The Beauty of Holiness!

Ezekiel Hopkins, 1633-1690

Proverbs 3:17, "Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace."

WHOEVER would effectually plead the cause of piety and religion, must not only recommend the principles of it to the understanding, as most true and certain, but the practice of it to the will and affections, as desirable and delightful. For we find it verified by daily experience, that it is much easier to conquer the arguments of atheism, than the prejudices of profaneness: and, when we have mastered the judgment, to yield to the reasonableness of the Christian Doctrine, and the infinite advantages of its rewards; yet still we must encounter with a strong reserve of prejudices and mistakes, ghastly specters and hideous apparitions, which fright the will from embracing a religion, that is represented so dismal and unpleasant. Pleasure is so sweet and potent a charm, that neither reason nor rewards can prevail against the insinuations of it.

And therefore nothing would tend more to the advancement of true godliness, than if we could clearly demonstrate, that it has not only the advantage above sin and vice, in respect of future and eternal joys, but in respect of present pleasure and satisfaction; and thereby convert temptation into motive, the snare of the Devil into a cord of love, and turn the most destructive engine of Hell against its own gates. For, while men's minds are possessed with a false opinion, that the ways of virtue are all strewed with thorns and briers; that piety is a sour, ill-natured thing, a sullen matron who entertains her followers only upon sighs and tears, sad reflections and doleful regrets; that to obtain the joys of the next life, we must bid an everlasting adieu to the contents of this, and never more expect a cheerful hour, a clear day, or a bright thought to shine upon us: it will be utterly in vain to bring them tidings of the Heavenly Canaan, that Land which flows with milk and honey; for the dread of these Anakim and fenced cities, will make them murmur against their guide, and resolve rather to die in Egypt.

I thought, therefore, that the best service I could do for religion would be, to pluck off this deformed visor, and to represent true piety and holiness in its genuine beauty and sweetness: and to convince the voluptuous world, that they woefully mistake in their estimate and pursuit of pleasure; that they seek the living among the dead; that they neglect the fountain of living waters, and seek for refreshment at those cisterns which hold no other but the tainted waters of Marah and Meribah, bitterness and strife.

To this end, I have chosen these words of the Wise Man: Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.

That relative particle, her ways, leads us back to the 13th verse: Happy is the man, that finds wisdom; and the man, that gets understanding. From whence he proceeds to demonstrate the happiness of this man, in the following verses, by the excellency of wisdom: verses 14, 15. She is more precious than rubies: and all the things that you can desire are not to be compared unto her: then, by the rewards of it, in three of the choicest blessings, which human nature does most covet, Long Life, Riches, and Honor: Length of days is in her right-hand, and, in her left-hand; riches and honor: and, lastly, by the pleasantness of it, in the words of my text, Her ways are ways of pleasantness. So that, if life, if riches, if honor, if pleasure, if the confluence of all good, can make a man happy, he might well pronounce, Happy is the man, that finds wisdom.

Well, but what is this wisdom, which is thus profitable, thus pleasant? Is it a subtle management of our own concerns, or a politic negotiating of the mighty affairs of states and kingdoms? Alas! the cares, perplexities, and disquiets, which attend these things, do evidently prove, that they are not ways of pleasantness: but, sometimes, unsafe; always, intricate and entangled. In a word, therefore, that wisdom, whose ways are pleasantness and peace, is nothing else but true religion, solid piety and holiness: The fear of the Lord, that is wisdom; and to depart from evil, that is understanding: Job 28:28.

And therefore we find, that, throughout this whole Book of the Proverbs, wherein Solomon does so often chastise the Fool, he means no other person but the wicked man. Wisdom and folly are synonymous terms with holiness and impiety; and do very well express them, both in their causes and their consequents: for, as folly is the cause of sin, and the consequents of sinning do very evidently prove them fools who commit it; so wisdom is the origin of piety, and the consequents of piety do clearly prove them wise who follow it.

So then you see, that these ways of wisdom, which are recommended to us as pleasant, are the fear of God, holiness, and true piety.

I know that this will seem a grievous paradox to as many as have not seen the beauty, nor tasted the sweetness of a holy life; but have degraded themselves to a brutish state, and have nothing left to relish pleasures but their senses: and yet even to such, (if their sensuality has not quite extinguished their reason, and they have but understanding enough to name them men) I doubt not to prove, that the pleasures of a holy life are far more considerable than the pleasures of sin; and that the rigors and severities of it are less grievous, than the trouble and uneasiness of being wicked.

