Job, Chap. xlii. Ver. 5, 6.
"I have heard of thee by the hearing of the Ear; but now hath mine Eye seen thee: therefore I abhor myself, and repennt in Dust and Ashes."
In a former discourse from these words, I explained to you the difference between that Knowledge of God which is obtained by "the hearing of the ear," and that which arises in the human heart, from a spiritual sensibility of his Presence and Power within us. I observed, that the former was, at best, but a kind of historical knowledge, or, perhaps, nothing more than a strong conceit or imagination of something concerning God; far different from that intuitive, self-evident, saving Knowledge of him, which Job speaks of in the text, and which every truly pious foul cannot but feel. I endeavoured, likewise, to point out the Rise and Progress of this Knowledge, as well as the blessed Fruits or Effects of which it is certainly productive. I then concluded with asking you, whether such a Knowledge of God as I had been describing, was not worth your possessing? A knowledge, that would unite you to him, make you One Spirit, One Will, One Nature, with your heavenly Father—that would give the highest relish to all the joys, and support you under all the evils of life; that will stand by you, when every outward comfort fails, when friends, and relations, and wealth, and power, and all that earth is able to supply, can no longer yield you the least support or satisfaction.
Convinced, as I think you must needs be, of the infinite value of such a possession as this, I would now ask you, what it is that keeps you from desiring and seeking to obtain it. Your answer, if you knew yourselves, would be, that you did not at present feel the want of it.—This state of insensibility, therefore, to "the things that belong to your peace," must arise from certain obstacles and impediments, which, agreeable to my promise, I now proceed to enumerate.
We are told, that the famous Selden, on his death-bed, sent for archbishop Usher, and, in the course of a most serious and affecting conversation, assured him, that he had accurately surveyed almost every part of literature and science, that was held in the highest esteem by the sons of men; that he had a study filled with the most valuable books and manuscripts in the world; and yet, that, at that time, he could not recollect one single passage out of any volume in this large collection, upon which he could rest his soul, or from which he could derive one ray of consolation, except some that he had met with in the Holy Scriptures; and that the most remarkable passage that then made the deepest impression upon his mind, was this: "For the Grace of God that bringeth Salvation, hath appeared unto all men, teaching us, that denying ungodliness, and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world; looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearance of the great God, and our Saviour Jesus Christ."
"The Grace of God," indeed, "hath appeared unto all men." One of the principal impediments to their sight of this Grace, is what poor Selden complained of, viz. a looking for it in the writings of human reason, and expecting to find it by the same learned labour with which we investigate some mathematical or logical truth. Selden, with all his learning, therefore, was obliged to seek for a True Knowledge of God, in the volume of his own heart; and, agreeable to the direction of an outward revelation, to look for the appearance of that Grace which it promised, in a place, which his genius had not yet explored, and which could never have been revealed to his outward eye. He had, no doubt, "heard of God by the hearing of the ear," and could have accurately demonstrated his existence and attributes—but, till that blessed moment, "his eye had never seen him."
Thus, all those fine literary accomplishments, which feed the pride of the scholar, (though, when properly applied, they have their uses, and great uses too) must, nevertheless, be sacrificed, when they prove, as they frequently do, very great impodiments to a spiritual knowledge of God. The most towering genius upon earth, can never gain admittance into the Kingdom of Heaven, till he condescends to the simplicity of a child, and with faith and humility opens his heart to his Heavenly Father for that true wisdom, which can only come by immediate revelation from him.
