The Church in Earnest
by John Angell James, 1848
HINDRANCES TO
EARNESTNESS IN PIETY
Such a state of the church as that to which this volume refers, cannot be
rationally looked for without intense solicitude, importunate and incessant
prayer, resolute effort, and both a vigorous and watchful opposition to
hostile influence. But a malignant influence is exerted in various ways, and
from various quarters. Of course the chief hindrance is from the remains of
corruption in the heart of every Christian, and the efforts of Satan; and
they must be overcome by a more determined and severe mortification of our
members which are upon the earth, and a more unrelenting crucifixion of the
flesh, with the affections and lusts thereof—as well as by sobriety and
vigilance of mind in resisting the temptations of our adversary the devil.
But I now refer more especially to certain impediments arising out of the
state both of the church and of the world.
I. Perhaps we may
consider the easy access to
church fellowship which is now so generally granted,
as one cause of the deterioration of the piety of this day. I am aware that
the admission of members to our churches is a subject of perplexing
difficulty—it is not at our option to make the door of entrance to the
church, and of approach to the table of the Lord either wider or narrower
than it is made by him to whom both the spiritual house, and the table for
the inhabitants, belong. But the difficulty lies in knowing exactly what is
God's will on the subject, in each particular case as it occurs. For my own
part, it is to me a heavy burden to determine in each case upon this
point—no part of my duty is so perplexing. I am afraid on the one hand—to
repel the true convert, and deprive him of the means of nourishment and
growth; and on the other hand—of admitting the self-deceived, and being thus
the abetter of his delusion and destruction.
Two consequences result from the reception of unsuitable
people to church fellowship; they not only are confirmed in their false
views of their own case—but by their low state of pious feeling, or total
destitution of it, by their worldly-mindedness and laxity, they corrupt
others, and exert a deadening influence upon the whole community. Their
example is a source of corruption to very many, who are allured by it into
all their secularities and fashionable follies. One family of such worldly
and lukewarm professors is often a grief to the pastor, a lamentation to the
spiritual part of the flock, a snare to many of the less pious, and a
reproach to the church at large. Too many of this description find their
way, in these days of easy profession, into all our churches.
I have arrived, therefore, at the conclusion that our
tendency in this day is to make the standard for admission too low, and the
test of spiritual fitness too easy. The consequence of this is that our
churches have many in them who are professors only, and who exert an
unfavorable influence over those of whom we hope better things. They benumb
by their deadening touch, those with whom they come into contact. It is
probable that there is no pastor who, upon looking around upon his church,
does not see many members, whom, if they had manifested no more concern when
they made application for membership than they now do, he would have never
thought of receiving into communion, and they indeed would never have
applied for it themselves. How much is it to be wished that such people, if
they do not improve, would dissolve their connection with the church, since
their remaining only corrupts it, without doing anything for themselves—but
to harden their hearts, aggravate their guilt, and increase their
condemnation!
II. There are few things
which exert a more unfavorable influence upon the piety of our churches than
the MIXED MARRIAGES between
those who are professors of religion, and those who are not;
and which it must be acknowledged and regretted, are in the present day
lamentably common.
The operation of such unions on the state of religion, so
far as regards the parties themselves, needs be no mystery to any one. When
two individuals of different tastes, in reference to any matter, are
associated, and one of them has an aversion, or even an indifference, to the
pursuits of the other—it is next to impossible for the one so opposed to
sustain with vigor and perseverance his selected course of action; and then
if he cannot assimilate the taste of the other party to his own, he must for
the sake of harmony give up his cherished predilections. This applies to no
subject with such force as it does to true religion. Every Christian man
carries in his own heart, and encounters from surrounding circumstances,
sufficient resistance to a life of godliness, without selecting a still more
potent foe to piety, in an unconverted wife. Conceive of either party, in
such an unsanctified union, continually exposed, if not to the actual
opposition, yet to the deadening influence of the other.
Think of a pious WIFE, to put it in the mildest
form, not persecuted indeed by an impious husband, (though this is often the
case,) but left without the aid of his example, his prayer, and his
cooperation—hindered from a regular attendance upon many of the means of
grace which she deems necessary for keeping up the life of godliness in her
soul; obliged to be much in company for which she has no taste—but positive
aversion; and to engage in occupations which she finds it difficult to
reconcile to her conscience, or harmonize with her profession; hearing no
conversation, and witnessing no pursuits but such as are of the earth,
earthly; ridiculed, perhaps, for some of her conscientious scruples, and
doomed to hear perpetual sneers cast upon professors for their
inconsistency. Or what is still more ensnaring, constantly exposed to the
deleterious influence of an unvarying—but at the same time, unsanctified
amiability of disposition in her husband, whose lack of piety seems
compensated by many other excellences. Is it likely, unless there be a
martyr-like piety, not often found in such a situation, that amidst such
trials she will continue firm, consistent, and spiritual? Will she not, if
possessed only of the average degree of piety, relax by little and little,
until her enfeebled and pliable profession easily accommodates itself to the
wishes and tastes of her unconverted husband?
But, perhaps, the influence on piety generally is still
worse when the HUSBAND is a professor, and the wife is not; worse,
because he is more seen and known; has more to do with church affairs; has
greater power over others, and therefore may be supposed to be more
injurious or beneficial, accordingly as his personal piety is more or less
vigorous and consistent. When such a man unites himself with a woman whose
tastes and habits are opposed to spiritual religion; who is fond of mirthful
company and fashionable amusements, and would prefer a party or a game, to a
pious service; who feels restless, uneasy, and discontented in pious society
and occupations; who has no love for family devotion, and is often absent
from the morning or evening sacrifice—is it likely the husband of such a
woman will long retain his consistency, his fervor, his spirituality? Will
he not for the sake of marital happiness, concede one thing after another
until nearly all the more strict forms of godliness are surrendered, and
much of its spirit lost? His house becomes the scene of gaiety, his children
grow up under maternal influence, his own piety evaporates, and at last he
has little left of religion but the name. And now what is his influence
likely to be upon others?
What families usually spring from such marriages; and
what churches are, by a still wider spread of mischief, formed by them? This
practice is ever going on before our eyes, and we feel unable to arrest it.
It was never more common than at this time. Notwithstanding the protests
which have been lifted up against it, the evil is continually spreading; and
while it too convincingly proves the low state of piety among us, is an
evidence of the truth of the last particular, that our present practice in
the admission of people to membership is far too lax. Too few of the female
members of our churches would refuse an advantageous offer of marriage on
the ground of the lack of godliness in the individual who makes the
proposal—and how many of the opposite gender would allow their conscience,
on the same ground, to control their fancy, and give law to their wishes?
Can we wonder that there should be little intense devotion in our churches,
in such a state of things as this? How can we look for earnest piety when
such hindrances as these are thrown in the way of it?
Honorable and noble exceptions, I admit, there are. Among
others, one especially have I known, where a female by consenting to marry
an ungodly man, could have been raised with her fatherless children from
widowhood, solicitude, suspense, and comparative poverty—to wealth, ease,
and grandeur; but where, with martyr-like consistency, she chose rather to
struggle on for the support of herself and her children, with the smile of
conscience and of God to sustain her noble heart, than to accept the 'golden
bait' under the frown of both. But how few are there who would thus account
the reproach of Christ greater treasure than all the riches of Egypt.