I. To this end I must first premise, that all PLEASURE arises from an attempered suitableness and harmony that there is between the faculty and the object. For, where there is any disagreement, either in contrariety or excess, the result is not pleasure, but torment. Light, when it is just proportioned to the strength of the eye, is the pleasure and beauty of the whole creation: It is a pleasant thing, says Solomon, to behold the light. And sounds, when they are modeled to the capacity of the ear, cause a sweet melody and consent. And so it is, likewise, with all other objects: when they are adapted to the powers which are to receive them, pleasure and sweetness are the offspring. Now man is Ïñãáíïí äé÷ïñäïí, "A two-stringed instrument:" his soul is one, and his body the other; and, as he receives smooth touches upon either, according to the various objects that are fitted to them, so spring up suavity and delight.

Now, here,

i. THE PLEASURES, WHICH RELIGION BRINGS, ARE NOT SUCH AS DO IMMEDIATELY AFFECT THE BODY, the drossy and earthy part of man.

It never spread the glutton's table, nor filled the drunkard's cup, nor was taster to either. These offices are too mean and sordid for it. And, if you can relish no other delights, go herd yourself among beasts. The dog and the swine are fit company, as well as comparisons, for you; and you were made a man, a rational and intellectual creature, to no purpose, unless to be eternally punished: since the soul of a brute can as well taste the pleasures of sense, as your immortal one.

But yet, if any think these such considerable delights, that they cannot easily forego them; let me add,

ii. That RELIGION AND PIETY, as it does allow, so it ADDS A SWEETNESS AND RELISH TO THE LAWFUL COMFORTS OF THIS PRESENT LIFE, which debauchery and intemperance corrupt and vitiate.

Let me here boldly appeal to your experience, whether sobriety and temperance be not more true pleasure (I had almost said voluptuousness) than excess and riot. And, I dare say, that those, who come to their natural refreshments, and have Moderation both for their carver and their skinker, find a much better guest in their entertainment; than those, whose continued luxury, by seeking to please, only cloys and stupefies their senses. Besides, a constant fear of God and a conscientious obedience unto him, give such a seasoning to all our earthly enjoyments, that they are all received by us as expressions of his love and fatherly care towards us; which is such a pleasure, that excess and epicurianism could never afford. A good conscience is a continual feast: and that poor Christian, who has his dry morsel made savory with the Hidden Manna, fares more deliciously every day than Dives himself; whose guilt not only poisons his dainties to his soul, but sours them to his palate. God is the great Householder of the World: we are all entertained as guests at his table, and his bounty provides for us: but, as the Wise Man says, Proverbs 15:17. Better is a dinner of herbs, where love is; than a stalled ox, and hatred therewith; so, truly, where the love of God is enjoyed, the slenderest provision is far more sweet and comfortable, than the greatest variety of delicacies where the hatred and wrath of God mingle gall and wormwood with them. What pleasure can there be in any estate, where a man is not well pleased with himself? where guilt gnaws, and fears bode, and conscience brawls, as certainly they must do, more or less, in every wicked man? What more pleasure can he take in his possessions, than a wretched male-factor can in that prison-provision, which is allowed him to maintain his life, until he be dragged forth to execution?

But, though Godliness does thus sweeten our outward state and condition, and is profitable for this present life; yet,

iii. The chief joys, which religion and piety give us, are INTERNAL and MENTAL; and those are incomparably beyond the delights of sense.

Even natural speculations have entertained inquisitive minds with such raptures, that some have been, as it were, wholly abstracted from the body; and have neither regarded pain nor pleasure of sense, while they have been employed about them. But, certainly, the joys of religion must needs be much more refined and spiritual, than those, which proceed only from a problem or demonstration of science.

II. Now this pure and spiritual pleasure ARISES IN THE MIND FROM THREE THINGS:

The Conformity of pious actions to the Rules and Principles of right Reason.

The peaceable Reflections of a man's own Conscience upon them.

The Hope and Expectation of an eternal Reward.

i. There is A CONGRUITY AND SUITABLENESS IN HOLY AND RELIGIOUS ACTIONS, TO THE RULES AND PRINCIPLES OF RIGHT REASON.

There are Three general principles of Natural Religion imprinted in the mind of every man, which are the dictates of pure and untainted reason.

That God is to be loved and feared above all, and the revelations of his will to be credited and obeyed.

That we ought to govern ourselves with all temperance and sobriety, in the use of the comforts of this life.

That we ought to demean ourselves towards others, with the exactest justice and equity; the true measure of which is, Whatever you would that men should do unto you, do you likewise unto them.

This, indeed, is the sum of all religion: To live, as the Apostle declares it, soberly, righteously, and godly: soberly, in respect of ourselves; righteously, towards others; and godly, in the performance of those duties, which immediately concern the divine worship. And these are the general and primary dictates of right reason.

