-church
principles.
Let not people of this description mistake such
sectarianism for advancement in the divine life. This holy vitality has
reference rather to the principles on which all are agreed, than to those
minor matters on which they differ. A mighty furor for religious forms, or a
most impassioned zeal for religious establishments, may comport with very
little vital godliness; yes, the former may go far to enfeeble the latter.
Instead therefore of such a state of mind indicating progress, it manifests
a retrogression. The man has become more of a dissenter or churchman—but
perhaps less of a spiritual, humble, and simple-minded Christian. It is the
human element in their religion, not the divine, that has strengthened; the
shell that has thickened, not the kernel that has enlarged. There has been
motion—but it is a lateral one from the straight line, not a progress in the
right direction. It is a going backwards—from primary to secondary matters.
A disfiguring growth has swelled upon the tree—but the tree itself has been
hindered and not helped in its advance.
6. Much the same remark will apply to a growing
attachment to some particular PREACHER ,
which is not always of itself a proof of progress in true religion. We are
allowed our preference even in this matter—for though it is the message
rather than the messenger—the truth rather than the preacher—that is to be
the ground of our attachment, yet it cannot in the nature of things be
otherwise than that we should prefer one minister to another. He may have
been the instrument of our conversion, or the means of our establishment in
the faith. Or, independently of these matters, he may more clearly explain,
and more powerfully enforce God's truth. Or even without this, his natural
abilities with equal orthodoxy and piety may be more to our taste; and on
all these grounds preference, within certain limits, is allowed.
But nothing in a young convert requires greater care and
effort to keep down excess, than 'ministerial attachment', lest it should
degenerate into exclusiveness and spiritual idolatry. This is a danger into
which multitudes run. They make this 'pulpit favorite' not only the standard
of all excellence—but its monopolist. They think basely of everyone else.
They can hear, at or any rate relish, no other. When he preaches elsewhere
they follow him—or if they cannot do this, they make up their mind not to
profit by his substitute. This actually grows upon them until he is
everything, and all other ministers nothing. Now this very attachment is by
some supposed to be a proof of progress; especially in the case of those who
formerly cared nothing about this minister, or any other. They now feel
pleasure in hearing him—but then it is confined to him, and this preference,
instead of leading them to love him for the sake of the truth he preaches,
leads them rather to love the truth for the sake of the preacher.
If with their preference for him, they united a delight
in hearing all who preach the same truths; and his preaching had formed in
them a taste for evangelical doctrines, instead of for one man who preached
them, this would be a blessed result, and one that would prove advance in
true religion. Perhaps there are few evidences more conclusive of progress
than such a state of mind as is described in the following reflections, "At
my first setting out in the ways of religion, I felt a preference for my
minister so strong, that I could hear with pleasure no other. I was
disappointed and discontented if I saw anyone else in the pulpit, and
thought the sermon scarcely worth listening to. I now see it was more an
attachment to the preacher himself than to his message. True, I was pleased
with his doctrine—but still more with his manner of setting it forth. As my
knowledge of divine truth increased, and I became more and more in love with
this, I found my delight more and more drawn off from the preacher to his
doctrine. Until now, with my preference for him above all others still
remaining, I am so much taken up with the truth as it is in Jesus, and feel
so much more the importance of the matter than the manner, that I can hear
anyone with pleasure who, with tolerable ability, explains and enforces the
glorious gospel of the blessed God. It is the man who opens most clearly to
my judgment the truth of God's word, and enforces it most powerfully upon my
heart and conscience, and carries on my growth in knowledge, peace, and
holiness—that is the preacher I love most." There is no mistake here.
7. Somewhat analogous to this, some mistake a growing
delight in some particular DOCTRINE, or some particular parts, aspects,
and subjects of the Bible, for progress in the divine life.
"All Scripture," to quote this passage again, "is given by inspiration of
God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for
instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly
furnished unto all good works." But all Scripture is not equally
adapted to foster the strength and promote the health of the soul. Now it is
clear to anyone who will attentively study the New Testament, that the
truth by which we are to be sanctified—the doctrine which is
according to godliness—the "perfection," which is distinguished from first
principles—is the mediatorial character and work of Christ. This seems to be
plain from our Lord's words, "I assure you, unless you eat the flesh of the
Son of Man and drink his blood, you cannot have eternal life within you. But
those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will
raise them at the last day. For my flesh is the true food, and my blood is
the true drink. John 6:53-55. This is a most momentous passage, and deserves
the very serious attention of all, and especially of young converts.