It is difficult to know what to do with this evil. Some
churches make it a matter of discipline, and expel the member who marries an
individual that is not a professor. This is the well-known practice of the
Quaker body; and also of some churches of the Congregational order. There
are objections, however, against this, which I have never yet been able to
surmount. A member, whether suspended or excommunicated, can never be
restored except upon a profession of penitence. Now, though in this case
there can be no reformation, since the married cannot re-marry, there may be
repentance. Yet it is a delicate affair, as affecting his wife, to bring a
man to say he is sorry he ever married; unless indeed we separate, by a
refined abstraction, the act of marrying an ungodly person, from his act of
marrying this particular woman. Instances may occur, and have occurred in my
own pastorate, of so very flagrant a nature, indicating so total a lack of
all sense of religious truth, feeling, and propriety, as to warrant, and
indeed require, a church to cut off a person who had thus violated every
rule of Scripture and of common decorum. In all cases of this description,
the pastor should interfere before the connection is fixed, if he has an
opportunity. He should point out the inconsistency to the church member, the
peril that must inevitably ensue to the soul, and the great unhappiness that
attends such marriages; and in the case of such flagrant impropriety as I
have last mentioned, let him candidly state the probability of exclusion
from the church.
III. I may mention as the
next hindrance to earnest piety,
the taste for AMUSEMENT
by which the present day is perhaps characterized more
than most which have preceded it. Every age has had its sources of pleasure,
and its means and methods of diversion, to relieve the mind from the fatigue
and oppression of the more serious occupations of life. The human mind
cannot be kept always upon the stretch, nor can the heart sustain, without
occasional relief, its burden of care. I would not rob the soul of its few
brief holidays, nor condemn as irrational or unchristian, its occasional
oblivion of worldly vexations amidst the beauties of nature, or the
pleasures of the social circle.* There is a time to laugh—as well as to
weep. It is highly probable that with the advance of civilization, and of
the arts and sciences, man, instead of rendering himself independent of the
lighter amusements, will actually multiply them. And it must be admitted
that modern taste has by its elegance supplanted some of the gross carnality
and vulgar joviality of former days. There is an obvious reformation and
elevation of popular amusements. The low taste for brutal sports, is I hope,
supplanted by a higher kind of enjoyment, which, if not more Christian, is
at any rate more humane and rational, and this is something gained to
morals, even where the improvement does not go on to true piety.
Still, it may be seriously questioned, whether among
professing Christians, the propensity for amusements and entertainments has
not been growing too fast, and ripened into something like a passion for
worldly pleasures. Dinner parties, among the wealthier classes of
professors, have become frequent and expensive—wines the most costly, and
the most varied and opulent foods are set forth with a profusion which
proves at what an expenditure the entertainment has been served up to
gratify the vanity of the host, and the palate of his guests.
There is an interesting incident in point, mentioned in
the life of Mr. Scott, the commentator, which I shall here introduce, as
showing the light in which that eminent man viewed this subject. I am not
quite sure I have not introduced it in one of my other works; if I have, it
will bear repetition. "For some time I had frequent invitations to meet
dinner parties formed of people professing religion, and I generally
accepted them—yet I seldom returned home without dissatisfaction, and even
remorse of conscience. One day, (the Queen's birthday;) I met at the house
of a rather opulent tradesman, a large party, among whom were some other
ministers. The dinner was exceedingly splendid and luxurious, consisting of
two courses, including every delicacy in season. Some jokes passed upon the
subject; and one person in particular, a minister of much celebrity, said,
'If we proceed thus, we shall soon have the gout numbered among the
privileges of the gospel.' This passed off very well—but in the evening, a
question being proposed on the principal dangers to which evangelical
religion is exposed in the present day, when it came to my turn to speak, I
ventured to say that conformity to the world among people professing
godliness, was the greatet danger of all. One thing led to another, and the
luxurious dinner did not pass unnoticed by me. I expressed myself as
cautiously as I could consistently with my conscience—but I observed that
however needful it might be for Christians in superior stations to give
splendid and expensive dinners to their worldly relations and connections,
yet when ministers and Christians met together, such luxury was not
consistent with piety—but should be exchanged for more frugal entertainments
of each other, and more abundant feeding of the poor, the maimed, the lame,
and the blind. Probably I was too pointed; and many strong expressions of
disapprobation were used at the time; but I went home as one who had thrown
off a great burden from his back, rejoicing in the testimony of my
conscience. The consequence was, a sort of tacit excommunication from the
circle. The gentleman at whose house this passed, never invited me again but
once, and then our dinner was literally a piece of boiled beef. He was
however a truly pious man, though misled by bad examples and customs. He
always continued to act towards me in a friendly manner, and though I had
not seen him for several years, he left me a small legacy at his death."
There are few who will not be of opinion that Mr. Scott's
rebuke would have been conveyed with more propriety, had it been
administered privately, when it would manifest all the fidelity, without any
of the seeming rudeness, with which it was given. Yet how convincingly does
it prove the clearness of his perception of what was right, the tenderness
of his conscience in shrinking from what was wrong, and the strength of his
moral courage in reproving what he deemed to be a fault! What would Scott
have said of a professor of religion exhibiting thirty-two different kinds
of wine upon his table and side-board at the same time!*
* When will the ministers and members of our churches
begin generally to inquire, whether it is not expedient for them, if not for
their own sakes, yet for the sake of the community—to discontinue altogether
the use of intoxicating liquors? When it is considered that one-half
of the insanity, two-thirds of the abject poverty, and three-fourths of the
crime of our country, are to be traced up to drunkenness; that more than
sixty million dollars are annually spent in these destructive beverages;
that myriads annually die the drunkard's death, and descend still lower than
the drunkard's grave; that thousands of church members are every year cut
off from Christian fellowship for inebriety; that every minister of the
gospel has to complain of the hindrance to his usefulness from this cause;
and that more ministers are disgraced by this than by any other habit; that,
in short, more misery and more crime flow over society from this source,
than from any other, war and slavery not excepted; and that by the highest
medical authorities these intoxicating drinks are destructive. It surely
does become every professor of religion to ask whether it is not incumbent
upon him, both for his own safety and for the good of his fellow-creatures,
to abstain from this pernicious indulgence. On the authority of Mr. Sheriff
Alison it is stated, that in the year 1840, there were in Glasgow, among
30,000 inhabited houses, no fewer than 3010 appropriated to the sale of
intoxicating drinks. The same gentleman declared that the consumption of
liquors in that city amounted to 1,800,000 gallons yearly, the value of
which is £1,350,000. No fewer than 30,000 people go to bed drunk every
Saturday night—25,000 imprisonments are annually made on account of
drunkenness, of which 10,000 are of females. Is Glasgow worse than many
other places?
Professors of religion, ponder this—and will you not by
abstaining from a luxury, lend the aid of your example to discountenance
this monster crime, and monster misery? It is in the power, and is it not
therefore the duty, of the Christian church to do much to stop this evil,
which sends more people to the mad-house, the jail, the prisons, and the
gallows; more bodies to the grave; and more souls to perdition, than any
other that can be mentioned? Can the church be in earnest until it is
prepared to make this sacrifice?
But it is not the dinner party, so much as the evening
fashionable gathering, that is becoming the prevailing custom and the snare
of modern Christians, when large assemblages are convened, comprising pious
and worldly, grave and mirthful, young and old; not to enjoy "the feast of
reason, and the flow of soul;" not perhaps even to be regaled by the
pleasures of music—but by the amusement of the song and the dance—when large
expense is incurred, late hours are kept, and everything but a pious spirit
is promoted. It is this kind of social amusement, the fashionable full-dress
evening party, carried to the extent of entire conformity to the world, and
frequently resorted to, that is injurious to the interests of vital
godliness in our Christian churches.
