02.A10. A Growing Dimness Of The Inner Light

CHAPTER X. A GROWING DIMNESS OF THE INNER LIGHT, AND A CONSEQUENT FEEBLE AND SICKLY DEVELOPMENT OF THE INNER LIFE.

YET, as years passed on, the inner light in which I had walked began gradually to grow dim, and continued to become more and more so, until at length my dwelling-place was in the darkened twilight of the Sun of Righteousness. Under such circumstances, the inner life took on a comparatively sickly hue, and an unhealthy growth and development. One of the marked characteristics of the state to which I descended was the gradual decay and dying out of the inward peace and joy in God which the first love had induced and so long perpetuated. In this state, the gospel of Christ stood out before the mind as a divinely-originated and perfected system of eternal truth, a system absolutely adapted to approve itself to the intellect, and demand the supreme subjection of the will, and yet comparatively void of power to move and mould the affections, stir and break up and purify the great deep of emotion, and thus to vitalise and perfect the inner man and the outer life. To accomplish any such results as these, the gospel must attain to an equal and full control over all the susceptibilities, faculties, and activities of our nature, and never does, and it never can, have this all-renovating and all-vitalising power but after we have received "the promise of the Spirit," and Christ is formed within us, and dwells in us, "the hope of glory." If, on the other hand, after the light and joys of the first love have developed our susceptibilities, and created in us a relish and desire for such forms of blessedness, that light and those joys shall pass away, or become less divine than they once were, they will leave "an aching void" behind, a painful sense of emptiness and want, which will render us more unhappy than we were before "we tasted the heavenly gift." In the depth of mind, there will be a perpetual cry, "Oh, that I knew where I might find Him" and yet God will seem to be not near, but afar off, so that we cannot behold Him, or "approach near, even unto His seat." The Word of God will be to us "a sealed book." We may read it diligently, with all the helps which we can obtain, and we shall yet find little there to vitalise the inward deadness, or show us the face of God. "We fear the Lord, and yet walk in darkness and have no light." All this was especially true in my own case. My early joys had been very deep, and, to all around me, surprisingly long continued. As a consequence, few could have felt their loss as I did. In this state, common disappointments and bereavements have an afflictive and painful power to which unconverted persons are comparative strangers. It is this fact which has given rise to the satanic lie that the path to heaven is a thorny one, while that to hell is strewn with flowers. This idea would be true, however, were the Christian life to be passed in the state under consideration. Such was my experience during the period of this eclipse of the face of God. Losses, perplexities, disappointments, and bereavements, had a power to induce mental pain and suffering of which I had no conception before. To all eternity, it seems to me, I can never forget the pure agony which I experienced when God took from us, in succession, two infant children, each that "thing of beauty," of about four months of age, one our first-born son, and the other our little daughter. The first died on Sunday morning, and I felt constrained to preach to my people that forenoon. Those two countenances, as I looked upon them for the last time, have ever since remained before my mind with the same distinctness as if the vision had occurred but one hour ago. Of what occurred on the way to and from those burying-places, I have never been able to recall a single instance. I have only a faint recollection of seeing two little coffins let down gently into "the lap of God." Such was the effect of afflictive providences upon my sensitive nature, then so highly developed, but so barren of spiritual peace and joy of heart. So intense was the pain induced by events of the character under consideration, that I often thought with myself that there "was no sorrow like unto my sorrow," and with that sorrow no divine consolations seemed to be intermingled. Such I believe to be the case with all Christians where, with the fervour of their first love, their early religious joys have passed away. They may love the world, but can never again enjoy it as they once did, and in the world, and away from God, they will suffer from worldly tribulations as none others can suffer.

Another peculiarity of the state under consideration is a renewed vitalisation of the evil propensities and their action, with an intensity unknown in the prior worldly life. As afflictive providences now pain us more than formerly, so cares, perplexities, disappointments, and provocations disturb our peace, ruffle our passions, and irritate our tempers, more than before religious content, peace, and joy had place on our minds. Hence it is that one of the most patience-taxing and disagreeable individuals in the family, in the social circle, and in all the relations of life, is the Christian who has experienced deep religious joy and peace, and has lost "the blessedness he once spoke of." In no circumstances do "roots of bitterness," when they do "spring up," bear such lasting and bitter fruit as when they spring up in churches in which there has, in former years, been the most abundant Christian love, unity, and joy in God.

Hence it is that there are no prejudices so strong, no strifes so relentless, and no controversies so embittered, as the so-called religious, and no hate so deep as the odium theoloicum, the theological hate. It is a truth of inspiration, a truth verified also by universal observation and experience, that when we have once had a consciousness of "the gladness and deep joy" of the religious life, and have lost that blessedness, we descend to lengths, and breadths, and depths of unhappiness never before experienced. "The last state of that man is worse than the first" becomes true of us, in exact proportion to our loss of the spirit or joys of the new life.