02.5. The Pretexts for Neglecting Religion Irrational and Sordid

Section III. The Pretexts for Neglecting Religion Irrational and Sordid

I have shown, that where there is an habitual indisposition to consider the claims of religion, that duty is likely to be remitted to a death-bed. It is proper, in this connection, to call your attention to the specific feeling which usually prompts to this delay. That feeling is, that there is no actual necessity, on the score of personal safety, for ‘becoming religious’ just now, and therefore it may be postponed for the present without hazard. If this course involted manifest and palpable danger, you would overcome your reluctance, and sit down to the careful examination of the subject. But as you see no danger, a little delay cannot be an evil of much moment.

Here, then, the whole question, whether religion shall receive your instant attention, is made to hinge on the point, whether it will put you in jeopardy to refuse. The demand which religion makes of you is, that you cease to do evil, and learn to do well; that you repent of your sins, and render to your Creator and Preserver that homage and obedience which are his due; that you trust in the Lord Jesus Christ for pardon, and walk henceforward in the way of his commands, It exacts of you no sacrifice; lays upon you. no service; appoints you to no trial, which is not for :your own good. It proffers you the protection and friendship of God, all needful succors ajid consolations in this world, arid everlasting felicity and glory hereafter. These are the proposals religion makes to you; and it is in pondering such proposals, and to guide you in your disposition of them, that you raise the question, “Can I reject them for a time, without putting myself in peril? or, does my safety require me to accept them now?" You cannot fail, on a moment’s reflection, to be struck with the utter want here indicated, of any due appreciation of the blessings tendered you, or any perception of the relations subsisting between the parties to this transaction. It might be supposed, with our instinctive and irrepressible desire of happiness, that blessings like these would be eagerly seized the moment they were placed within our reach; that the mere possibility of securing them would make any individual of our race willing to put forth the most unwearied exertions, and to submit to the greatest hardships. But, instead of this, we have the extraordinary spectacle presented to us, (nay, we all in turn present this spectacle,) of rebels consulting whether they can, with prudence, defer acceding to an offer of clemency from their Sovereign; of lost sinners, calculating how long it will be safe for them to go on in sin, before consenting to a free tender of salvation!. In all this procrastination and paltering, the authority and rights of Jehovah are ignored; duty is set at defiance; the claims of reverence and gratitude are trampled in the dust; nothing is thought of, but the personal immunity of the transgressor. As long as he can do without God, he will; when dangers thicken, and death impends, he will seek his aid. To say that the principle of action. here assumed would excite universal abhorrence if carried into any department of secular or social life, is only to give utterance to a sentiment in which every generous mind must acquiesce. What reason is there, what fitness, in suspending our loyalty to God on his toleration of our sins; in resolving to disobey him, just so long as we fancy he will restrain his vengeance, and not cut us down in our impiety? No honorable man would deal thus with his neighbor, or with the government under which he lives. Does it sanctify a sordid principle that we have adopted it, not in our intercourse with our fellow creatures, but in our conduct toward God? Are the same actions mercenary, when they have respect to a creature; and innocent, not to say commendable, when they terminate on the Creator? The more this is pondered, the more clearly will it be seen, that in the scheme of life we are considering, the one element of personal safety is made to subserve the most unwarrantable and unworthy purposes.

It might be opportune to remark, that it is no less blind than perverse; that in seeking its own ends by its own means, it too commonly plucks down upon itself the ruin it would elude; and that true safety is to be found in doing God’s will, not in resisting it. But waiving that topic, why surrender one’s self to the control of this grovelling sentiment, as though, in our relations to the Deity, there were no room for any other? “Not knowing,” says the apostle, “that the goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance."

Look around you at the tokens of His goodness. See how he has blessed you in your basket and in your store, in your health, in your business, in your family, in your country, in your manifold religious privileges. Review your life, and see how he has watched over you from childhood to this hour, with paternal affection; how often he has interposed to rescue you from difficulty or danger; and in how many forms he has carried forward his beneficent ministrations forward you. Is there no susceptibility in your breast, to which kindness like this appeals; no chord there which vibrates when these mercies pass in review before you? And when to these blessings you superadd, the infinitely higher blessings of redemption, purchased with “blood divine,” are you still unmoved? Can nothing stir that leaden torpor, that Dead Sea stagnation, within, but the sense of impending wrath? Has gratitude no place there? Shall your bosom thrill with thankfulness whenever you receive the most trivial kindness from a fellow-creature, and be unimpressed by all the affluence of that bounty which Jehovah is lavishing upon you? You will not say that this is right.

You will admit that it is all wrong. If you have the least spark of magnanimity, the slightest leaven of honorable and manly feeling, you will be abashed when you reflect on the principle which governs you in your intercourse with a Benefactor to whom you owe such infinite obligations. In recording, some time since, the decease of a very distinguished statesman, the newspapers stated that he was much occupied during his illness with the subject of religion; that he conversed often with the ministers of the gospel; avowed his cordial reception of the Christian faith, and in this state of mind passed into eternity. The narrative was in terms which implied that his preparation for death had been postponed until he was taken sick; and, indeed, it was well known, that however correct he might have been in his general deportment, he had never up to that time manifested any personal interest in religion. In all this, he was the representative of a very numerous body of persons; for similar examples are constantly occurring in every walk of life.