Now, as it is impossible, but that, where a suitable object strikes and affects the sense, there must arise sensual and corporeal delight and pleasure; so is it alike impossible, but that, where our actions do correspond with these principles of reason, there must arise an intellectual joy and delight. No man ever took true joy and delight in doing that, which is unnatural: and, truly, every sin is, in a sense, unnatural, as it contradicts those principles of natural light and understanding, which God has so deeply implanted in us, that they can never be totally rooted out. And therefore there must needs be jarring and discord in the mind of a wicked man, whose actions are contrary to those first principles of his reason, which he always opposes, but can never overcome: and this, of necessity, must make his life very uneasy and uncomfortable. Whereas a holy man, who squares his actions according to his principles, finds such a just proportion between them, that there is no dissonance, no contest; but the sweet touches of them mutually, one upon the other, strike a perpetual harmony in his soul; and the result of this, must needs be peace and pleasure.

ii. Unspeakable pleasure must needs spring up in the soul, FROM THE COMFORTABLE REFLECTIONS OF OUR OWN CONSCIENCES UPON HOLY AND RELIGIOUS ACTIONS.

Be the difficulty of performing them never so great, yet this joy, which diffuses itself in the heart after we have broken through all the reluctancies and oppositions that our corruptions, our sloth, or our worldly advantages make against them, does more than compensate the pains and trouble which we have undergone. There will, indeed, in this our imperfect state, be strivings and lustings of the flesh against the Spirit, even in the best of men: but yet, certainly, the delight, which the soul enjoys after it has conquered its sinful inclinations, is, infinitely beyond all comparison, above the delight which it could have reaped by consenting to them. What a calm and sweet repose is upon the face of the soul, after it has performed a duty, and can reflect upon it as performed sincerely! after it has wrestled with a temptation, and overcome it! how sweetly then does he enjoy himself! how sweetly does he enjoy his God! his prospect into Heaven is clear; and he can discern a pleased God, a loving Father accepting his service and preparing his reward. Let others please themselves in the bitter sweets of sin; yet, certainly, the least relish of such pure, such unexpressible joy, is infinitely to be preferred before all the washy pleasures of vice and luxury, though conscience and condemnation were abstracted from them. Here, believe it, is true joy: it is not clamorous nor noisy; but a calm sedate joy, that ravisheth the heart with a secret but powerful delight. The pleasures of sin are but for a moment; like the empty crackling of thorns under a pot, that make a short-lived blaze, and presently expire in smoke: but the pleasures of holiness are permanent and abiding; and entertain the soul with a most delightful remembrance, whenever it shall look back and review its actions. This is a pleasure, which never cloys, never tires us: neither can the frequent repetition, nor the long continuance of it, weary us: whereas all earthly pleasures grow either dull or distateful, if they are not often changed. But a pious soul need not invent variety of diversions, to entertain himself comfortably: let him but look within doors, retire into his own breast, and he shall there find abundant joys, which, though they are still the same, are ever fresh. But, this self-reflection, which is so sweet and comfortable to a true Christian, is a rack and torture to wicked and dissolute wretches: they carry a hated monitor about them in their own breast, a witness and a reprover of all their lewdness; and, when they seek for pleasure in sinning, it is their trouble and vexation that they cannot sin more quietly: there is a busy conscience of their own, which dogs them at the heels wherever they go, scourges them with scorpions, and threatens them with the vengeance of everlasting fire: and this embitters their delights; and, though it cannot withhold them from sinning, yet makes their very sins their punishment and torment. So that, if it were only upon the account of the reflections of conscience, a holy and pious life is infinitely more pleasant, than a lewd and wicked one.

iii. THE HOPE AND EXPECTATION OF THE ETERNAL REWARD OF OUR OBEDIENCE, makes a holy life to be pleasant and joyful.

The Psalmist tells us, that, in the keeping of God's commandments there is great reward: Psalm 19:11. Our very work is reward for itself; and, if God should never give us other, yet we should be abundantly recompensed in the inward peace and satisfaction of our consciences, which can no other way be enjoyed: yet our gracious God both gives us such work as is reward for itself, and promises us an infinite reward for doing that work. Were there really as many difficulties in religion as our sloth is apt to imagine; yet, methinks, when such an excessive recompense as that of eternal life and glory is propounded to us, this should remove all obstacles, facilitate all enterprizes, and make the utmost pains and labor to attain it, pleasant and delightful. We see with what pleasure men strive and contend for a prize: the poor pitiful reward of a mouthful of praise, or the gain of some honorary trifle, makes them account that but a sport and recreation, which else were a toil and difficult labor. And, what! shall we, who are running a race in the ways of true wisdom, and see the crown of glory and immortality hung up at the goal, faint and shrink at it as an uneasy and laborious task, to intend our nerves, and to press still on towards the mark? Certainly, there can be no greater pleasure in the world than to strive in this race, to gain ground towards Heaven, to make and to observe our progress in our holy course, to have the crown still in our eye until we come at last to reach it with our hand. And he, who cannot account this pleasant, bath not a soul capable of true delight, nor a spirit brave and gallant enough to be a Christian.