It is of vast consequence, in bodily nutrition, to know
what is the most nourishing food, and what will sustain the strength and
increase the stature of the body. Can it be less so in the nutrition of the
soul? Here then, by Him who came to give life—by the great Physician
of the soul—we are told upon what food the growing Christian must live. In
these words our Lord did not, could not, mean to be understood literally. By
his flesh and blood, he meant his body offered up in sacrifice, and his
blood shed as an atonement for sin; and by eating his flesh and drinking his
blood, he intended nourishing the divine life by the knowledge, the faith,
the contemplation, of his atoning death as it is set forth in the
Scriptures. The study of everything that stands connected with the atoning
death of Christ, whether it be in the types of the ceremonial law, the
predictions of the prophets, the narratives of the Gospels, the doctrines of
the epistles, or the sublime visions of the Apocalypse—this is the food of
the soul—the manna from heaven—the bread of life. This is "food indeed,"
and "drink indeed." Whoever with hungry appetite feeds upon this will
grow—and whoever neglects this will become lean and weak.
Now there is a proneness in some to neglect this, and
endeavor to support their spiritual strength by something else. It is not
the study of the Biblical history, or chronology, or historical facts, or
beautiful poetry, or pathetic narratives, or sublime compositions of the
Bible—that will best sustain our strength—and yet some are thus attempting
it. They see many beauties in the Bible to which they were formerly blind.
They are enamored with the sublimities, for instance, of the book of Job or
Isaiah. They admire the wondrous wisdom of the book of Proverbs. They
luxuriate amid the pathos of the history of Joseph, or the morality of the
Sermon upon the Mount. Their attachment to those parts of revelation is
rather growing than declining, and in proper measure all this is highly
commendable. Such books as Gilfillan's "Bards of the Bible," and Kitto's
"Daily Readings," should be read, and cannot be read without admiration, and
exquisite delight, and valuable information. And many do read them with
these feelings, and hence they imagine they are progressing in true
religion, although they have little relish, perhaps, for the doctrines of
the Gospel—the mediation of Christ—the salvation into which the prophets
inquired diligently, and into which the angels desired to look. They do not
feed on the flesh and blood of the great Sacrifice.
8. There may be a mistake made, by the mortification
of some ONE SIN while others are left unsubdued.
It is so far an advance if one enemy of our
soul, from right motives and by right means, be destroyed. And in the work
of spiritual improvement it is wise and well, instead of losing our time and
wasting our energies in mere general and unsystematic mortification, to
select occasionally some one sin to begin with in the way of more direct and
concentrated attack—and no doubt the crucifixion of that corruption—the
cutting off of that right hand, or the plucking out of that right eye, is a
gain in sanctification—a step in advance and a means of gaining other
victories.
But what I am anxious to guard you against is, the
supposition that because some one evil to which you may be more strongly
tempted is abandoned; or some practice which may militate against your
health, or interest, or comfort, is given up—that you are progressing in
godliness. Sin may be discontinued for various reasons. A drunkard may give
up his inebriety, not because it is sinful—but hurtful. Another may
discontinue some fraudulent practice, not because it is forbidden by God—but
is disgraceful in the estimation of man. A young professor may give up some
ensnaring worldly amusements, not because be is afraid of their influence
upon his spiritual welfare—but because they make too great inroads upon his
purse. It is not therefore the abstract abandonment of a sin—but the
motive which leads to it, which is a proof of the work of grace. "How
shall I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?" This sentiment must
lie as the motive at the base of all mortification of sin. And then
moreover, the destruction of any one sin must be viewed and carried
on as a part of the purpose and the act for the destruction of all
sin.
B. I now proceed to
enumerate and to correct some mistakes of a contrary nature to those just
considered. I mean such as are committed by
those who are making progress, and
yet are somewhat anxious and distressed under supposition that they are
not; and even fearing that they are declining.