Now, in looking at a scene like this, every one must commend this solicitude about the soul, even though it has been so long delayed. Far better to repent with the dying malefactor than not to repent at all. Better to strive to enter in at the strait gate at the eleventh hour, — yes, better even to strive and fail, than to die in utter unconcern and stupidity. But contemplate this spectacle in another aspect. Here is a man (the case occurs daily) forty, fifty, possibly sixty years of age. He has spent his life in the bosom of a Christian community. Every day has come to him freighted with blessings. He has always had the Bible within his reach. He has weekly heard, or might have heard, the preaching of the gospel. God has called him to repentance in innumerable ways. His duty has been set before him in the clearest manner. He has been reasoned with, warned, exhorted, entreated to make his peace with God, and to give his influence to religion. But he has steadily refused. He has, possibly, been unwilling even to consider the claims of God upon him. Absorbed with other things, carried away by the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, he has sought his own ends, lived only for the world, and left Christianity to fight its own battles, careless whether they terminated in victory or defeat. Disease lays its iron grasp upon this proud votary of the world, and conducts him into that chamber from which he is never to come forth until his remains are carried to their last resting-place. Assured by his physicians (and not till then) of the serious nature of his malady, be begins to consider his ways. He calls for the Bible; so long neglected that he knows not where to read. He procures other religious books, which may aid him in getting clearer views of the way of life. He sends for a Christian friend or pastor to counsel him, and tell him what he must do to be saved. He is frequent and earnest in his supplications for the Divine mercy. And thus he is hastening his preparation for a change of worlds. In all this, he is acting wisely. But what a miserable return is he making to God! His health, time, talents, property, influence, all have been expended upon selfish and earthly objects; and now that he dare not and cannot cleave to these any longer, he will turn to God! No love to God prompts him, no gratitude, no ingenuous sentiment of contrition, no dissatisfaction with the world: if he could with safety, he would cling to his idol still. Death is at the door: this is the sole secret of his anxiety. He comes to dedicate to his Maker his shattered powers, and the few hours that may remain to him, simply because, if he neglects this, a terrible retribution will presently overtake him.

You see, as distinctly as I can, the true tenor of this transaction. But “it is not to be thus with you.” You have too much elevation of character to think of putting the Deity off with so paltry an offering. You are not ready to consider the subject of religions now, but you fully purpose to do it before you are prostrated with a mortal disease.

Without impugning the sincerity of this intention, it may be allowed me to ask, whether the principle it proceeds upon is essentially better than the one exemplified in the case just considered. It is the prayer of Augustine over again; “Lord, convert me; but not yet!" It recognizes the obligation to serve him, but practically denies his claim to your whole time, and your entire influence. It assumes that your first duty is to the world; and that it will be enough if you devote yourself to God after you shall, for an indefinite period, have lived for the world. You cannot be ignorant, that where this ground is taken, the common result is substantially the same as in the example already noted: the lion’s share goes to the world, — the meager remnant, if any, to God. It is, in any event, a deliberate determination to abridge your means and opportunities of doing his will and promoting his glory. Can this be justified? Can it be extenuated? Is life, fleeting, evanescent life, too long a period to be employed in serving the Being who bestowed life upon you? Would your undivided homage be too opulent a return for the favors you have received from him? Is it the acknowledgment which your own reason and conscience assure you is befitting the relations you sustain to him, to exhaust the vigor of your faculties in the prosecution of mere earthly objects, and appropriate to him only your days of decline and inactivity, if not of decrepitude? Conceding that you may live to old age, and that death will then await your plenary preparation for his summons; how much more honorable would it be to come now, and lay your thrift and enterprise, your genial affections and noble aspirations upon his altar, than to put him off with the impoverished refuse of a life of sin and folly!

Besides, how erroneous and unworthy a conception of religion is that involved in this and its affiliated schemes of life! In a company of military officers, (one of whom was a personal friend of the writer’s) the question one day came up, whether it was expedient to permit clergymen to visit the sick. Not to recite the other opinions, “My notion,” said the surgeon of the corps, “is, that such visits are proper in certain circumstances. When the physician has done all he can for a man, and gives him up, then, I think, it is proper to send for the clergyman.” You will smile at the ignorance and irrationality displayed in this remark; but it is not very much aside from the popular idea of religion. If you will analyze the schemes which you are cherishing, you will probably find that religion is contemplated rather as a provision for death than a chart of life; much more as a bridge, over which we are to pass into heaven, than as a highway, along which we are to travel through this world. The feeling is, “I cannot die without religion, but I can live without it.” And so you think it very well for the infirm, and the aged, and invalids of every sort to become religious; but there is no reason why the hearty and vigorous, who are engaged in active duties, should be in haste about it. In other words, there is no reason why you should not sacrifice all the sound and the fat of your flock to mammon, and put God off with the lame, and the blind, and the sick. There is no reason why you should not expend the energies of your being upon yourselves, and dedicate your withered faculties to your Creator. This IS NOT CHRISTIANITY. Religion, it is true, is rich in its consolations, and supplies our only adequate support in sickness and trouble. But it is no less a scheme of duty than a means of comfort. It was merely nor mainly to provide comfort for his people that Christ died, but to make them holy; not simply that they might get to heaven themselves, but that they might help others in getting there also. He challenges our undivided allegiance. He insists upon the subjugation of all our powers and passions to his will; upon the thorough extirpation of our sinful principles and habits, and the gradual moulding of our whole characters into his image. He demands that we serve him in our several stations and relations; that we be governed by the Scripture code of morals; that we subordinate every earthly pursuit to his glory, and the welfare of his kingdom; and that, in our respective spheres, we do our best to maintain the character implied in those expressive emblems, “Ye are the light of the world;" “Ye are the salt of the earth.” Our own good requires this. The present life is the vestibule to eternity. We are here to be trained for a higher stage of being. It is a great achievement to prepare a race so depraved for so lofty a destiny. It must needs be (unless God should choose to work a miracle) a tedious and painful process to lit such creatures as we are for citezenship in the New Jerusalem. It is a process which may well fill up the brief span of human life, and which it were gross infatuation to postpone to any other interest whatever.

