Seventeenth Argument.
SEVENTEENTH ARGUMENT.
The danger of these complicated maladies of our souls evidences itself by the most fatal of all symptoms, our manifest alienation from God. Yes, shocking as the confession is, we must make it, if truth has any dominion in our breast:—Unrenewed man loves not his God. That eternal Beauty, for whose contemplation, that supreme Good, for whose enjoyment he was created, is generally forgotten, despised, or hated. If the thought of his holy Majesty presents itself, he looks upon it as an intruder. It lays him under as disagreeable a restraint as that which the presence of a grave, pious master, puts upon a wanton, idle servant. Nor can he quietly pursue his sinful courses till he has driven away the troublesome idea; or imagined, with the epicure, a careless God, who wants resolution to call him to an account, and justice to punish him for his iniquity.
Does any one offer an indignity to his favourite friend, or only speak contemptibly of the object of his esteem, he feels as if he was the person insulted, and, reddening with indignation, directly espouses his cause. But every body, the meanest of his attendants not excepted, may with impunity insult the King of kings in his presence, and take the most profane liberties with his name and word, his laws and ministers; he hears the wild blasphemy, and regards it not; he sees the horrid outrage, and resents it not; and yet, with amazing infatuation, he pretends to love God! If he goes to the play, he can fix his roving eyes and wandering mind three hours together upon the same trifling objects, not only without weariness, but with uncommon delight. If he has an appointment with a person whom he adores as a deity, his spirits are elevated, expectation and joy flutter in his dilated breast; he sweetly anticipates the pleasing interview, or impatiently chides the slowly flowing minutes: his feelings are inexpressible. But if he attends the great congregation, which he too often omits upon the most frivolous pretences, it is rather out of form and decency, than out of devotion and love; rather with indifference or reluctance, than with delight and transport. And when he is present there, how absent are his thoughts! How wandering his eyes! How trifling, supine, irrelevant his whole behaviour! He would be ashamed to speak to the meanest of his servants with as little attention as he sometimes prays to the Majesty of heaven.f32 Were he to stare about when he gives them orders, as he does when he presents his supplications to the Lord of lords, he would be afraid that they would think he was half drunk, or had a touch of lunacy.
Suppose he still retains a sense of outward decency, while the Church goes through her solemn offices; yet how heavy are his spirits! how heartless his confessions] how cold his prayers! The blessing comes at last, and he is blessed indeed, not with “the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost,” for that he gladly leaves to “poor enthusiasts,” but with a release from his confinement and tedious work. And now that he has “done his duty, and served God,” he hastes away to the company that suits his taste.
See him there. Do not his very looks declare he is in his own element? With what eagerness of spirit, energy of gesture, and volubility of tongue, does he talk over his last entertainment, chase, or bargain? Does not the oil of cheerfulness make all his motions as free and easy, as if weight and friction had no place at all in his light and airy frame?
Love of God, thou sweetest, strongest of all powers! didst thou ever thus metamorphose his soul, and impart such a sprightly activity to his body? And you that converse most familiarly with him, did you ever hear him say, “Come, and I will tell you what the Lord has done for my soul. Taste and see how good the Lord is?” No, never; for “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” Nor can it be expected that God, who hath no place in his joyous reflections, should have one in his cheerful conversation. On the contrary, it will be matter of surprise to those who introduce the delightful subject of the love of God, if he does not waive it off as dull, melancholy, or enthusiastical.
But, as he will give you to understand, “he is no hypocrite, and therefore confines devotion to his closet;” follow him there. Alas! he scarce ever bends the knee to “Him that sees in secret:” or, if he says his prayers as regularly as he winds his watch, it is much in the same spirit. For suppose he does not hurry them over, or cut them as short as possible; yet the careless, formal manner in which he offers them up, indicates, as plainly as his public conduct, the aversion lurking in his heart against God. And yet he fancies he loves him. With a sneer that indicates self applause, and a Pharisaic contempt of others, “away with your feelings and raptures,” says he: “this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments.” But, alas! which of them does he keep? Certainly not the first,—for the Lord is not the supreme object of his hopes and fears, his confidence and joy; nor yet