But even where there is not this extreme of gaiety, and a
somewhat more sober aspect is thrown over the circle, yet when the winter
passes off in a round of evening assemblages for no higher occupations than
music and singing, it is an occupation scarcely congenial with the pious
taste, or friendly to the promotion of pious improvement. I have known young
people, professors of religion too, who have related with gleeful boasting,
as if this were the element in which they delighted to live, the number of
evenings during one winter they have passed in company, and in such
occupations as have been just alluded to.
Now it may be, and it is, extremely difficult, and no one
would attempt to solve the problem—to determine what kind of parties, and
what number of them, are compatible with true godliness, so that when the
rule for this kind and this number of entertainments is transgressed, the
religion of the individual is questionable, or must be injured. I can only
lay down general principles, leaving the application of them to individual
judgment. There are no doubt people of such strength of real inrooted piety,
of such strong devotional taste, and such fixed habits of godliness, that
they could pass unhurt through a constant round of seemingly dissipating
amusements; just as there are people of such strong constitutions and such
robust health, that they can breathe a tainted atmosphere, or even take some
kinds of poison, without injury. There is a most striking instance of this
lately published by the Bishop of Oxford, in the Life of Mrs. Godolphin, who
preserved not only her personal purity—but an unusual degree of spirituality
and heavenly-mindedness, amidst the endless gaieties and the revolting
licentiousness of the court of Charles the Second. In reference to which we
can only say, "To the pure, all things are pure."
But most certainly the average piety of our day is not of
such robustness as to be able to resist strong contagion. The very craving
after diversion and amusement, which there is in some people, shows a morbid
state of the soul. It might be supposed, judging from the representations of
true religion which we find in the word of God, and from the general
principles contained in it, as well as from the recorded experience of the
saints, which is to be found in pious biography, that a Christian, one who
is really such, has been rendered independent of all such sources of
enjoyment as those to which the people of the world resort. It might have
been concluded, that in the peace that passes understanding, the joy
unspeakable and full of glory, and the rejoicing in hope of the glory of
God—he had found not only a substitute—but an infinite compensation, for the
worldly gratifications, which by becoming a Christian he had surrendered and
that he would deem it a disparagement of his pious privileges to suppose
that anything more than these were necessary for his felicity; or that if an
addition were needed, an adequate one could not be found in healthful
recreation amidst the scenery of nature, in the pleasures of knowledge, or
the activities of benevolence.
To hear all this talk, then, about the necessity of
entertainment; and the impossibility of relieving the exhaustion of labor,
and the monotony of life, without parties, games, and diversions—sounds very
like a growing weariness of the yoke of Christ; or a complaining, as if the
church's paradise were no better than a waste howling wilderness, which
needed the embellishments of worldly taste, and all the resources of human
art, to render it tolerable; or which in fact must become little better than
a fool's paradise to please the degenerate Christian. The growing desire
after amusement marks a low state of piety, and is likely to depress it
still lower.
It is the profession of a Christian, that he is not so
much intent upon being happy in this world—as upon securing happiness in the
eternal world; that he is rather preparing for bliss, than possessing and
enjoying it now; and that he can, therefore, be very well content to forego
many things in which the people of the world see no harm, and the harm of
which it might be difficult for him, if called upon for proof, to
demonstrate; but which he is willing to abstain from, just because they
appear to him to take him off from those pleasures which await him, and for
which he is to prepare, in the eternal world.
IV. The spirit of TRADE
as it is now carried on, is no less adverse to a high state of piety, than
the desire of amusement; and like that, is all the more dangerous because of
the impossibility of assigning limits within which the indulgence of it is
lawful, and beyond which it becomes an infringement of the law of God. Our
chief danger lies in those things, which become sins only by the degree to
which an affection or pursuit not wrong in itself, is carried; such as
covetousness, pleasure-taking, and attention to the business of life—these
all originate in things which are lawful in themselves, and are sinful only
in excess. Fornication, adultery, falsehood, robbery, and other vices—are
all so marked out, and so marked off from the region of what is lawful, that
the line of division is distinctly perceptible, and we can see at once when
we are approaching the point of prohibition, and when we have stepped over
it.
But we cannot say this of worldly-mindedness. The love of
acquisition and appropriation is one of the instinctive principles of human
nature, planted in it by the hand of God, and intended to subserve the
wisest and most beneficent purposes. The whole fabric of society is founded
upon it, and all social organization is regulated by it. Trade may be said
to be of God's appointment, if not directly, yet by the law of labor under
which we are placed; and we cannot do without it. But then, like every other
good—it may be abused, and become an evil. It may exert so engrossing an
influence over the mind as to absorb it, and to exclude from it the
consideration of every other subject. It must never be forgotten that the
rule is binding upon us all, to "seek first the kingdom of God, and his
righteousness," to overcome the world by faith—to set our affections on
things above, and not on things on the earth. All this is as truly law now,
as it ever was; and no attention to seen and temporal things, no labor even
to provide things honest in the sight of all men, much more to provide
abundant and luxurious things for ourselves—can release us from the
obligation of a supreme regard to things "unseen and eternal."
Now there never was in the history of the world, an age
or a country, in which the spirit of trade was more urgent, than it is in
this land, and in our day. We are the greatest trading, manufacturing, and
commercial country not only that now is—but that ever was. Tyre, Carthage,
Phoenicia, and Venice, were mere pedlars compared with Britain. Our country
is "the mart of nations," the emporium of the world. Such a state of things
affects us all. Scarcely any stand so remote from the scene of busy activity
as not to feel its impulse, and to catch its spirit. All rush into the
contest for wealth—all hope to gain a prize of greater or less value.
Education has raised up many from the lower classes, and wealth has
attracted down many from the higher walks of life, to the level of the
trading portion of the community—while population, as is natural in such a
state of things, has gone on increasing. What is the result? Just what might
have been expected, a keen and eager competition for business, beyond any
former precedent.
Every trade, every profession, every branch of
manufacturing, or of commerce, seems over-stocked, and every department of
action over-crowded. See what must follow, time is so occupied that men have
scarcely an hour in a week for thoughtfulness, reading the Scriptures, and
prayer. The head, and heart, and hands, are so full of secular matters, that
there is no room for God, Christ, salvation, and eternity! Competition is so
keen and eager, that to get business—that the whatever things are true, and
just, and honest, and lovely, and of good report—are trampled under foot,
and conscientiousness is forgotten, or destroyed. If these efforts are
successful, and wealth flows in, and the tradesman rapidly rises in
society—then he is, perhaps, destroyed by prosperity.
In addition to all this, what an inconceivable amount of
mischief has been inflicted by the gambling system of speculation. What
multitudes have plunged into the gulf of perdition which yawns beneath those
who have taken up the resolution of the men that will be rich, and who are
determined to encounter the many foolish and hurtful lusts which beset their
path. Piety becomes a flat, insipid, and abstract thing—amidst all the
excitement produced by such pursuits. Even the Sabbath day hardly serves its
purpose as a season of respite and remorse, given to arrest the eagerness of
pursuit after wealth, and to loosen, for a while, the chain that binds man
to earth; and is passed with an impatience that says, "When will it be over,
that we may buy and sell and get again."