Religion comprehends this wise and needful tutelage. It exerts its prerogative over the entire range of human life, from the cradle to the grave; from the most subtle purpose that lurks in the innermost chambers of the heart, to the sublimest transactions of cabinets and empires. It is impossible to escape from its authority, even for a moment. It never intermits its claims upon us. It stoops to no compromises with the world. It ceases not to cry in our ears, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with ALL thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself.” Could it do less? Would it be a religion worthy of God, or suited to man, if it did not thus enjoin upon every child of Adam supreme and constant loyalty to Jehovah? On what ground, then, would you delay a compliance with its requisitions? If it is reasonable that God should require your whole time, if your own good also demands it, why voluntarily shorten the period you can devote to him, and lose the advantages to be derived from the culture of the Christian graces? It is surely an ungenerous temper which would put you upon grasping after the rewards of Christ’s kingdom, without rendering him the stipulated service; which would make you eager for the crown, but unwilling to bear the cross. Had he dealt with us on this principle, the cross had never been set up, and we bad all gone down to irretrievable and eternal ruin. And why, (to glance at another phase of the selfishness on which we are commenting,) why should you not do your part in carrying forward the great and glorious work of human amelioration? Look over the world, and see how full it is of sin, and suffering, and sorrow. Open your eyes upon the very neighborhood in which you dwell, and see whether there be not at your very door a broad field for the exercise of Christian philanthropy. Survey our beloved country, and watch the torrents of infidelity and vice that are deluging the land. Whose office is it to counterwork these pestiferous agencies? Who is to explore these habitations of penury and ignorance; to gather the young into Sabbath-schools and day-schools; to visit the prisoners; to reclaim the intemperate, to circulate the Scriptures; to promote the due observance of the Sabbath; to send missionaries to every destitute spot, and to aid the Church in sustaining her benevolent institutions? Is there any obligation resting upon others to do this, which does not rest on you? It will not do for any of us to ask, “Am I my brother’s keeper?" Linked together by the ties of a common humanity, we are responsible for the influence we exert upon each other’s characters and destiny. No man may lawfully attempt to isolate himself from his race, and seek only his own interest. God will hold us accountable for the good we might have done, and have refused or neglected to do. Christianity needs your help in carrying forward her schemes of relief There are forces enough arrayed against her without your opposition or indifference. Christ demands your co-operation with his people, in making his atonement known to all your fellow-creatures, and placing the means of grace within their reach. The service to which he calls you is a most reasonable service. His right to demand it is perfect. It is more worthy of your powers than any thing else in which you can engage. Is there any, even plausible ground on which you can refuse your aid in promoting the temporal happiness and the eternal salvation of our ruined race? Would it be generous even if you could do it without sin and without imperiling your own soul, to devolve all this work upon others; to shut your ears against the voice of Christ himself, through whom you hope yet to be saved, when he says to you, “Go work for me in doing good to your fellow-sinners; and whatsoever you do to the least of them for my sake, I will regard it as if done to me!"

Consider, further, that in assigning to the service of religion only some vague and, precarious. portion of your future life, (which may prove to be no portion of it at all,) the intermediate period, whether longer or shorter, is not to be a mere blank, without influence upon your character and upon your ultimate prospects of salvation. You are disinclined to take up the subject of religion now, because you “feel no interest” in it. I have already shown you the fallacy of supposing, that the continued neglect of religion can generate a disposition to “consider” it. But note further, that during this undefined period which is still to precede your anticipated repentance, you are to be drinking in the spirit of worldliness, and travelling to a still greater distance from God. It seems strangely incongruous to talk of “repentance” in this connection. “Repentance” for what? Suppose death should not step in and extinguish your hopes in the blackness of an eternal night; suppose you reach the point, the distant, shadowy, receding point, where you are to be sated with the world and ready to abandon it, what do you propose to repent of? If you refer to the sins of your past lives, it seems quite reasonable. There are enough of them to call for bitter tears and the deepest humiliation. It is a fearful sight to look back over a whole life, and see nothing there but sin. There is a call for repentance. But your plan comprises more than this. You mean to repent of other sins; not yet committed. You mean to repent of the course you are just now entering upon. You form a purpose to-day not to consider the subject of religion now, with the avowed intention of mourning over that purpose hereafter! You decline a gracious call of the gospel, with the distinct avowal that you mean to lament that you declined it, and to ask God’s forgiveness! You set out upon a path which you declare your intention to retrace, every step of it, with tears! This is mysterious. Were you to banish the subject altogether, and brave the consequences of going into eternity without repentance or faith in Christ, you might at least claim the merit of consist ency. But this idea of sinning only that you may repent; of laughing today, that you may weep over your mirth tomorrow; of heaping up obstacles between your soul and heaven, that you may by-and-by remove them with a sorrowful heart; of pressing on toward the very verge of the bottomless pit, that you may at length, when the earth begins to cave from under your feet, fly back affrighted at your temerity, and seek the refuge you now scorn, — what name can be given to a career like this! And if the actors in it were other parties, and you the spectators, what alternative would you feel forced upon you in seeking a solution of the strange phenomenon, but that they were either bereft of reason, or under the sway of a hostility to God and his service, so inveterate as to be proof against all human agencies?