Thus I have demonstrated to you, that the pious is the only pleasant life, both from the Suitableness of it to the principles of our Reason, the comfortable Reflections of our Consciences, and the Hopes of Eternal Life.

Let me add one Demonstration more.

iv. That must needs be most pleasant, which CALMS ALL OUR PERTURBATIONS AND DISTURBANCES, AND FITS US TO ENJOY BOTH GOD AND OURSELVES IN A SEDATE COMPOSURE.

But this is the effect, only of religion and true piety. Our disquiets proceed chiefly from the hurries of our mutinous passions: grief, anger, fear, and the rest, do oftentimes break forth upon the soul, like so many violent winds upon the sea, and ruffle it into a tempest, so that our reason is in danger to be tossed and shipwrecked. Now it is only the powerful command of religion, which can say unto these winds, Peace, be still. Certainly, that man can neither enjoy peace nor pleasure, where these unruly passions tyrannize: what a troublesome, vexatious life does he lead, that is a slave either to envy, or fear, or wrath! when he shall be continually fretting himself at another's prosperity, raging and studying revenge for every petty injury, grieving and desponding under every cross providence, frighted beyond the supports of his reason at every shadow and suspected danger! certainly, if there can be any pleasure in such a man's soul, there may be pleasure and peace where fury dwells. But, religion, and the fear of God, settles and composes all these perturbations: and, by its majesty and authority, binds them all to the peace; so that we shall not dare immoderately to grieve or fear, nor at all to envy or meditate revenge. And, although the curbing of our passions seems so difficult a matter; and is one of those things, which make religion uneasy and unpleasant to those, who are wrapped away with them: yet, without doubt, he, who checks and restrains the exorbitancies of his passions, lives a much more pleasant and easy life, than he, who lets them fly out into all extremities. I leave it to you to judge, whether it be not more for the peace and comfort of a man's life to forgive wrongs, than to perpetuate them by revenge. Besides the intolerable torment of a malicious spirit, is it not far better to rejoice at your neighbor's prosperity, than to vex and fret at it? for, by the one, you enjoy a share of his blessings; but, by the other, you do not enjoy your own. And, to resign up yourself to the will of God with patience and contentedness, suppressing your immoderate grief for any affliction brought upon you, is certainly much more for the comfort of your life, than to languish in sorrow, and unfruitfully to consume yourself for what was not at your dispose. So that, I say, religion is the best means to quiet all the tumults of your passions, and to make your minds serene and calm: than which there is scarce a greater pleasure imaginable.

See here, then, the woeful mistake of the world, in point of pleasure. They all pretend to it; but they seek it in those ways, which are the causes of all their disquiet and trouble. True pleasure consists not in noise and laughter: that is the mirth of fools; and it is a sign that all is not quiet within, when they are so loud and clamorous to drown it. No: true pleasure consists in clear thoughts, sedate affections, sweet reflections; a mind even and stayed, true to its God, and true to itself. There is, indeed, a little sordid brutish pleasure in sin; but it vanishes like smoke, and, if we be not utterly hardened, like smoke it will leave us nothing but tears in our eyes: or, if customary sinning has made us insensible, it is but like giving drink to a hydropic person, which, though it please his palate for the present, afterwards sadly increases and enrages his thirst.

Compare the pleasures, which a true pious Christian enjoys, with the muddy delights of a swinish sensualist who gratifies all his carnal desires; and you will find so vast a difference between them, that the very argument of pleasure, which usually lies as a main prejudice against a holy life, if it be rightly stated, will prove the most advantageous motive to induce us to embrace it. For, consider, while you gratifiest all your propensions and desires, what exquisite pleasures can you find, but such as are common to the very beasts as well as you? Yes, and you show yourself more irrational than the brute creatures; for they keep within the compass of their nature, but you transgressest the laws of your: and either shame or conscience will give you many a secret twitch and gird, and whisper sad things to you, which will, in spite of you, make your heart heavy, when your face perhaps runs over with a counterfeit laughter. It is impossible, if you have any remainders of a man left within you, to debauch away the natural impressions of a deity, of death, of judgment, and of future punishments: these cold and shivering thoughts will come in, and be like water cast upon all your delights, when they flame highest; and, in the midst of your cups and jollity and frolic extravagancies, be like a hand, not upon the wall, but in your own conscience, writing bitter things against you.