Of what use are sermons to those whose minds and hearts
are intent upon their speculations or their business? And even the voice of
prayer, which calls them into the presence of God, calls them not away from
their secularities. Their Father's house is made a house of merchandise, and
the Holy of Holies a place of business. As soon might you expect a company
of gamblers to lay down their cards, and with the stakes yet undecided
before their eyes listen with attention to a homily or a prayer—as some
professing Christians to join with reverence in the devotions of the
Sabbath, or to hear with interest the voice of the preacher. The spirit of
trade thus carried on, is deadening the piety that is left, and is
preventing more from being produced.
The great object of life to those professing Christians
who have the opportunity, seems to be to become rich. Their chief end does
not appear to be so much to glorify God, and enjoy him forever, as to obtain
and enjoy the present world. Wealth is the center of their wishes—the
invariable tendency of their desires. How many who have named the name of
Christ, and avouched him to be all their salvation, and all their desire,
still make "gold their hope, and say unto fine gold, You are my confidence."
Jehovah is the God of their creed—but Mammon is the God of their hearts.
Part of one day only they profess to worship in the sanctuary of religion,
and all the other six days of the week they are devout adorers of the God of
wealth.
Professing Christians! it is this worldly spirit which
blights your hopes, which chills piety to the very heart, which withers your
graces, which poisons your comforts, and blasts the fair fame of your
Redeemer's kingdom! While this spirit pervades the professing people of God,
vital godliness will not only be low—but will remain so. How can it be
otherwise than that the church will appear covered with the dust of the
earth, and robbed of her heavenly glory—while there are few who weep over
the woes of Jerusalem, who struggle for her prosperity, who are affected by
her reproach, or who are jealous for her honor. Let us then be duly
impressed with the fact that in this country and in this age, trade is
contending with piety for the universal dominion over men's minds, hearts,
and consciences—and that according to present appearances there is no small
danger of the victory being gained by the former. Christians, take the
alarm!
V. Among the hindrances
to a spirit of earnest piety, must be mentioned the
political excitement
which has so extensively prevailed in this country.
Great political changes are bringing professing Christians into new perils,
exposing their piety to fresh dangers, and rendering it necessary to give a
greater vigor to that faith which overcomes the world. It is freely
admitted, as has been a thousand times repeated, that in putting on the
Christian, we do not put off the citizen—and do not, upon entering the
church, retire altogether from the world. Religious liberty has an intimate
connection with the interests of religion, for the freedom of the Christian
cannot exist without the liberty of the man, and the stability and progress
of the Redeemer's kingdom are considerably affected by the course of
legislation. Hence it seems neither possible if it were right, nor right if
it were possible, for professing Christians altogether to quit the arena of
politics. Still, however, it must be confessed that it requires a far larger
measure of the life of faith than they appear to have possessed, to resist
the paralysing influence which comes from such a quarter over the spirit of
piety; and the consequence has been, that she has come out of the scene of
strife, covered with its dust, and enfeebled by its struggles.
In such times as those of the great conflict against
tyranny and popery, in the reign of the Stuarts, when everything dear to
liberty and religion was at stake, the politicians and heroes of those days
prepared themselves for the senate and the camp, by the devout exercises of
the closet, fed the flame of their courage at the fount of their piety, felt
that they must be saints in order to be patriots, and expected to have power
to conquer man, only as they had power to prevail with God. It might be
truly said of them, it was not that their religion was political—but their
politics were pious. Everything they did was consecrated by the Word of God
and prayer. They were wrong in some things they did, and unwise in some
things they said—but even this was at the dictate of conscience, though a
misguided one. There were hypocrites among them no doubt, for it was hardly
possible that such splendid virtues as many of them possessed, should not be
admired and imitated by some who had not the grace to be their genuine
followers; and an uncouth cast of phraseology and some modes of action no
doubt marred their piety; but even these disfigurements could not conceal
their manly spirits.
Is it so now in our struggles for objects which, though
of some consequence, are of less importance than theirs? Have we not all the
ardor of political excitement, without feeling the necessity of personal
piety? Do we realize the need of a new baptism of the Spirit, to prepare us
for political contests? Are we acting as if we were convinced that we must
put on afresh the whole armor of God before we go into the battle-field of
contending parties? Have we made our politics pious, instead of making our
religion political? Have our pastors, when they have engaged in these
matters, prepared themselves for it by communion with God; and have our
senators before they have gone to the place of legislation, and our
councillors and aldermen, before they have entered the civic hall, fortified
themselves by fasting and prayer, with the spirit of piety? Have we not on
the contrary, lost in piety what we have gained in liberty, and felt "the
powers of the world to come" weakened in their influence over us, in
proportion as we have had a share in wielding the power of the present
world?
As dissenters, have we not been too anxious about our
political influence? Or at any rate, have we not in seeking to increase
this, lost something of a better influence—which we should have labored to
preserve? Perhaps it may be thought that this is the day of struggle for
great principles, the reform of great abuses, the contest for lost rights,
and the settlement of a wise, equitable, and permanent constitution of
things; and that though the spirit of saintly and seraphic piety may suffer
somewhat during the conflict, yet the time will come by and bye, when having
conquered an honorable peace, she will sit down amidst the trophies that
have been won, to heal her wounds, and recover her strength. I wish it may
be so—but what if by venturing unnecessarily so far into the thick of the
political affray, she should receive wounds that are incurable, and sink
into a state of exhaustion, from which she cannot be easily or speedily
recovered!
What I say, then, is this, that if we must be political,
and to a certain extent we must be, do not let us smile with contempt at the
craven fears, or the superstitious apprehensions, or the ignoble whinings,
as they will be called, of those who would remind us that a time of
political excitement brings on a state of things—which endangers all that is
vital in godliness, damps the flame of devotion in the soul, and tends to
depress piety in our churches.
But there are other excitements against which we have
need to be on our guard, excitements which come still more within the
unquestioned circle of pious activity. It is well for us to remember that
true religion, even in its most vigorous and energetic course of action, is
of a calm, gentle, and peaceful temperament. It resembles its Divine Author,
of whom it is said, "He shall not strive nor cry, neither shall any man hear
his voice in the streets;" it loves the quiet retreat of the closet, and
flourishes amidst the stillness of meditation—and adds to these the tranquil
pleasures of the sanctuary, and the soft and soothing delights of the
communion of saints. It cannot live, and grow, and flourish, amidst
perpetual agitation; and it is ever placed in a dangerous position, in an
atmosphere too troubled, and in an element uncongenial with its nature—when
its active duties are pushed so far as to exclude the devotional ones. There
are times when piety must come out of its retreat, and mingle in the scenes
of agitation and excitement. There are occasions when it must join the
crowd, and let its voice be heard, not only borne upon the gale of popular
sentiment and feeling—but swelling it. Yet this must be but occasional, and
not habitual.
If we look back upon the great questions which have
called out professing Christians into the scene of agitation during the last
half, or last quarter, of a century, how many subjects of a public nature
shall we find that have called up our consideration, feeling, and activity?
What a struggle we maintained, in what crowds we gathered, and to what a
pitch of enthusiasm we were wrought up, for the removal of that foul blot
upon our country's history, that heavy curse upon humanity, and that deep
disgrace on our Christian profession—the slave trade and slavery! In what a
troubled element have we lived of late, through contending against the
various schemes of popular education, because we viewed them as unfriendly
to our liberties as dissenters, and hostile to the manly independence of the
people. There are other topics which need not be specified, tending greatly
to agitate the church of Christ. The wonder perhaps is, and it is a cause
for gratitude, that considering these things, so much personal piety still
remains. Yet it behooves us to remember that as this is an atmosphere
uncongenial with its nature, there is the need of constant watchfulness,
intense solicitude, and earnest prayer, that the churches, while contending
for important objects, do not let down the tone of their spirituality.