If these, plain allegations have not offended you, you may possibly assent to their substantial verity. You may be ready to go as far as the Bible itself in condemning the unreasonableness and the criminality of your inconsideration; yet you may say, the fact of your indifference remains. You “do not feel sufficient interest in the mater” to take it up, and you have no resource hut to defer it till you do; and as this is (so you imagine) “a thing beyond your own control,” you are the more disposed to let it rest for the present.

I have throughout this whole discussion recognised the reality of this difficulty. Foolish as it is, criminal as it is, dangerous as it is, this “lack of interest” in religion constitutes a real and formidable hinderance in the way of a proper examination of the subject. But as no one will presume to plead it at the last day as an excuse for his impenitence, so we must beware how we treat it with a mistaken leniency now. The very consciousness of this aversion to serious things ought to alarm you. It is the white spot upon the surface which indicates the leprosy within, and to neglect the symptom is to trifle with the disease. The feeling, too, that this indifference is absolutely beyond your control, is but another effect of your insidious malady. It is true you cannot change your own heart, nor can you by a mere volition replace your spiritual apathy, with that solicitude about the concerns of eternity which you persuade yourself you would like to experience. But there are certain other things which are within the compass of your own volitions. If you are not practising self-dissimulation, if you sincerely desire to “become interested in religion,” you will leave no practicable means untried to bring about so important an end. What, then, can you do? You can determine, in dependence on the help of God, to enter upon the careful and thorough examination of the subject. You can deal with it as you would with any literary, political, or professional question which might require your attention. As a physician, you might have to grapple with some disease you had never heard of: As a lawyer, you might find it necessary to investigate a case which was extremely distasteful to you. As a merchant, the course of trade might force you into laborious researches in some department of commerce which you had always shrunk from with aversion. But in these exigencies, your policy would be decisive and onward. You could not respect yourself, if you sat down quietly and succumbed to your feeling of indifference. Gathering up your mental energies, you would assail the obnoxious topic with a vigorous determination to master it. You would make it the theme of your studies and reflections, and avail yourself of all the light that could be brought to bear upon it. And according to the established course of things, your antipathy would give way and your interest would increase as you prosecuted your inquest.

What has CHRISTIANITY done, that it is not entitled to the same treatment at your hands? Why should you not extend to it the fair and manly dealing you mete out to any and every secular matter in which you are implicated? It is just as competent to you to employ your powers in examining a question of theology as a question of jurisprudence or a question of merchandise. You can as well set about the systematic reading of the BIBLE, as the systematic study of history, metaphysics, or any other branch of literature. You can take up some sterling religious book, like Hodge’s Way of Life, Wilberforce’s Practical View, Gregory’s Letters, Scott’s Force of Truth, or Alexander’s Religious Experience, and appropriate a specific part of every twenty-four hours to the private and thoughtful perusal of it. You can read with a constant reference to your own character. You can accompany the exercise with fervent prayer for divine assistance. You can be earnest in invoking the Holy Spirit to deliver you from error and unbelief, to subdue your evil passions, to remove your indifference, to convince you of sin, and to lead you to Christ. You can avoid, in a measure, those scenes and associations, and put away those habits, which are unfavorable to serious reflection. You can converse with your pastor, and frequent the sanctuary, and attend the weekly religious services of the congregation to which you belong, and seek the society of Christian people, and court such influences as are adapted to foster your good purposes and enliven your apprehension of “the powers and terrors” of the world to come. When you have finished one book, you can read another and another. You can do all this with the feeling that religion is no longer to be tampered with; that your soul is too precious to be enticed to hell by the visionary purpose of future repentance; that, however it may be with others, the time has come for you to make your peace with God; and that, God helping you nothing shall divert you from this work, until you are washed from your sins in the blood of the cross, and made a new creature in Christ Jesus.

These things you can do. These things you ought to do. And should you do them—with humility, with perseverance, with importunate prayer— can you doubt as to the result? Do you not believe that your indifference would soon vanish? that what you had undertaken from a sheer conviction of duty, would presently awaken the dormant sensibilities of your soul; that what was at first a matter of pure intellect, would become no less a matter of feeling; that religion would begin to unfold itself to your mind in the solemn grandeur of its proportions, as at once the most august and the most urgent of all interests; and that, from being a mere denizen of earth, living only for the world, without a thought, perhaps, of God and eternity, you would find yourself engrossed with the one question, “WHAT MUST I DO TO BE SAVED?" and pressing into the kingdom of heaven with an energy that would brook no delay? Can you doubt that something like this would follow? And if you believe it would, can you refuse to make the trial?