But the "wisdom of this world," or "science falsely so called," is not the only impediment to our spiritual sight of God. There are many, who, under a specious pretence of making a proper and honourable provision for their families, involve themselves so deeply in business, as it is called, that they will not allow themselves a single moment to attend to the concerns of another world. And were we to enquire the reason of this strange conduct, they might very properly make us the same answer, which the Duke of Alva made to King Henry IV. upon another occasion: Did you observe, my Lord Duke, said the Monarch, the great eclipse of the sun, that lately happened?—No, may it please your Majesty, replied the Duke—I have so much business to do on earth, that I have no leisure to look up to heaven. In truth, my brethren, your mere men of business, and a trading city like ours abounds with temptations to this kind of life; I say, your mere men of business, either forget, in the hurry of affairs, that their souls are immortal, and ought therefore to be fed and attended to at least as much as their bodies; or else, to quiet their consciences, they reason themselves into a belief that their souls may die with their bodies, and therefore all thought or concern about religious matters, is useless, and will only interrupt their worldly pursuits.
Success in trade introduces wealth, and, with it, its never-failing attendant, luxury. From this fatal source proceed a thousand impediments to a religious life, that are more readily felt than enumerated. Hence an amazing increase of expence, with an increasing taste for high living, sumptuous apparel, and splendid entertainments. By an immoderate attention to these, the minds of men are gradually weaned from those good impressions, which they have received in their earlier years, from sober, frugal, and industrious parents.—The peasant treads close upon the heels of the courtier; and such is the reigning fondness for what is called fashionable life, that people of the most affluent circumstances, and who move in the highest sphere, are scarcely to be distinguished from those of the most scanty fortunes; and even indigence itself puts in its claim for a share of the outward glitter.—And it were well, if the evil proceeded no further than this.
But if things should come to such a pass, that Religion itself, nay, even the very appearances of it, should be deemed unfashionable; if people should be afraid to come to the house of God, lest they should have their taste called in question, lest they should be suspected by their gay and worldly friends, of entertaining one serious thought about another world, about God and their own souls; if the Sabbath, instead of being wholly dedicated to, and spent in the service of, that God by whom it was instituted, should be either lolled away in indolence, or spent in posting of books, settling of accounts at home, or devoted to entertainments and parties of pleasure abroad; if such should be the consequences of an immoderate pursuit of business, and an inordinate fondness for a fashionable life, would you not conclude, that these were surely the greatest and most dangerous impediments to a true and saving knowledge of God? If these evils have not appeared in such a degree, as I have described them, I think, at least, they are not far from it; and I begin to fear, that the time is approaching, when many amongst us will be so far from "seeing God," as Job expresses it, "with their eyes," that they will not even "hear of him by the hearing of the ear." For believe me, my brethren, we cannot know God, we cannot even desire to know him, whilst our whole hearts and minds are engaged in the things of the world, whilst we turn, with all the eagerness of desire, to the senseless pageantry and pleasures of a vain and trifling age.
Shall I spare myself the pain of telling, what ought not to be an offence to you to hear?—or will you give me leave to point out to you, in plainer terms, what I apprehend to be your principal impediments to such a view of the Divine Majesty, as would lead you to "abhor yourselves, and repent in dust and ashes."
It cannot be denied, that luxury, extravagance, and dissipation of every kind, have, within these few years, made a most rapid progress amongst us.—Your ministers have long, perhaps too long, been silent upon these subjects.—But though preventive medicines are sometimes given with success, yet the symptoms of a disorder, as they appear in its process, are what must principally direct the application. What they have now to say, comes to you with this corroborating circumstance in its support, that we speak not from what we have apprehended might be, but from what we have seen hath actually come to pass.
We have observed, with real heart-felt concern, a general proneness to pleasure, and a general indifference to the very forms of religion.—Our discourses, though without particular applications, have been adapted, as far as we were able to judge, to the circumstances of the people whom we addressed.—We have not, however, been unconcerned spectators of your conduct. We have observed, with what eagerness many of you have crouded to scenes of amusement and dissipation, and what backwardness you have shewn in attending the publick worship of God. Even the man of business could devote many hours in the week, to the calls of worldly pleasure, whilst he refused to give one to the calls of God upon his own Sabbath.