Well, when you have run through all the shapes of voluptuousness, what remains but only a damp and dullness upon your spirits, a sting and anguish in your soul, a grating remembrance of them, and dire presages of eternal vengeance? Do you not, when the phrenzy is over and the rage of your lusts somewhat abated, do you not a thousand times call yourself beast and fool for them? Have you never seen a drunkard, the next morning spewing out his shame and his repentance together? Have you never observed the glutton to sigh and groan under the load of his crude surfeits, and endeavor to disburden his conscience, as well as his stomach? These, who do not eat and drink that they may live, but live only that they may eat and drink; will then acknowledge, that temperance and sobriety are the only true voluptuousness; and, while their breath is still unsavory with their undigested fumes, belch out a prayer to God to pardon them. And are these the bewitching pleasures of sin? for these, will any be persuaded to provoke his God, stain and wound his own conscience, dishonor his body and ruin his soul?

Certainly, there is nothing wherein the sorcery of sin does more plainly appear, than in persuading men that there is any pleasure in being wicked; whereas their own experience can abundantly attest, that it is a very Hell above ground, and a damnation beforehand. Are these the men, who are frighted from religion, because of the irksomeness and difficulty of its duties, because it will expose them to sadness and melancholy? whereas, I dare avow to them, that the most melancholy and gloomy day, which a true Christian spends in the most rigorous parts of his religion, with sighs breaking from his heart and tears running down his cheeks, has a thousand times more true pleasure and more true joy in it, than all the days of mirth, and laughter, and excess, and riot of voluptuous sinners.

III. But, here, common observation and experience will be cited, to DISPROVE all these speculations concerning the pleasure of religion.

For, "What!" will the voluptuary say, "can we believe that there is any such exquisite pleasure in a holy life, when we see those, who are its votaries, so pensive and melancholy, as if rust and soot were the only ingredients of their complexion? Their looks are sour and dejected; their discourses interrupted with sighs: still they are lamenting themselves, and the iniquities or calamities of the times, and are fit for no other converse but with tombs or ghosts. Whereas the rest of the world are mirthful and frolic: mirth and laughter are the employment of their lives: not a thought lies heavy on their hearts, nor a day on their hands. And therefore, certainly, whatever advantages a pious life may have for the future, it cannot have that of pleasure for the present."

This is a common prejudice: and it is but a prejudice. For, though I must confess, that the morose temper of too many Christians has brought this scandal upon religion, who, by an affected and whining sadness and a querulous humor, occasion the ways of God to be evil spoken of, and affright others from them; yet, if we nearly examine the matter, we shall find, that abating the complexional infelicity of some, it is altogether as fallacious to judge of men's joys by their outward appearances, as of their thoughts and intentions.

And, therefore,

i. I grant that the JOYS OF RELIGION ARE NOT LOUD AND TUMULTUOUS; BUT GRAVE, SOLID, AND SERIOUS.

It is a true saying, Res severa est verum gaudium: "True joy is a severe thing." It is not so light and frothy, as to float upon the superficies of the face. It lies deep and recondite, in the center of the soul; and fills it with calm thoughts, sedate affections, an uniform peace and tranquility; and diffuses such a sweetness through all the powers of it, that a true Christian, who loves his God, loves likewise himself, and the entertainment that he finds at home in his own bosom: and this ravishing joy so wholly possesses him, that, if he seem less affected with the ludicrous follies of this world, it is but as grave and wise men are, not much pleased with the play-games of children, because they have nobler and more generous delights of their own: the mirth and jollity of slight persons is too trivial, and their laughter itself too ridiculous, to recreate him: the soft and peaceful whispers of his dear conscience are a thousand times more diverting to him, than all the wit and merriment of those pleasant companions, whose whole life is but a jest and a tale: and, if at any time he seem reserved and retired in their company; it is, that he may listen to the more cheerful discourses of his own heart; or that he is really concerned that the noise and din about him has disturbed that secret communication; or, lastly, that he is cautious, lest he should be betrayed to anything that might grieve a better friend, than any of them. And, now, can you really think, that such a person is melancholy and displeased, who carries himself thus, only lest he should be so? the mirth of the sensual and debauched world would violate all his delights: it would be but like a dirty torrent tumbling into a clear river, troubling its pure streams, and leaving nothing but defilement, mud, and disturbance behind it: and shall we think that man's life sad and disconsolate, because he seems less merry and jovial than others; whereas, in truth, he is so wholly addicted to pleasure, so much a servant to his own content, that he would much rather displease all the world than himself, and studies nothing more, than how he may keep his joys free from mixture and abatement?

But,

ii. IF, AT ANY TIME, HE BE REALLY SAD AND DEJECTED, THIS IS NOT TO BE IMPUTED TO RELIGION AND PIETY; BUT TO THE WANT OF IT, EITHER IN HIMSELF OR OTHERS.