SECTION IV.

ENCOURAGEMENTS.

Up to this point it has been my aim to exhibit the true nature, and counteract the influence of that “lack of interest” in the subject of religion, which has made you unwilling to sit down to the serious consideration of it. If I have at all succeeded in dispelling the sophistries and self-illusions which usually pertain to this state of mind, and in showing that this indifference to religion is a matter very much within your own control, there is one specious suggestion which may still ensnare you. You may hesitate about entering upon the course of reading and reflection proposed to you, from a feeling of distrust as to the ultimate result. There are “difficulties” in the way, and you are “not certain” that you could surmount them. You “might set out and fail.” Such is your conviction of the reasonableness and importance of the duty enjoined upon you, that nothing could deter you from giving your attention to the subject, if you believed it would “avail;” but having no assurance on this point, you shrink from undertaking it.

Here, again, the reality of the hinderance must be admitted. In all enterprises, hopefulness is one of the main elements of success. It is a sad drudgery to toil and fag at an occupation which promises to reward us only with disappointment. Where have no encouragement, we have no resolution.

Without the prospect of attaining an end, we can have no heart to pursue it. And as this principle applies equally to spiritual and to temporal objects, it is not surprising that persons should hesitate about addressing themselves to the matter of their personal salvation, if they see no likelihood of securing it.

But, on the other hand, religion has cause to complain that it is not placed, as regards this point, on a footing with secular affairs. No politician insists upon certainty of success, before aspiring to a post of honor in the state. No physician. refuses to cope with a disease until he is certain he can master it. The multifarious operations of commerce are all based upon contingent calculations. Individuals frequently expend a fortune in experimental mining or manufacturing, where, in the judgment of impartial observers, the probabilities of success are scarcely more than five in a hundred. And enlightened governments will lay out millions of money, and jeopard whole fleets, in exploring regions which are utterly inaccessible to commerce, and which, the more they are traversed, stamp with greater hopelessness the idea of turning them to any valuable practical use. Why not proceed in. the same way in spiritual things? With what propriety can we demand a measure of certainty, in seeking our salvation, which we should pronounce very unreasonable in seeking fame or fortune? Why be disheartened, where the soul is concerned, with obstacles which would only sharpen the appetite and stimulate ambition, if it were a question of property, or a question of science? One might suppose that the whole bias of men’s minds would be the other way; that the bare possibility of salvation would be sufficient to arouse them to the highest degree of effort; and that, instead of being retarded or repelled by difficulties, every new hinderance would be but a fresh incentive to exertion. Where life is concerned, this is the ease. No man gives over caring for his health because his symptoms are unfavorable, or the remedial agents he wishes to employ difficult of access. “All that a man hath will he give for his life.” The universal principle with invalids is, while there is life there is hope, and while there is hope, no means of cure must be neglected. How extraordinary, then, is it, that men should be so easily turned aside, where, instead of life, it is the SOUL which is at stake! But without stopping to speculate on the causes of a phenomenon which is, unhappily, so familiar that it has ceased to excite wonder, it is more to our present purpose to observe, that there is actually less reason for discouragement in this, the most urgent and momentous of all pursuits, than there is in our common secular avocations. Whatever grounds we may have for anticipating success in any financial or professional undertaking, we have more for expecting it in proper exertions to escape from the thraldom of sin. I say "proper exertions," because, in many cases, the effort is really not made in good faith; it is a mere languid, temporary striving, with which the heart has very little to do; and which must fail as a matter of course. But there is seldom any failure, where this object is pursued with the earnestness which men usually bring to the prosecution of their worldly schemes.

There is, however, a peculiarity about the search after religion, which ought to be noticed in this connection. Most persons have but vague ideas of what it is to “become religious.” The entrance upon a Christian life is, to their minds, shrouded in mystery. They know that except they are “born again,” they cannot see the kingdom of God, and that this change must be wrought by the Holy Spirit. The acknowledged greatness of the transformation, combined, perhaps, with the inspired account of the effusion of the Spirit on the day of Pentecost, has impressed them with the feeling, that if they are ever renewed, the Divine influence which is to effect it will come, “like a rushing, mighty wind,” or in some other palpable manner, and impel them into the kingdom of heaven. They suppose that the operations of the Spirit upon the heart can ordinarily be distinguished from our own mental exercises; and that until we are conscious of his presence, it must be useless to set about the work of repentance. That a regenerated person may have a perfect assurance that the mighty transformation he has experienced was as much beyond the compass of his own powers as it would be to create a world, is an undoubted fact. But it is from the Bible we learn to ascribe every thing good in our exercises to the influence of the Spirit, lie exerts his power upon us in a manner strictly adapted to the laws of our rational nature. “It is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.” Not only “to do,” but even “to will.” He touches and controls the secret springs of volition; so that when we “will,” or determine to cease from sinning, to study the Scriptures, or to do any thing else which he has commanded, the impulse and the strength really come