The cases are perhaps not numerous of people deeply
concerned about salvation, really earnest in true religion, and yet harassed
with the apprehension that they are at a standstill, or even going back.
There is a sincere desire to advance in holiness, and to increase in
spirituality; and they are even diligent in the use of means to accomplish
that end. In reference to them, I do not hesitate to say that their very
state of mind is itself an evidence of progression. This solicitude is
itself advancement. The very desire of improvement, the will to go on, the
longing after greater attainment, is progress. It is itself an
impulse—a forgetting the things that are behind, and a reaching forward unto
those things that are before. There cannot be a more convincing proof of
halting or retrograding, than complacency in ourselves. While on the other
hand, a growing disposition to find fault with ourselves, and humble
ourselves, and really improve ourselves, is one of the brightest indications
of our going forward, provided there is all diligence in the use of the
means of self-improvement.
1. Some are fearful that they are not making progress
because their feelings are not so vividly excited in religious matters as
they formerly were . They are not
easily and powerfully wrought upon either in the way of joy and sorrow, hope
and fear, as they once were. They have not those lively and ecstatic states
of mind which they formerly experienced when they began the divine life.
Here we must just glance at the constitution of our
nature. True religion exerts its influence over all the faculties
of the soul—it calls into exercise the understanding, engages the
determination of the will, moves the affections, and quickens
the conscience. The same differences of natural constitution will be
observable in some degree in the new or spiritual nature as existed in the
old or physical one. A person of great sensibility in ordinary things, will,
after conversion, be so in spiritual ones; while they of little emotion in
the former will exhibit the same phase of mind in the latter. The
sensibility or emotional state of the mind depends very much therefore on
our physical organization. Now it is a very wrong criterion of the reality
and degree of our true religion to judge of it only by the exercise of the
affections. Some people of excitable natures are easily moved to joy and
sorrow, hope and fear. The power of poetry or eloquence, of sights of
distress or raptures—over their feelings is irresistible; while at the same
time their judgments are not proportionately employed, their wills not in
the same measure engaged, and their conscience but little moved. Take, for
instance, the sentimental readers of novels, how by fits they are melted to
tears, or excited to ecstasies. Yet how idle and unemployed are all the
other faculties of the soul. There is no virtue in all this. It is mere
sentimental emotion. Now look at the philanthropist. He may not be a man of
tears, or of strong and vivid emotions of any kind—but he is a man of
principle. His understanding comprehends the circumstances of some case of
deep distress, and he judges it is right to pity and relieve it. His heart,
though not wrought up to extreme anguish, so as to fill his eyes with tears,
and his mouth with loud lamentations, feels for the miserable object; his
will resolutely determines at once to help the sufferer; and his conscience,
which would condemn him if he did not, approves the determination. You will
particularly notice what constituted the virtue of the good man; not wholly
the emotional excitement, for there was very little—but the dictates of the
judgment, the determination of the will, and the action which was performed
under these conjoint powers.
So it is in true religion, which consists partly of the
exercise of all the faculties—but chiefly of the judgment, will, and
conscience. The heart is of course, engaged, for we must love God and
hate sin—we must delight in Christ and fear the wrath to come; but the
amount of vivid emotion is of little consequence, compared with an
enlightened judgment, showing us clearly what is right and wrong; a
determined will to avoid the evil and perform the good; and a tender
conscience shrinking from the least sin. Emotion is, to a certain extent,
instinctive, involuntary, and irrepressible. Not so with judgment, will, and
conscience. It is not, therefore, the amount of feeling—but of
willing and doing, and approving or condemning, that determines the state of
true religion.
There is such a thing I know—and, alas, it is a very
common one—as losing "first love," and it is marked by our Lord with his
disapprobation in his address to the church at Ephesus; but many distress
themselves on this account who have no need to do so. Their ardor perhaps,
at first was in some measure the excitement of animal feeling, which will
soon die away of course, though their real practical love may not be
diminished—but may be growing stronger. When a son returns home after a long
absence, especially if he be a reclaimed prodigal, and meets his parents,
brothers, and sisters, there is a glow of feeling, a joyousness of emotion,
which cannot be expected to continue always, and which he may never be able
to recall again, though he may be ever growing in real attachment to
his friends and his home.