The irreligion and impieties of the age in which he lives, often draw tears from his eyes and sighs from his heart: and, when the flood-gates of wickedness are opened, and a deluge of sin and profaness overspreads the face of the whole earth, can you think it an unreasonable melancholy that he should wish, with the Prophet Jeremiah, that his head were waters, and his eyes fountains of tears, that he might weep day and night for the slain of … his people, for so many thousands that fall, and are slain by their vices and debaucheries? Were but the world more holy, there would not be so great occasion for grief and sadness as there is; neither would the godly lament so mournfully, nor all smart so sorely as they do. But, while wicked men are merrily sporting themselves to death and plucking vengeance upon their own heads, his charity and compassion move him to mourn for those, who do not, who will not mourn for themselves; and to deprecate those judgments, which they are defying. And, therefore, for them to object melancholy and pensiveness, to abuse their gravity and turn their seriousness into ridicule, is both disingenuous and ungrateful: disingenuous it is, to upbraid them with that sorrow and sadness, of which they themselves are the cause; and it is ungrateful, to upbraid them with it, since it many times averts those plagues and judgments, which else would soon turn their rants and frolics into roarings and howlings.

But, as they have too much cause to mourn for the sins of the times and places in which they live, so likewise for the sins of which they themselves are guilty. They often weep over the review of their own faults and follies; and, with the holy Apostle, cry out, O wretched men that we are! who shall deliver us from this body of death! And, indeed, it is but fit and just, that, while the heart is a fountain of sin, the eyes should be fountains of tears. But, what! shall we therefore be so unreasonable, reasonable, as to charge their holiness with their grief and sorrow; whereas, were they not in part unholy, they would have no cause for it? It is not their walking in the ways of wisdom, but their deviating from them, that makes their lives unpleasant: it is their wanton straying into the world's common, and seeking the foreign delights of sin, that disturbs their peace, fills their hearts with heaviness, their eyes with tears, and their face with shame: whereas, had they kept themselves within the limits of their duty, and the boundaries which God had prescribed them, their peace had been as secure as their innocence. Did you ever hear any of them complain, that they had been too holy and strict, too circumspect and conscientious? this is the complaint of the world against them, but it was never theirs. Whereas there are thousands and ten thousands, who sadly lament their former ways of sin and wickedness, (for sorrow and shame are the necessary consequences of guilt) either here on earth to true repentance, or else in Hell to everlasting despair. So that, it is not holiness and piety, but the want and defects of it, which are the cause of all that sadness, which so much discourages the world, and makes them wrongfully accuse religion for it.

But,

iii. EVEN THE TEARS AND SORROWS OF A TRUE PIOUS CHRISTIAN HAVE A MORE SOLID JOY IN THEM, THAN ALL THE NOISE AND EXTRAVAGANT JOLLITY OF WICKED MEN.

There is a sweetness even in mourning, when it is filial and sincere. Tears are a solace, and grief itself an entertainment. Sometimes, the very delicacy of a man's spirit will make him dissolve into weeping; and the love of God, as a heavenly flame enkindled in the heart, will distill tears through his eyes. The tenderness of his affection will engage him to a sweet mourning over his faults and miscarriages. And, while the Spirit of God moves upon the face of these waters; the next thing to be created in that soul, is light, peace, and joy. Those, who have experienced it can tell you, that the most transporting consolations of the Holy Spirit are then given in, when they are most retired and pensive: they can rejoice that they are sad, because such a kind and child-like sorrow is to them a most certain evidence of the favor of God, and the remission of those sins for which they mourn. Whereas, on the contrary, Solomon tells us, Proverbs 14:13. Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is heaviness: such, indeed, is the mirth of all wicked men: let them dissemble it never so artificially, yet they do but, with the Spartan boy, laugh and smile, while the fox, which he had stolen and kept concealed under his coat, was all the while tearing out his affections: so these put on a counterfeit laughter, when yet, all the while, guilt and fear, terrors and anguish, are corroding and gnawing their very affections.

So that hence you see, the sadness and mournfulness of the true pious Christians is but a conceived prejudice, no real objection against the ways of religion and holiness.

IV. "But, what!" you will say, "is there then nothing unpleasant, nothing grievous and irksome in them? Can it be possible that this strait and narrow way should have no thorns, no rubs in it; nothing that is rigorous, severe, and uneasy? What then shall we think of mortification, and self-denial; of plucking out our right-eyes, and cutting off our right-hands; a patient enduring of injuries, and requiting them with kindnesses; forgiving our most malicious enemies, and praying for them; a willingness to sacrifice our dearest enjoyments, yes our lives themselves, for the name of Christ, and the testimony of a good conscience? Are not these main and essential parts of our religion? And is there nothing in them, that is difficult to be done, and grievous to be borne? If not, why then are we so often commanded to strive, to watch, to fight, to wrestle, to run, to endure and hold out unto the last? all which expressions do certainly import, that there is much pains and hardship to be undergone in a Christian Life; especially also since it is represented as such a difficult and admirable thing to persevere in it unto the end. What pleasure can there be in crossing a man's own inclinations and appetites? in the self-cruelty of cutting off what is as dear to us as the limbs of our body? What pleasure in losing all for the sake of our religion? in rotting in a prison, or frying at a stake? What pleasure in bearing affronts and contumelies, without either reply or revenge? Certainly, he, who can find out pleasure in these things, is fit to advance what paradoxes he pleases to the world; but will be much puzzled to find either reasons to maintain them, or persons to believe them."