VI. Even that which is
the glory of the church in this age, and the hope of the world, which is one
of the brightest signs of the times, and the loss of which would be an
occasion to clothe the heavens with sackcloth, and the earth with mourning—I
mean the spirit of holy zeal
which is now so active; yes, even this, for
lack of watchfulness, care, and earnest prayer, may become a snare and a
mischief to personal godliness. We have need to take care that the reproach
be not brought against us, that while we have kept the vineyards of others,
our own we have not kept; that our zeal has been maintained, not by our
piety—but at the expense of it; that our ardor is not the natural putting
forth of the vital energies of the tree, in branches, leaves, and fruit—but
a protrusion upon it, which draws to itself the sap and impoverishes the
genuine produce. Ours is the age of societies, the era of organization, the
day of the platform, the public meeting, the orator, the speech, and the
placard. Everything is trumpeted, blazoned, shall I say puffed; not only our
missionary and Bible society meetings—but our ordination services, formerly
so quiet and so solemn. Even the subjects of our very sermons, the most
solemn verities of our religion, must now obtrude themselves in glaring
placards, and stare out in imposing capitals, side by side with
advertisements of plays by celebrated actors, concerts by renowned singers,
lectures by itinerant philosophers, and feats of agility by equestrian
performers. All is agitation, excitement, and publicity; and religion is one
subject for this among many others. Something of all this, no doubt, is
proper, and cannot be otherwise managed at present, and ought not to be
discontinued. But then, on the other hand, much of it is contrary to the
dignity, the peacefulness, and the sanctity of true piety. There is in some
of our pious concerns too near an approach by far to showmanship, to the
newspaper puffing of noisy and obtrusive tradesmen, to the catch-penny
trickery of quacks and impostors. Let us consider how the truly pious
spirit, the lofty, heavenly, devout aspirations of the renewed mind must
suffer for all this—how true godliness must be corrupted and changed into a
novelty-seeking, wonder-loving thing—how the flame of devotion must expire,
or be changed into the fantastic fires around which little children dance in
sport.
And where matters are not in this fashion, and there is
nothing but the mere reiteration of public meetings, yet may they not by
their frequency draw off the attention from personal piety, and in many
cases become a substitute for it? There are public meetings, and
resolutions, and speeches, and anecdotes—for everything! And we must have
them, and even be thankful for them, as long as the present mode of carrying
on our schemes of evangelization are pursued. But then let us take
care—anxious, prayerful, vigilant care—that these things do not exert an
unfavorable influence upon us, by producing a taste for excitement which
shall make the ordinary means of grace, and Lord's-day opportunities—tame,
flat, and insipid; by throwing an 'air of frivolity' over our whole
religion; by drawing us out of our closets, and making us in religion
resemble our Gallic neighbors, who are said to know little of home
enjoyment, and who live almost entirely abroad; by making us ostentatious
and vain-glorious, instead of humble and retiring; by impairing the modesty
of our youth, who are so early brought into action and notice; by corrupting
the purity of our motives through the publicity given to names and
donations; by engrossing that time which should be spent in private prayer,
reading the Scriptures, and meditation; in short, by converting our whole
religion into a bustling activity about religion.
VII. The danger here set
forth is not a little increased, in our day, by the modern invention and
extensive prevalence of
certain social convocations, such for
instance as tea meetings. Of this species of fraternal fellowship our
fathers were ignorant, and so were we ourselves until within the last few
years; but now they are the prevailing fashion of the day, and are become so
common, and in such frequent demand, as to have led in many congregations to
the fitting-up an apparatus for their celebration. The incorporation of
these social festivities with pious matters, though it prevails more among
the Methodists and Dissenters, is not exclusively confined to these bodies,
as some of the clergy of the Church of England have adopted the practice.
There are few things among modern customs which more need
the vigilance, caution, and supervision of Christian pastors and the
churches, than these religio-convivial entertainments. There can be
no harm in the abstract idea of Christians eating and drinking together,
especially when the elements of the feast are nothing more expensive,
inebriating, or epicurean—than tea, and bread and butter, or cakes. There
can be little doubt that the primitive Christians had their social meals,
and that to these agape, or love feasts, as they were called, Jude refers,
where he speaks of some who were "spots upon your feasts of charity." Out of
this custom of having meals together, which were made appendages of the
Lord's Supper, grew the corruptions mentioned in the first epistle to the
Corinthians. The practice of eating and drinking together for purposes of
unity and charity, still continued in the early churches, until it was so
abused to carnal purposes as to call for ecclesiastical interference; and by
the council of Laodicea, in the fourth century, it was forbidden to eat and
drink, or spread tables in the house of God.
There is little fear, it may be presumed, of the modern
practice of tea meetings ever being abused in such a manner as this—yet it
behooves us to recollect that all corruptions were at one time only as a
grain of mustard seed, which sown in a congenial soil, advanced after the
first insidious germination with rapid growth to unsuspected strength and
stature. It is not, however, to what these entertainments may become, that I
now allude—but to what they are already. I have been present at some, in
which not only my taste as a man—but my sensibilities as a Christian, have
been somewhat offended. I have seen the house of God turned into what had
all the air of a place of public amusement—I have beheld grave ministers,
and deacons, and members of Christian churches, mingled up with professors
and non-professors of religion, young men and women, boys and girls, in all
the noisy buzz, and perhaps sometimes approaching to boisterous mirth. In
one of these meetings I have witnessed young women of the working classes,
dressed up as ladies for the occasion, flirting about with their beaux of
the other gender—in short all was glee, and merriment, and hilarity, and
this perhaps in connection with some pious object; the anniversary of
opening a chapel for God's worship, or the celebration of a minister's
settlement with his flock. Probably it will be said by some, this is a
caricature. I am conscious it does not exceed the truth, and I might appeal
to many of my brethren who have witnessed and lamented the same things.
To come to what is no less fashionable—but perhaps
somewhat less injurious to the spirit of piety, than these things, I mean
the church-parties of the present day; these also require some caution in
their management, when held in connection with piety, lest they degenerate
into a species of worldly amusement, the tendency of which will be to
depress the tone of piety, and to destroy the seriousness of mind with which
it ought ever to be regarded. Now I know that it is difficult to prove
logically that these things are wrong, and I do not mean to assert that they
are; by no means. But as they are the increasing custom of the day, and are
liable to be abused, either by being too frequent, or by being held in a
spirit of worldliness, I think the church of Christ should be put upon their
guard, and called to a spirit of holy vigilance.
I know that sociality, cheerfulness, and even
tastefulness, are sanctioned by piety. Nothing is more social, cheerful, and
tasteful than true piety—and heaven is full of all these attributes. But
then, piety is at the same time no less characterized by solemnity,
sanctity, and deep seriousness, than it is by joy. Piety is that which
connects the soul with God, with salvation, with heaven, and with eternity;
it is the conflict of a soul fighting the great fight of faith, and laying
hold of eternal life; the agony of a heaven-born spirit, reaching after
celestial bliss; the training of an immortal mind for the beatific vision of
God and the Lamb! Therefore, all our pursuits and our pleasures too, should
be in strict and constant harmony with it. When we affirm, as we most truly
may, that "piety never was designed to make our pleasures less," we should
at the same time recollect that it puts aside many of the pleasures of the
world, as beneath our notice, if not injurious to our character. We have
other pleasures, so incomparably superior, as to dispose us, by a natural
process, to reject the 'drop' for the sake of the 'fountain', and to lay
aside the 'candle' when we see the 'sun'. We have only to consider what
piety is, what it calls us to, requires of us, leads us to, and is intended
to prepare us for, to see at once, and to feel as by a holy instinct—what
kind of pleasures it should lead us to seek, and what pleasures to refuse.