We are conscious of the determination or choice, (with the motives which induce it,) and in this, of course, we are perfectly voluntary. But there is a mysterious power at work back of our volitions, and secretly prompting them. And it is on this very ground the apostle bids us “work out our own salvation. See Php 2:12-13. The Spirit is waking us from our slumber; therefore, we should yield to the bias he is giving to our inclinations, and put forth our earnest efforts in the same direction. To expect that he will disclose his agency to our minds, is to mistake the whole character of his functions. Our Savior compares his influence to the wind, which is invisible, silent, and penetrating. You are waiting, you say, for the Spirit to come and change your heart. Has not the Spirit visited you already? Are you not thoughtful about your soul’s concerns? Do you not read the Bible with. greater satisfaction? Does not the truth fall upon your ear in the sanctuary with a different sound? Is not your love of the world checked? Are you not more disposed to seek the society of Christian people? Does not the subject of religion follow you to your place of business, and often come up unbidden to your mind? And yet you are “waiting for the Spirit !“ What does all this mean, if it is not the Spirit moving upon your heart? While you are looking here and there for the Spirit, he is already within you. While, like Naaman and the prophet, you are expecting him to come and do some great thing for you, you hear not the still, small voice with which he is admonishing you to look to Christ and live. In occasional examples, he still approaches individuals, as he did Saul of Tarsus, and urges them into his kingdom with an impetuosity which leaves them no room to doubt, either as to the reality of the change in their condition, or the agency which has produced it. But these are exceptions to the established law of his administration. In ordinary cases, his first demonstration upon the heart is of a more tranquil character; and the entire process is apt to differ essentially from any thing which the individuals concerned may have anticipated. Enough to know that you are not to wait in passive idleness for the Spirit’s aid. If you are willing to give up your sins, it is he who has made you willing. If you desire to come to Christ, that desire is from his silent influence upon your heart. Submit to his strivings; implore his further aid; and you will find the promise true, “To him that hath shall be given.”

Here, in fact, is one of the great encouragements you have to enter at once upon a religious life. The seriousness of which you may even now be conscious, how that God is mindful of you, and waits to bless you. For this state of feeling is not the fruit of chance. It is one of those good gifts which come down from above; a token of kindness; a harbinger of mercy. You ,may say of it, as Manoah’s wife said to him, when he was expecting the Divine displeasure to break forth against them: “If the Lord were pleased to kill us, he would not have received a burnt-offering and a meat-offering at our hands, neither would he have showed us all these things, nor would, as at this time, have told us such things as these.” If the Lord had not thoughts of peace toward you, would he have disturbed your spiritual slumber, and enkindled in your breast this solicitude about your soul? Or, if this language be too strong, would he have inclined you to reflect on your prospects for eternity, and to listen to the Utterances of his word with an unwonted thoughtfulness? Here is the very Being knocking at your door, on whom your salvation depends. Can you need any further assurance of his readiness to save you?

Or, take a broader view of this question. You ask, What encouragement have I to seek an interest in Christ? The obvious and conclusive answer is to point you to the BIBLE. What is the Bible but a revelation of the Divine mercy to our world? “God so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” “This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” “Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.” What would you have more? What could you have? Here is a sacrifice of infinite cost, which God, of his own sovereign will, provided for the redemption of our race. Here is the distinct, announcement that the grand object for which his beloved Son became incarnate, was to save sinners. And here is the gracious promise of the Savior, that he will receive every sinner who comes to him. Are you prepared to say that God should have done more than this? It cannot be. The more you reflect upon it, the greater must be your astonishment that he should have done so much. Nor can you fail to see here the truth of the observation already made, that you have far more reason to hope for success in a diligent and prayerful search for salvation, than you have in prosecuting any mere secular plan whatever: But although you could not demand more at God’s hand, be has actually given you more.