To this answer,

i That THERE ARE MANY THINGS IN RELIGION, WHICH ARE INDEED DIFFICULT AND LABORIOUS, BUT THIS DOES NOT PRESENTLY ARGUE THEM TO BE UNPLEASANT AND GRIEVOUS.

Some of the greatest pleasures of this life are so; and that is scarce held to be a pleasure, which is not heightened and commended by labor. The pleasantness of religion and piety consists not in supine sloth and negligence: there must be earnest endeavors, strivings and strugglings to the uttermost. To a generous mind, as a Christian's is, nothing can be more pleasant than victory and conquest; which cannot be achieved without contending for it. The whole life of a Christian is a continual warfare. Now that, which makes the name of war so dreadful, is only the uncertainty of success: who is there so cowardly and faint-hearted, that, were he sure of victory and triumph, would be afraid of the encounter? Why, victory itself is listed under a Christian's command. Other conquerors have found it very fickle and inconstant: when they have levied armies and shaken nations, yet they could never make success take pay under them. But herein a Christian is more than a conqueror, because he is always sure of conquest, if himself will. And, whenever we go forth to the combat, if we be not extremely base and treacherous to our own souls, we may be sure to return adorned with wreaths and laden with spoils. The mortification of our lusts is confessedly the most uneasy, as it is the most necessary part, of our religion: and, yet, what are they but shadows cast upon your fancies, flitting, airy, and empty nothings? We are to conflict with our own desires, our own passions, our own wills; and what more is required to conquest over these, besides a firm and undaunted resolution? That man shall certainly be master of himself, who will but dare to be so. What though it may cost pains and striving; though it may make the heart pant, and the soul run down with sweat: yet to see your enemies fall by heaps before your sword, to tread upon the slain, and to dip your foot in their blood; this certainty of conquest will make the combat pleasant, though it be laborious. And he, who cannot think this an incomparable pleasure, has not spirit enough to be a Christian.

ii. Since all pleasure arises from the suitableness of objects and actions to our natures, we must consider that THERE IS A TWOFOLD NATURE IN EVERY CHRISTIAN, HIS CORRUPT AND HIS DIVINE NATURE.

He is not all of a piece, but has two contrary parties struggling within him. There is the flesh lusting against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; and what is pleasing to the one, is a vexation and torment to the other, Now all those rigorous duties of religion, which have been objected, are only so to your corrupt and sinful inclinations; but they are joy and pleasure to your renewed and sanctified nature. You must therefore, of necessity, grieve and displease one part of yourself; and why then should it not be that, which is your vile and sordid part? Give your noble and heaven-born self the pleasure and divertisement of thwarting and overruling your sensual desires. Yes, this indeed, if you are a Christian, is your true and proper self: the other is but your slave and vassal. Grace is that, which gives a Christian his individuation and denomination; and the new and divine nature, of which you partake, ought to be the commanding principle within you, as being a participation of God; and therefore cannot, without the highest practical blasphemy, be subjected to your lusts and corruptions, which are the portion of the Devil. And therefore the Apostle distinguishes between his unrenewed part and himself; Romans 7:17. It is no more I … but sin that dwells in me. So that those, which are accounted the greatest rigors and severities of religion, and which fright so many from embracing it, are really the pleasures and entertainments of a pious soul. Yes, I will be bold to say, that a true Christian more indulgeth himself by mortification, more gratifieth himself by denying himself, enjoys more true pleasure and satisfaction in those things which are looked upon as the austerities of a holy life, than all the voluptuaries of the world can, in abandoning themselves over to all the profuse delights of a sinful and wicked life: for, even where there is no true grace to make a conquering resistance, yet there is a natural conscience to make a murmuring and a troublesome one: all the disturbance, that a true Christian finds, is only in the conflict, and, when that is ended, he sits down and enjoys the blessed fruits of his victory in peace and satisfaction; but in wicked men, the pleasure of sinning makes many sour returns upon them, and there are not only some stings mingled with their honey while it is yet in their mouths, but afterwards it turns all to sting in their consciences and gall and wormwood in their affections. Now let me leave it to you to judge, which enjoys a more pleasant and quiet life; they, who cross their corruptions, and afterwards rejoice that they have done it; or they, who cross their consciences, and are afterwards vexed and tormented for it: the one, indeed, conflicts with his lusts, and buffets his slaves when they rebel against him; but, afterwards, finds that peace and joy, which more than compensate his labor: the other conflicts with his light; and, after he has offered horrid violence to his natural sentiments, is tormented with such pangs and horrors, that he becomes a burden and executioner to himself: and this puts him upon far greater abominations, that he may quite extinguish that glowing spark within him; that he may murder that troublesome monitor, his own conscience, and, if it be possible, may attain to the highest perfection, both of his pleasure and misery, even to sin quietly.