It will probably be asked, whether I would suppress all
these modern usages of tea meetings, church parties, and social
entertainments. I reply—certainly not. They may unite much instruction, and
much spiritual improvement, with as much innocent social enjoyment. But then
I would watch them, with an entire conviction that they may possibly come to
what is harmful. I would limit their growth, that they may not become too
frequent and too trivial; and I would, where piety is in any form their
object, take care that they be conducted in a pious spirit. I would let
piety with all her cheerfulness—but yet with all her seriousness and
sanctity, preside over the scene, and diffuse her blessed influence through
every soul.
If, as is usually the case, there are non-professors and
unconverted people present, I would let them see how happy Christians are,
not indeed by transferring the pleasures of the world into the social circle
of the redeemed—but by drawing down the pleasures of heaven into the church
on earth. The way to win the ungodly to piety, is not by showing them
that their pleasures are ours—but that ours are infinitely superior to any
which they know! A Christian ought to be, and would be, if he understood
his privileges, the very epitome of bliss in himself, and a signpost
pointing out the way of happiness to others.
It would be well for the minister to be always present at
every tea meeting held among any section of his flock, and to endeavor to
repress all undue levity as soon as it appeared, and to maintain a tone of
rational, pious, and agreeable fellowship. The meetings of Sunday school
teachers especially require his presence and his influence, not only to make
them feel that he is in fact their supreme superintendent, and the teacher
of teachers—but to prevent that excessive hilarity which would perhaps in
some cases be likely to spring up. And the pastor might also, with great
propriety and utility, hold occasionally such meetings with the members of
the church, and thus promote the unity and love of his flock among
themselves, and their attachment to him. I adopt this plan myself. The
church under my care is large, amounting to upwards of nine hundred members,
and scattered over the whole expanse of this great town; and the public
business and correspondence devolving upon me, in common with my brethren,
are so oppressive, that I cannot pretend to fill up the measure of pastoral
duty. And therefore to remedy, as far as possible, this defect, I invite the
members by sections to take tea with me in the vestry, when I converse a
little with each individual separately, and then hold devotional exercises
with them all collectively. At such meetings nothing of course but what is
serious and devout occurs; all is solemn, joyful, and to edification; all
sanctified by the Word of God and prayer.
The object, then, of all these remarks will be seen; that
their design is to resist the tendency which some of our modern customs
have, to diminish the seriousness, repress the earnestness, and altogether
change the nature of true piety; to impair the dignity, to lower the
spirituality, and impede the usefulness of its professors; and thus, instead
of making the people of the world pious, to make the members of the church
worldly.
VIII. But, perhaps, there are few things which tend more
effectually to repress the spirit of earnest piety, and to keep it down at a
low point, than those fallacies about its nature,
and that perversion of acknowledged principles and facts in connection with
it, in which so many professors indulge. I will mention some of these.
Is it not clear that many people satisfy themselves with
admitting the necessity of earnestness, without ever once endeavoring to
obtain it; and thus put their conviction and admission of the necessity of
the thing, in the place of seeking after the thing itself? We talk to a cold
or lukewarm individual, and represent to him the inconsistency of such a
heartless religion as his, and the indispensable necessity of more
devotedness. It is all, and at once, admitted; and he stops the
conversation, gets rid of the subject, and evades impression and conviction,
by this ready assent. And thus by such a facile, assenting, unresisting
admission, the power of the solemn truth that he is in a dangerous state,
seems to be destroyed. It were better, far better, that these lukewarm
professors should deny the necessity of more intensity of thinking, feeling,
and acting, that they may be reasoned and expostulated with, and made to
think by force of argument, and to feel by the power of representation. But
in this easy admission, without opposition, question, or doubt, the
strongest representation only goes in to be cushioned, and fall asleep.
And then the applicability of the subject to so many, if
not to all, is another cause of the evasion of the subject. "It concerns
me," is the inward thought, "not more than all these myriads of professors."
Its absolute importance as applicable to any one, seems dissipated in the
idea of how many it is applicable to. As if the authority and importance of
the one great admonition to earnestness were divided into innumerable
diminutive shares, with but inconsiderable force in each. How kindly and
humbly each is willing not to account his soul more important than that of
any of his fellow mortals! Yet not so benevolent either, in another view of
the matter; for in a certain indistinct way, he is laying the blame on the
rest of mankind, if he is indifferent about his own highest interest.
"They are under the same great obligation; in their
manner of practically acknowledging it, they are my pattern; they keep me
down to their level. If their shares of the great concern were more worthily
attended to, perhaps mine would be also. One has fancied sometimes what
might have been the effect, in the selected instances, if the case had been
that the Sovereign Creator had appointed but a few men, here and there one,
to an immortal existence, or at least declared it only with respect to them.
One cannot help imagining them to feel every hour the impression of their
sublime and solemn predicament! But why, why is it less felt a sublime and
solemn one because the rest of our race are in it too? Does not each as a
perfectly distinct one stand in the whole magnitude of the concern, and in
the responsibility and the danger, as absolutely as if there were no other
one? How is it less to him—than if he stood alone? Their losing the happy
interest of eternity—will not be that he shall not have lost it for himself.
If he shall have lost it, he will feel that they have not lost it for him.
He should, therefore, now feel that upon him is concentrated, even
individually upon him—the entire importance of this chief concern."
Foster, in his lecture on "Earnestness in Religion," from
which this extract is taken, enumerates other fallacies by which men impose
upon themselves in excuse for lukewarmness in piety, such as taking a
perverse advantage of 'the obscurity of the objects of our faith', and of
'the incompetence of our faculties to apprehend them'; the recognition of
the obligations of piety upon our life, as a whole, without making them bear
upon all the particular parts of it as they pass; and a soothing
self-assurance, founded, the man can hardly say on what, that some how or
other, and at some time or other, he shall be better—a kind of superstitious
hope, excited by some particular circumstance, that he shall yet be
improved, although at the time he makes no effort, and forms no intention,
to amend.
There is no cause more fatal in depressing true piety
among its professors, than the notion that piety is to be regarded rather as
a fixed state—than a progression; a point to be reached—rather than a course
to be continually pursued. It is both; but it is only one of these notions
that is taken up by many people. Justification does introduce us to a state
of favor with God. Regeneration brings us into a state of holy living.
Membership brings us into a state of communion with the church. But in
addition to this, there is the progress of sanctification, the going on unto
perfection. It is extremely probable to me that many of the ministers of the
Evangelical school, have almost unconsciously, or inconsiderately, given
countenance to this mistaken, because partial view, by dwelling too
exclusively on the mere transition from a state of death to a state of life.
They have shown that in the act of receiving the gospel, a man is at once
changed both in his moral relation and moral condition. From that time he
becomes another man, his state is altered, he passes from death unto life.