I refer now especially to the character of the Savior. I mean by this, not his abstract ability to accomplish the work he has undertaken; that being the co-equal of the Father, “God over all blessed forever.” But I allude to his personal characteristics as exemplified in his teachings and actions. Take up the gospels, and study his life. Listen to his discourses. Place yourself by him while he performs his miracles. Go with him into the abodes of poverty and suffering. See with what compassion he deals with the sick and the sorrowful, the tempted and the erring. Behold what power a cry of distress has to arrest him on his journeys; how he accommodates himself to the weaknesses and prejudices to his supplicants; how gently he reproves and instructs his ignorant and impetuous disciples; how tenderly he sympathizes with every stricken one who repairs to him for succor. All this is so much superadded to his boundless capacity to save sinners. It is omnipotence blended with meekness, and benevolence, and pity, and long-suffering, and tenderness beyond the yearnings of a mother’s heart. It not only meets and countervails the sentiment of dread, which makes a sinful creature shrink from approaching the Creator, but it clothes the incarnate Deity with all those human attributes which usually win our affections and inspire our confidence. It diminishes unspeakably the difficulty of this work, that the Savior is one who bears our nature, and has been tempted in all points as we are, and can, therefore, be touched with a feeling of our infirmities. You cannot but feel that there is every thing in his character to encourage your hopes; and the more so when you reflect, that during his earthly ministry, he never sent a sincere and humble suppliant away without a blessing. But we may go a step further still in this direction. If the SAVIOR’s character holds out encouragement to you, so also does the mission of the SPIRIT. We have just been speaking of his agency in another aspect. Consider it now as an incentive to resolute and persevering effort. So rigorous is the bondage sin has imposed upon us, that the crucifixion itself would have been ineffectual to our salvation, but for the ministration of the Spirit. His presence, however, obviates every difficulty. We are by nature blind to spiritual things, ignorant of ourselves, averse to holiness, inflated with ideas of our own goodness, devoted to the world, ashamed of Christ. If aroused to some degree of solicitude about our souls, we become painfully conscious of the strength of our depraved passions; the way of salvation appears obscure; we have no distinct apprehension of what we ought to do, and too often lack the moral courage to obey the dictates of our consciences. What with the turmoil of feeling within, and the subtle temptations which are sure to assail us from without, we are apt to conclude that the task to which we are summoned is too great for us, and must be given up or postponed to a more auspicious season. This insidious suggestion has its proper antidote in the doctrine of the Spirit’s influence. The task laid upon you is beyond your strength. But what then? Does it exceed the resources of the omnipotent Spirit? Can not He who said, “Let there be light,” dispel the darkness of your understanding? Can not He who reduced the primeval chaos to symmetry and beauty, restore harmony and peace to your agitated breast? This is his prerogative, and this his errand in our world. “When he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he shall guide you into all truth.” It is his beneficent office to enlighten the mind; to banish its ignorance and prejudice; to show the sinner the worthlessness of his own righteousness as a foundation for his hopes; to make him sensible of his spiritual penury; to reveal to him the excellency and glory of the Redeemer, and to lead him a willing bondman to the Savior’s feet, with the feeling—

“Nothing in my hand I bring, Simply to thy cross I cling;

Naked come to thee for dress, Helpless look to thee for grace;

Vile, I to the fountain fly, Wash me, Savior, or I die.” This is what you need. It is all you need. And that Divine Spirit, who can accomplish this for you—who can teach you, strengthen you, renew you, guide you to Christ and fit you for heaven—is a God at hand, as well as a God afar off. His ministry is the great promise of the new dispensation. There is no blessing we have so much encouragement to pray for. We are even told that God is more willing to give the Spirit to those who ask him, than parents are to give good gifts to their children. The whole ground of your hinderances and misgivings, therefore, is covered. Here is an almighty Spirit to conduct you, and an almighty Savior to receive you. You have no difficulties from which they cannot extricate you; no obstacles which they cannot enable you to surmount; no want which they cannot supply. If such proffers of aid were tendered you in any secular pursuit, how eagerly you would grasp at them! Are they of less value where your salvation is at stake? But you may be unreasonable enough to hesitate still, because these are “abstract” promises; you would like to see them “tested,” and then you could feel more confidence in venturing upon them. Well, this scruple is provided for. You have but to look around, and you can be gratified. There are witnesses on every side to testify, that they have proved these promises and found them true to the letter. They stood once where you stand, (for I am supposing that you have begun to “consider your ways.”) They had the same doubts and fears, the same obscure views and fluctuating purposes. The world tempted them as it is tempting you. They formed resolutions and broke them. They were almost persuaded to be Christians, and then the shame of the cross overcame their fortitude. They determined to enter upon a new course of life, and the fear that they “might not persevere made them draw back. But the Spirit continued to strive with them, until, at length, yielding to his benign solicitations, and relying upon his assistance, they gave themselves up to the Savior with penitent and grateful hearts, and now they are “rejoicing in hope of the glory of God.” Their faith rebukes your unbelief. The way of salvation is laid open to you as it was to them. You have the same warrant, to accept of Christ’s gracious invitation. You have the additional motives supplied by their experience. You have the sympathies and prayers of all Christian people. Your judgment is convinced. Your conscience is on the side of religion. The Spirit and the Bride bid you “Come.” Why do you linger?

How extraordinary is it, that arguments and appeals like these should be necessary. Who is the party to be benefited? Whose salvation waits on these trembling balances? What measuring-line has sounded the depths of that abyss, what pen has depicted the glories of that paradise, between which your wavering spirit vibrates? And yet you demand encouragements and inducements to begin a religious life, as though you were the party to confer the favor, and God to be the recipient of it! How amazing his forbearance, that even this ungrateful and (if the word must be used) arrogant state of mind, should not repel his clemency. He actually stoops to your caprices and gratifies your unreasonable exactions. He holds out “encouragements” to you far beyond any thing you could ask or expect. There is not an impediment in your way, not a difficulty you have to meet, for which he has not provided. And to crown the whole costly and elaborate system of relief which his munificence has prepared, his Spirit continues to strive with you. You may have tried to banish the subject of religion from your thoughts, and found yourself unequal to the task. Irksome as it may be, it cleaves to you with a tenacity you cannot overcome. Neither reading nor company, neither business nor pleasure, brings you relief. Thoughts of eternity rush upon you in the midst of your daily activities. They disturb you in the night-watches. The spiritual apathy of those around you cannot tranquillize your conscience. The sense of guilt haunts you, and the terrors of a coming judgment may oppress you, even while you are forcing yourself to appear cheerful. What is all this but the striving of the Spirit? the long-suffering of God, who is not willing you should perish, but rather that you should come to repentance?