From all this it will be seen that the emotional part of
true godliness may be, and is by many, overestimated. The question is not
merely what we can feel—but what we can do, for Christ; not
how many tears we can shed—but how many sins we can mortify; not what
raptures we can experience—but what self-denial we can practice; not what
happy frames we can enjoy—but what holy duties we can perform; not simply
how much we can luxuriate at sermon or at sacrament—but how much we can
exhibit of the mind of Jesus in our communion with our fellow-men; not only
how far above earth we can rise to the bliss of heaven—but how much of the
love and purity of heaven we can bring down to earth—in short, not how much
of rapt feeling we can indulge—but how much of godly principle we can bring
to bear on our whole conduct.
It is evident, therefore, there may be progress where
there is a fear that there has been declension. The vividness of feeling may
have subsided—but if the firmness of principle has been strengthened, it is
only like the decadence of the blossom when the fruit has set. The joy might
not be so great—but it may be more intelligent, more solid, and more sober.
Just as the exuberant delight of the child, when it passes off, leaves the
pleasure of the youth less noisy—but more rational. The frames and feelings
may be less rapturous—but they may at the same time be less idolized, less
depended upon, less put in the place of Christ. The growing Christian is
less pleased with self—but sees more of the glory of the Savior—his own
righteousness appears more imperfect and defiled, and is therefore less
loved—but the righteousness of the Savior comes out before him more
beautiful, glorious, and necessary.
2. Distress is sometimes felt in consequence of mistaking
a clearer view and deeper sense of depravity, for an actual increase of sin.
This is by no means an uncommon case. The young Christian seems
sometimes to himself to be growing worse, when in fact it is only that he
sees more clearly what in fact he really is. In the early stages of true
religion we have usually but a slender acquaintance with the evil of our sin
or the depravity of our heart. The mind is so much taken up with pardon and
eternal life, and even, indeed, with the transition from death to life, that
it is but imperfectly acquainted with those depths of deceit and wickedness
which lie hidden in itself. And the young convert is almost surprised to
hear older and more experienced Christians talk of the corruptions of their
nature. It is almost one of the first things one would suppose they would
feel, yet it is one of the last they effectually learn, that true religion
is a constant conflict in man's heart—between sin and holiness.
At first they seem to feel as if the serpent were
killed—but they soon find that he was only asleep—for by the warmth of some
fiery temptation, he is revived and hisses at them again, so as to require
renewed blows for his destruction. Nothing astonishes an inexperienced
believer more than the discoveries he is continually making of the evils of
his heart. Corruptions which he never dreamt to be in him, are brought out
by some new circumstances into which he is brought. It is like turning up
the soil, which brings out worms and insects that did not appear upon
the surface. Or to vary the illustration, his increasing knowledge of God's
holy nature, of the perfect law, and the example of Christ, is like
opening the shutters, and letting light into a dark room, the filth of
which the inhabitant did not see until the sunbeams disclosed it to him.
3. Sometimes the young convert is discouraged, because
he does not increase as fast as he expected ;
and supposes because he does not accomplish all, and as speedily as he
looked for, that he does not advance at all. The expectations of young
Christians are sometimes as irrational as the child's who sowed his seed in
the morning, and went out in the evening to see if it was above ground. The
recent convert sometimes imagines that sanctification is easy to work. He
imagines that advance is a thing to be accomplished by a succession of
strides, if not, indeed, by one bound after another. But the remains of old
Adam within him soon prove too strong to allow this unimpeded course of
Christian progression. He knew he had difficulties to surmount—but he
calculated on getting over them with ease—that he had enemies to conflict
with—but then he hoped to go on by rapid victories from conquering to
conquer. He is disappointed—and now imagines he makes no way at all. But why
should he so hastily decide against himself? All growth is slow, and that is
slowest of all which is to last the longest. The mushroom springs up in a
night—so did Jonah's gourd—and in a night it perished! The oak requires
centuries for its coming to perfection.
4. Some mistake by supposing they do not advance at all
because they do not get on so fast as some others.