But then this state is to manifest itself, by a progressive development of
the new principle. He is not only to be born—but he is to grow. It is
fallacious to infer the growth, when we cannot infallibly determine the
birth—it is much safer to infer the spiritual birth from the spiritual
growth. The New Testament everywhere represents the Christian life by things
denoting growth and progress—"The path of the just is as the shining light,
which shines more and more unto the perfect day." There is first the babe,
then the young man, then the father in Christ. There is first the springing
of the corn, then the blade, then the full ear. We are to abound more and
more in knowledge, faith, and all holiness. The Scriptures never fail to
keep before us the idea of advancement.
But this is almost entirely overlooked by many professing
Christians; their idea is to get into a state of justification and
regeneration, and having attained that, they are content. They repose in it.
They have, as they imagine, escaped the tempest, and reached the shore in
safety—and there they stand, exulting at best in their deliverance, without
attempting to penetrate and possess the country they have reached. Their
feeling is, "I am converted, and am in the church," and there they stop.
From the time they are received into fellowship, their solicitude begins to
abate—from that point they sink down into the repose of those who are at
ease in Zion, they have received their certificate of personal piety and are
satisfied. They have no great concern to grow in grace, to be ever advancing
in the divine life, and to be ever making fresh attainments in holiness. If
you see them ten or twenty years after their profession was first made—you
find them where you left them, or even gone back from their first love;
their religion has had some kind of motion—but it has been stationary, not
locomotive; it has gone upon hinges, not upon wheels, or if upon wheels—they
have moved in a circle, not on a line.
Yet what invaluable means of growth they have had; what
favorable Sabbaths they have spent, what sermons they have heard, what books
they have read! But still their tempers are as unsubdued, their corruptions
as unmortified, and their graces as stunted—as they were at first! No pupils
make so little proficiency as those who are educated in the school of
Christ! In no case is so much instruction, so much discipline, bestowed in
vain! Nowhere is improvement so little perceptible as here! How is this?
Just because these people are laboring under the fatal mistake of their
having reached a standing point, not a starting point, of their having come
into a state, and gained an advantage, which render solicitude and progress
unnecessary. They do not actually admit this in words, nor even in
thought—but unconsciously to themselves, this is the secret working of their
minds.
Akin to this, is the sad abuse which is made of the
humiliating fact that "there is no perfection upon earth"—as if this should
satisfy us with all kinds and to all degrees of imperfection. It is
astonishing, and somewhat painful, to observe with what indifference, and
almost satisfaction, this reflection upon our fallen humanity is made by
some people—as if they were glad to find an excuse for all their faults!
Under the pretext that there is no perfection, they do things at which a
tender-hearted Christian, a professor with a delicate sensibility of
conscience, would be shocked. They forget that the command of God is to
"perfect holiness in the fear of the Lord," "to go on unto perfection," to
"be perfect," and that he who does not desire to be perfect, does not seek
to be so, and does not lament his imperfections, and labor to remove as many
of them as possible, reveals a heart not yet brought into subjection to the
authority of Christ!
The true earnestness of piety is an intense desire and
labor after a perfect conformity to the revealed will of God. The individual
who has this mind in him, can tolerate no imperfections—but sincerely wishes
to discover all his faults. He searches his heart, and implores God to
search it, in order that he may find them out, and put them away. He knows
that the bliss of heaven arises in great part from the perfection of
holiness, and he wishes to approach as near to heaven upon earth as he can,
by coming as near as possible to perfect holiness.
What a different aspect would the church of God present
to the world, and in what power and glory would its professors of piety
appear, if it consisted of a multitude of men and women all striving and
struggling after a perfect conformity to that law which makes it our duty to
love God with all our heart, and our neighbors as ourselves—all anxious to
come as near to a resemblance of God, and to have as much of the mind of
Christ, as could be attained by anyone out of heaven—all seeking after their
own shortcomings and offences, and glad of any help to discover them, in
order that they may be put away—all stimulating and helping each other on in
the career of moral improvement—all watching and praying for the aid of the
Divine Spirit to help their infirmities. What a scene, I say, would then be
exhibited to an astonished world! The angels of God would delight to gaze on
it! What less than this is the law of Christ's church? In what less
interesting and important aspect than this, ought the church of Christ to be
seen?
It is probable that a dread of singularity, a fear of
breaking through the barriers of conventionality, a dislike of being thought
to be setting up as a reformer—have kept many back from seeking a higher
degree of piety than has been exhibited around them. They have been
conscious of the prevalent faults of the day, which were their own also; and
under the stern rebuke of an enlightened conscience, they determined to
advance to more marked separation from the world, and a higher tone of
spiritual feeling. From this resolution, however, they were immediately and
effectually deterred, by an apprehension of the remarks, perhaps the sneers,
which they would bring upon themselves from the lukewarm and the worldly,
who would taunt them for setting up as reformers of their brethren, and as
pretending superior sanctity.
This apprehension is strengthened in many people by too
low an estimate of their own influence. "What can I do?" they say. "I, who
am so obscure and uninfluential, to stay the torrent of worldly-mindedness
which is flowing through the church? My example can do nothing for the good
of others, and can only bring opposition, reproach, and reproof upon myself.
I see the miserably low condition of professors around me, and I feel and
lament my own—I would be happy to see a healthier state of piety in our
church, and gladly would I follow in the wake of those who would attempt to
improve it—but I cannot attempt this myself. I would only be laughed at as a
person pretending what I did not possess, inflated by vanity, or cherishing
the pride of singularity."
Let such people remember that they are not to take into
account what may be thought of their conduct by others—what influence it may
have upon them—or what opposition it may provoke. Convinced of their
shortcomings, they are intensely and laboriously to seek to have them made
up. Whether others will applaud or censure; follow or resist; approve or
condemn; they are to go on. No dread of ridicule or reproach should deter
them from growing in grace. They must dare to be singular—venture to go
alone—determine, whether men will bear or forbear—to go forward. The church
can never be improved if this spirit of timidity prevails. There could have
been neither martyr nor reformer upon these craven principles. I tell the
man who will be in advance of his generation—that he will be the object of
their envy, their suspicion, and their ill will. There will be no exemption
from such treatment for the Christian who aims at a higher standard of piety
than he sees in the church of which he is a member.
The people of the world will be less envious, jealous and
spiteful towards a neighbor who excels them in honesty and integrity—than
inconsistent and worldly-minded professors will be towards a fellow-member
who has more piety than they have—because their conscience having a little
more light reflected from the example and expostulation of their more
consistent neighbor, is thus rendered more sensitive, and is more easily
wounded. Such people are more censorious of superior holiness, and more
tolerant of great imperfections, than any others. He who would rebuke their
sins by avoiding them, whatever his love for them—is sure to be the object
of their dislike.
But we must not thus be stopped in our endeavors after
higher attainments in piety. We must follow out our convictions, and
endeavor to live up to the standard set before us in God's Word, and not
allow ourselves to be deterred from our duty by the opinion of our
fellow-creatures or fellow-professors. Our condemnation will be the greater,
if after our attention has been drawn to the subject, and our conscience
awakened, we allow ourselves to be turned aside by the fear of the frowns or
the sneers of others. God will help us if we are willing to be helped, and
raise us all above that fear of man which brings a snare. No one who is
really in earnest to grow in grace, and to attain to more eminent piety,
will be left to struggle on, unassisted in his endeavors. Divine grace will
be made sufficient for him, and he will be successful in his efforts.