Matters are, indeed, too serious to be passed by in silence. We are your ministers, we are your servants; we should not be faithful to you, nor to ourselves, were we to neglect giving you the alarm, when we saw, or even apprehended, that you were in imminent danger. The enemy hath already entered your houses—he hath entered your hearts! Under the specious disguise and appellation of innocent amusements, he is secretly drawing off your hearts from God, and carrying you away captive at his will—Use not, I beseech you, the word innocent, in vindicating your pleasures—Nothing can be innocent, let it be ever so seemingly trifling, that wholly engrosses the mind, and takes it off from attending to the great concerns of Salvation. Amusements, though they may be innocent at first, become more or less criminal, as they have a greater or less tendency to wean the heart from God. Upon this maxim, I leave it to your own experience to determine, what particular kind of amusements has had the greatest tendency to effect this in you.
Far be it from me, to declaim, with an affected pharisaical severity, against innocent recreations of any kind. But, Gracious God! can a Christian complain of want of amusements, that has a family round him; that has a dear child, or children, to educate; that has brothers, or sisters, or relations, or friends; with whom he can live in a most sweet and delightful intercourse of endearing offices? What a strange perversion of nature, sense, and reason, to take delight in going abroad, to have our affections excited by imaginary objects and romantic representations, when we have so many real ones at home, in the course of every day, and in the way of our duty, to call forth and promote their best and highest exercise? I do not descend to particulars—let these few hints suffice.—I have delivered them in love—in love, I hope, they will be received.
Permit me, however, once more to repeat—that it is this immoderate fondness for pleasure and dissipation, that keeps you from feeling the real wants of your nature, and, consequently, from applying to the true and only Source, from whence they can be fully satisfied. But this deception cannot last long; false happiness has no sure foundation; it must, therefore, totter and fall at last. You will not always be as gay, as healthy, and as prosperous, as you are now.—The vigour of the best constitution cannot long preserve you from sickness, and from death.—Neither the abundance of wealth, nor the increase of power, nor the support of popularity, can long protect you from disappointment and distress. You may think as lightly as you please of religious duties now; but, depend upon it, the hour is at hand, when every little neglect of them, every little preference you have given to the solicitations of pleasure, will wound you to the very heart. You will then be convinced of the danger of trifling with that immortal spirit that is within you; and deeply regret, that you have been so far from having "seen God," spiritually manifested in your hearts, that you have scarcely "heard of him by the hearing of the ear."
I cannot dismiss you, without one observation more. Hypocrisy, and a pharisaical righteousness, are as great, and perhaps greater impediments to the true Knowledge of God, than any of those I have already mentioned. The root is deeper, the evil more difficult to be eradicated.
Should any of you, therefore, have been solacing yourselves with the view of your own fancied virtues, and thanking God, that you have not, like others, been running after this or the other new and fashionable amusement, but have kept yourselves strictly within the pale of outward duties; I beseech you not to be too liberal of your censures, nor too forward in prying into the conduct of your neighbours; but to look at home with a jealous and watchful eye, to examine your own hearts, and see, that whilst ye are "paying tithe of mint, and annise, and cummin," ye do not "neglect the weightier matters of the law, mercy, justice, forbearance, and charity." Whilst ye have "heard of God by the hearing of the ear," your eyes, perhaps, may not yet have seen him; whilst you are abhorring and standing aloof from your brethren, as if ye were holier than they, ye do not "abhor yourselves, and repent in dust and ashes." Remember, that a censorious spirit, and a disposition to think and speak evil of others, is as foreign to the Spirit of Christianity, as any other evil temper or disposition can be.
To conclude: A true Christian will lament the general decline of Religion, and wish and pray for better times, without being angry, or shewing any marks of unkindness to his brethren. Yea, so far from keeping himself at a distance, he will mingle, as occasion or duty calls, with men of every class. He will be religious without severity, and chearful without dissipation; he will instruct without seeming to dictate, and reprove with such mildness, that his very censures shall be received as the highest tokens of his love.
In this sweet Spirit of the Gospel of Jesus, Heaven grant that we may mutually receive and impart such truths, as "belong to our peace," both here and hereafter!