We would by no means encourage neglect, indifference,
or contentment with small measures of grace. On the contrary, we urge the
greatest diligence. We say go on unto perfection. They who are contented
with what grace they suppose they have, give fearful evidence that they have
none at all. To be self-satisfied is to be self-deceived. Still, as in
nature so in grace, all do not grow with equal rapidity, or advance to
equal strength and stature. It is so with flowers in a garden; trees in
a plantation; children in a family; boys at school; ships at sea; or
travelers upon the land. There is progress in all—but in different degrees.
Yet of which of all these can it be said, they make no advance because they
do not advance as fast as the foremost. The use we should make of the
superior attainments of the more eminent of God's servants is neither to
envy them, nor to discourage our hearts—but to find in them a
stimulus and an encouragement to seek larger measures of faith and holiness
for ourselves.
ADDRESS TO THE READER
Reader, this is an unspeakably important chapter for you
to ponder. You must not pass from it in haste—but linger, and muse longer
and deeper. You must now take up the candle of the Lord, as I have said, and
go down into the very depths of the soul, to search its hidden recesses. Nor
should you trust to your own inspection and scrutiny. Like David, you
should earnestly pray to God to search you, and reveal your real
state to you. "Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my
thoughts. Point out anything in me that offends you, and lead me along the
path of everlasting life." He knew how prone we are to self-love and
self-deception; how sin lies hidden in the folds of the heart's deceit,
and therefore he begged the trial and scrutiny of eyes more piercing and
less partial than him own. So must you. We are all liable to judge too
favorably of our own case. Do, do, consider the fatal, the dreadful, the
eternal consequences of a mistake on this subject.
Oh, the idea of imagining we are going on to
heaven, when step by step we are advancing to hell! Is this possible?
It is! And the very possibility should awaken our alarm. Is it probable?
It is! And this should increase our alarm. Is it certain? It is!
And this should raise still higher our anxiety. Is it common? It is!
And this should carry our solicitude to the highest pitch. What did Christ
say on this matter? Read with awe and trembling. "Not everyone who says to
me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the
will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, 'Lord,
Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons
and perform many miracles?' Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew
you. Away from me, you evildoers!'" Matthew 7:21-23. Read, I say, this
passage in which our Lord with his own hand, sounds the alarm through the
whole church. Ought you not to examine? Is not there need of it? Is it not
all but madness to go on without it? Mistake! What in such a matter as
salvation? Mistake! What in a matter in which an error will require, as I
have often said, an eternity to understand, and an eternity to deplore it!
Are you quite sure this is not your case? Take up the
subject, then, and put the following questions to your soul.
Am tolerably sure that I am truly converted to
God? Am tolerably sure that I am a real Christian?
If I am a true Christian, am I really an advancing
one—or am I mistaking a declining state for an advancing one?
Am I mistaking a lengthened time of profession—for
a genuine growth in grace?
Am I putting an increase of knowledge, and of ability to
talk about religion—in place of an increase of holiness?
Does it satisfy me to grow in knowledge and lamentation
of my corruptions—without mortifying them?
Am I mistaking sectarianism—for true piety? Am I
mistaking attachment to some preacher—with love to the truth? Am I mistaking
zeal for some favorite doctrine—with real love for the gospel?
Is my mortification of sin confined to some one
corruption, which interest, ease, or reputation may require me to surrender;
or is it directed against all sin?
Is my religion a mere excitement of the emotions, and my
growth only a greater excitability; or is my will more and more determined
for God, my conscience more tender, and my life more holy?
Inquire, I beseech you, into these things. Be determined,
by God's grace, to know the real state of your soul, and to be under no
mistake. Be this your prayer, "O God of truth, you who search the hearts and
examine the thoughts of the children of men, you know I would not for ten
thousand worlds be deceived about my spiritual state. You know me through
and through. Make known to me what I really am in your sight. Painful as it
would be to find out that I have been deceiving myself, this would be
infinitely better than for me to go on in error until the mistake is past
being rectified. I want to know my real state. Even if I am a Christian, and
yet mistaking declension for progress, I wish to know this also. Let
my spiritual insight be clear, my self-acquaintance be accurate. Do not
allow me to deceive myself—as regards my spiritual progress or decline."
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