Consider now what he has done for your salvation. Review the way in which he has led you. Ponder well the position you occupy. And see whether you can expect ever to be placed again in circumstances so favorable to your conversion. You cannot suppose either that God is indifferent to the manner in which you requite his gracious dispensations, or that his mercy is inexhaustible. While he offers us a free salvation, he cannot but view with abhorrence the deliberate and persevering rejection of his offer. The goodness displayed in redemption is infinite. And for such creatures as we are, to decline its benefits when he himself presses them upon our acceptance, betrays an ingratitude and a hardihood which cannot go unpunished. There is a limit, beyond which the Spirit will cease to strive. There is a point where mercy turns to vengeance. Your present thoughtfulness may warrant the hope, that you have not yet passed this fatal barrier. But you may be rapidly approaching it. Every thing may hang upon the issue of this conflict. While you are hesitating whether to cast yourself at the Savior’s feet, or to cleave a little longer to a world which is deceiving and ensnaring you, the hours may be hasting away, which are to fix your everlasting destiny. It should be enough to end this strife, that your salvation depends upon Gon, and that this appears to be His time. If Levi had not instantly left all when Christ called him, it is not probable he would ever have been made a disciple. If the three thousand on the day of Pentecost had not obeyed Peter’s instructions, they might never have been converted. To trifle with serious impressions, is to insult God. To refuse to hear his voice when he is speaking directly to our heart, is to run the hazard of incurring that awful doom depicted in Proverbs 1:1-33, “Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out my hand, and no man regarded; but ye have set at nought all my counsel, and would none of my reproof; I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh; when your fear cometh as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind; when distress and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer; they shall seek me early, but they shall not find me; for that they hated knowledge, and did not choose the fear of the Lord; they would none of my counsel; they despised all my reproof. Therefore shall they eat of the fruit of their own way, and be filled with their own devices.”

I have assumed, in the former part of this section, that the reader has been startled from his impenitency, and led to sober reflection. But, as has just been intimated, it would be too much to suppose, that this will be the case with all into whose hands this book may fall. Some among them will doubtless be as unwilling as ever, to take up the subject of religion, and consider it with the seriousness which it demands. To persons of this description, I feel at some loss what to say. Professing to know something of the ground you occupy, I have endeavored with all the kindness which was compatible with fidelity to your souls, to exhibit the criminality of this inconsideration, to expose the sophistries by which it is usually palliated, to set forth your duty, and to show what ample encouragement God has given you to set about the performance of it. That we should have gone over all these topics without mitigating your aversion to the subject, is a fact of very painful significance. It is one of those facts which make men feel their impotence, in dealing with the depravity of the human heart. What a deep-seated enmity to God must possess the carnal mind, when it can stand out, not simply against the majesty and severity of the law, but against the boundless love and tenderness of the gospel! when it can even refuse to consider the claims of the Redeemer, to our confidence and veneration! And what must this import as to the moral condition of these persons? The apostle speaks of “tokens of perdition.” It is a pregnant phrase. I will not say that it appertains to any reader of this volume. But you must judge for yourselves whether this confirmed inconsideration is not likely to prove, in your own case, a “token of perdition. Does it not look as though the spiritual insensibility, which has seized upon you, were to be invincible arid permanent? Does it not seem like an omen of final and remediless ruin? I see not how any human agency is to prevent this result. Our only hope is in God. He can prevent it. But when the question is asked, Will he do this? every tongue must he mute. Secret things belong unto the Lord. We may not presume to pry into his counsels. One resource we have left—prayer. If your Christian friends have any proper love for your soul, they will be importunate in their intercessions for you. If you are not resolved upon self-destruction, I entreat you to pray for yourself. Peradventure, there may yet be mercy for you. The Father may even now wait to receive you. The Savior may be stretching out his hand toward you, and crying, “Look unto me, and live.” The Holy Spirit may be secretly saying to you, “Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light.”

If you heed these gracious monitions, and, putting away all evasions and subterfuges, say with the prodigal, “I will arise and go to my Father,” it will be well. Eternity will ratify the decision, and you will rejoice over it with a joy unspeakable and full of glory. But if you still refuse, and continue to reject the proffered mercy, I must again remind you that you tread on dangerous ground; for it is written, “My Spirit shall not always strive with man.”

“There is a time, we know not when, A point we know not where, That marks the destiny of men To glory or despair.

There is a line, by us unseen, That crosses every path; The hidden boundary between God’s patience and his wrath. To pass that limit is to die, To die as if by stealth;

It does not quench the beaming eye, Or pale the glow of health. The conscience may be still at ease, The spirits light and gay; That which is pleasing still may please, And care be thrust away. But on that forehead God has set Indelibly a mark, Unseen by man, for man as yet Is blind and in the dark. And yet the doomed man’s path below May bloom as Eden bloomed: lie did not, does not, will not know, Or feel that he is doomed.

He knows, he feels that all is well, And every fear is calmed;

He lives, he dies, he wakes in hell, Not only doomed, but damned.

O where is this mysterious bourn By which our path is crossed;

Beyond which, God himself hath sworn, That he who goes is lost!

How far may we go on in sin?

Row long will God forbear? Where does hope end, and where begin The confines of despair? An ansiver from the skies is sent:

“Ye that from God depart, While it is called TO-DAY repent, And harden not your heart.”