At the same time he must remember that his humility,
meekness, and gentleness must be no less apparent than his other
excellences. It must be earnestness itself, and not the appearance of it
merely, that he seeks and manifests. And it must be for its own sake, and
not for the sake of gaining a reputation for it. There must be nothing even
remotely approaching to the contemptuous disposition which says, "Stand
aside—I am holier than you." No affected airs of superior piety, no
offensive obtrusion of our example, no prideful rebukes, no bitter
censoriousness, no angry reproaches—but a piety, which like the sun, shall
be seen rather than heard—and shall diffuse its influence in a noiseless
manner, and almost without drawing attention to its source. Such a
profession must do good, however humble the station in life of him who makes
it; and if all who are convinced by these pages of their own deficiencies,
as well as of those of the church at large, will attempt to make up the
latter by beginning with the former, this volume will not have been written
in vain.
IX. This enumeration of the causes that tend to depress
and injure the spirit of vital godliness would be incomplete if I did not
mention the modern taste for
frequenting vacation resorts and traveling abroad.
Having dwelt on this at length in "The Christian Professor," under the
chapter, "The Professor away from home," I shall only briefly advert to the
subject here. There are few things which have had a more unhappy influence
upon the middle and upper classes of professing Christians than this. Even
the annual visits to the coast, or the inland places of fashionable resort,
now so prevalent, are sufficiently pernicious in their influence, to put all
who have any regard to their eternal welfare most seriously upon their guard
against the temptations which are thus presented—by the sudden and complete
transition from employment to idleness—by the removal of those salutary
restraints with which they are surrounded in the habitations where they
statedly reside—by the mixed characters of the society into which they are
almost necessarily thrown—by the amusements which are there most prevalent
and fashionable—by the general air of wastefulness which is thrown over the
whole scene—by the interruption of their usual habits of devotion, private,
domestic, and social—and by the indisposedness for the seasons and exercises
of piety, which is the consequence of all these circumstances. These are no
imaginary dangers, as the experience of all who have adopted this practice
must attest, and as the total apostacy of some, and the backsliding of many,
will corroborate.
This danger is of course increased by foreign travel in
numerous ways; by a removal from the usual means of grace; by the frequent
desecration of the Sabbath; by associations oftentimes with worldly-minded
companions; by straining and tampering with conscience, in reference to many
matters of very questionable propriety. And by the familiar gaze of mere
curiosity upon scenes and customs known to be sinful. In all these ways
may the spirituality of our minds, the tenderness of our conscience, and the
delicacy of our moral sensibilities be impaired by those continental tours
which are so fashionable and so fascinating. Their influence, no doubt, has
been mischievous to an extent of which we are not aware, among many whose
piety was already of a feeble and a doubtful kind.
But as the thing is lawful in itself, and only sinful
when abused, let us, if disposed thus to recreate our minds, and gratify our
curiosity, which we innocently may, recollect that we are about to expose
ourselves to peril, earnestly pray for grace to preserve us, and watch as
well as pray that we enter not into temptation. As our best preservative
from home, and at home, as one of the most effectual means of resisting
temptation and promoting holiness, "let us consider ourselves under the
all-seeing eye of the Divine Majesty, as in the midst of an infinite globe
of light, which compasses us about both behind and before, and pierces to
the inner most recesses of the soul. The sense and the remembrance of the
Divine presence is the most ready and effectual means, both to discovering
what is unlawful, and to restrain us from it. There are some things
which a person could make a shift to palliate or defend, and yet he dares
not look Almighty God in the face, and adventure upon them. If we look unto
him we shall be lightened; if we 'set him always before us, he will guide us
with his eye, and instruct us in the way wherein we should walk.'"
(Scougal's "Life of God in the Soul of Man." Would God the whole generation
of the professors of true religion of this day, and of every age, would read
this most beautiful and incomparable treatise on practical piety. This is
the piety we want, and of which we have too little.)
X. The last thing I shall
mention as tending to depress the spirit of true religion, is
the spirit of sectarianism,
which so extensively prevails among the various sections of the Christian
church.
By the spirit of sectarianism I mean that excessive
attachment to our distinctive opinions on doctrine, government, and the
sacraments, which leads to a disproportionate and often a distempered zeal
for upholding and promulgating them; and to a state of alienation, if not of
hostility, towards those who differ from us on those points, notwithstanding
their agreement with us on still more fundamental and important matters.
This spirit of exclusiveness which shuts out from our affection, sympathy,
and communion—all those who are not within the pale of our church—however
evangelical in sentiment and holy in conduct, and which would seem to
restrict all excellence to our own body, is, whatever its abettors may
imagine, not only anti-social—but positively anti-Christian. It is the
essence of bigotry; the germ of intolerance; and in its last developement,
the spirit of persecution.
That such a spirit of sectarianism as this does prevail,
is the confession and the lamentation of all pious Christians. It might seem
as if this spirit were itself an indication and an operation of earnestness.
So it is of the earnestness of party—but not of piety. Saul of Tarsus had no
lack of this when he was hastening to Damascus, and breathing out
threatening and slaughter against the disciples of Jesus; nor the popish
inquisitors in exterminating heretics by fire and sword. But who will call
this persecution, the earnestness of true religion? It is zeal—but kindled
by a spark from the flaming pit below.
Zeal is antagonistic to true piety—when it is felt for
lesser matters, to the neglect of greater ones, and when it produces more
indifference or even dislike, to those who differ from us in minor points,
than friendship, sympathy, and love to them, on the ground of the more
important ones on which we are united. This is easily demonstrated. It is an
injury and opposition to that truth which is the basis of all piety,
inasmuch as it depresses its more momentous doctrines, and gives an undue
elevation to its lesser ones. It is at open war with that love which is the
greatest of the Christian graces, the very essence of piety, and without
which all else is but as sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal. It introduces
a foreign and corrupting element into true godliness, and envenoms it with
the poison of malice and wrath. It diverts attention from primary to
secondary matters; and exhausts the energies of the soul in bringing forth
the fruits of contention, instead of the peaceable fruits of righteousness.
It cuts off the channels of sympathy between the different sections of the
universal church, and thus deprives each part of the benefit of what may be
found in the way of example, spiritual literature, and cooperation—in the
other sections of the great fellowship of believers. It tends to perpetuate
our strifes and divisions, by extinguishing the spirit by which alone we are
likely to come to ultimate agreement. It fosters in many a disposition to
infidelity, by disparaging the excellence and weakening the power of true
religion. It represses the true spirit of prayer, and thus is a barrier to
the spread of the gospel in the world, and it grieves the Holy Spirit of
God, whereby he is induced to withhold his gracious influence.
Such are the consequences of sectarianism, and can anyone
doubt whether it is inimical to piety? It may substitute for the fervor of a
pure zeal a fiery turbulence—but it is not genuine piety. It is not the true
vital warmth of a soul in full health—but the fever of a diseased and
morbidly restless spirit. It is high time to stop the progress, and destroy
the power, of this hateful temper! If we have not piety enough to vanquish
sectarianism, sectarianism will acquire more and more power to vanquish
piety. Let charity rise into the ascendant. We cannot do a better thing
either for the church or for the world, than seek for a greater degree of
love among the friends of Christ. How has piety been tarnished in her
beauty, weakened in her influence, and limited in her reign, by these
contentions among her friends! Success therefore be to those efforts which
are now being made by the sons of peace, to bring the scattered and
alienated followers of the Lamb into a closer union with each other. And
whether the Evangelical Alliance shall or shall not continue to exist in its
present form and constitution, all good men must join in the longings and
the prayers of our Divine Lord, when he thus breathed out his heart for his
disciples, "That they all may be one; as you, Father, are in me and I in
you—that they all may be one in us; that the world may believe that you have
sent me."
|