iii. Consider, that THE SEVERITIES of RELIGION, as mortification, self-denial, etc. ARE FAR MORE DIFFICULT AND DISTASTEFUL AT OUR FIRST ENTRANCE UPON A HOLY LIFE; THAN THEY WILL BE, WHEN WE ARE CONFIRMED AND HABITUATED IN IT.

Indeed, those, who are early pious, whose virtue grows up and increases with them from their tender years, escape the pangs and molestations which others endure, in rooting out inveterate habits and changing the whole course of their lives at once. It must needs appear irksome, at first, to check those inordinate desires and to put a stop to the current of those vices, which have got authority by prescription, and never knew what it was to be opposed or denied before. But, whatever difficulties we may find in this, they ought rather to be imputed to the novelty and unusualness, than to the real hardship of the undertaking. And, perhaps, were a man resolved, from a long-continued and habituated virtue, to turn debauched and profligate, he would, at first, find not much less trouble in the ways of vice, than a new convert meets with in the ways of piety. Custom and continuance will facilitate all things: and, when the roughness which is upon the soul is well worn off by use, it will the more easily and sweetly move itself in a strict and religious course.

iv. Consider, that THE SEVERITIES OF RELIGION ARE NO MORE NOR GREATER, THAN WHAT WE ARE CONTENT TO UNDERGO IN THINGS OF ANOTHER NATURE.

Nay, many times the sinner meets with far more trouble in the ways of sin, than the most strict and holy Christian can do in the ways of obedience. What strange artifices and intricate methods must he oftentimes use, sometimes to commit his sins, but most commonly to conceal them! it requires a piece of subtlety and stratagem to be wicked. Whereas piety is an open, plain, and simple thing: we need not lay plots for it, nor study to find out the methods of it: there needs no other skill, besides an honest heart and a firm resolution: and therefore it is said, Isaiah 35:8. A highway shall be there … and it shall be called The way of holiness: the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein. Nay, were we but content to undergo as much hardship and difficulty in the ways of religion, for the obtaining of Heaven and eternal happiness; as the men of this world do, for the gaining of some poor, sordid, secular advantages; we should be most unreasonable to complain of them as rough and uneasy. What Christian is there, that takes so much pains to be saved, as many thousand artificers do, who drudge day and night at some poor manual employment to get a little pelf? and yet it is far more certain, that an industrious Christian shall be saved, than that an industrious tradesman shall grow rich. Men are contented to rise up early and to go to bed late, and to eat the bread of carefulness, to bear many disappointments and undergo many hardships, only in hopes to gain some temporal advantage: and yet they murmur and complain of it as an insupportable burden, if they are put upon any difficulties for the gaining of Heaven and eternal salvation; although the gain of this latter be as infinitely more certain, as it is infinitely more precious than the gaining of the former. So that, in truth, all the complaints against the rigors of religion proceed only upon mistakes and prejudices; and there is no course of life, shape it which way you will, that has so much ease, sweetness, and delight in it, as the truly pious and holy.

Let me then persuade you, not to give ear to the lying suggestions of the Devil and your own sloth. They are but slanders cast upon the ways of God, on purpose to deter you from walking in them. Do but make the trial: enter upon them, and you shall find incomparably more sweetness and satisfaction, more joy and peace in them, than ever you found in the ways of sin and folly. Possibly some, who only as spies have entered upon the borders of this Land of Canaan, have brought up an evil report upon it, when they have returned back again to the wilderness. But, I beseech you to believe the concurrent testimonies of all good men, who have searched it throughout, and have neither interest nor design to deceive you. Believe the testimony of a Caleb, of a Joshua, rather than the reports of those, whose sloth or cowardice represents all attempts difficult, and all difficulties insuperable. Believe the testimony of God himself, who assures you, it is a land flowing with milk and honey. Let me therefore encourage you, in the words of Caleb; Let us go up … and possess it; for we are well able to overcome it. All imagined hardships shall vanish before us; and, instead of rough encounters, we shall certainly enjoy ourselves in pleasure and peace. This is the only way, wherein we can enjoy either God or ourselves. And this way, which is joy and peace throughout, will infallibly bring us to that blessed presence, where there is fullness of joy, and pleasures for evermore.