Church of England -- Sermons; Sermons, English -- 19th century
HAVE we learnt this lesson? Our reading, and thinking, and praying, have
been in vain, unless they have helped us to believe and know the love
which God has to us. But, indeed, no reading, or thinking, or praying
will teach us that perfectly. God must teach it us himself. It is easy
to say that God is love; easy to say that Christ died for us; easy to say
that God’s Spirit is with us; easy to say all manner of true doctrines,
and run them off our tongues at second-hand; easy for me to stand up here
and preach them to you, just as I find them written in a book. But do I
believe what I say? Do you believe what you say? There is an awful
question. We believe it all now, or think we believe it, while we are
easy and comfortable: but should we have boldness in the day of
judgment?—Should we believe it all, if God visited us, to judge us, and
try us, and pierce asunder the very joints and marrow of our heart with
fearful sorrow and temptation? O Lord, who shall stand in that day?
Suppose, for instance, God were to take away the desire of our eyes, with
a stroke. Suppose we were to lose a wife, a darling child; suppose we
were struck blind, or paralytic; suppose some unspeakable, unbearable
shame fell on us to-morrow: could we say then, God is love, and this
horrible misery is a sign of it? He loves me, for he chastens me? Or
should we say, like Job’s wife, and one of the foolish women, ‘Curse God
and die?’ God knows.
Ah, when that dark day seems coming on us, and bringing some misery which
looks to us beforehand quite unbearable—then how our lip-belief and
book-faith is tried, and burnt up in the fire of God, and in the fire of
our own proud, angry hearts, too! How we struggle and rage at first at
the very thought of the coming misery; and are ready to say, God will not
do this! He cannot—cannot be so unjust, so cruel, as to bring this
misery on me. What have I done to deserve it? Or, if I have deserved
it, what have these innocents done? Why should they be punished for my
sins? After all my prayers, too, and my church-goings, and my tryings to
be good. Is this God’s reward for all my trouble to please him? Then
how vain all our old prayers seem; how empty and dry all ordinances. We
cry, I have cleansed my hands in vain, and in vain washed my heart in
innocency. We have no heart to pray to God. If he has not heard our
past prayers, why should we pray anymore? Let us lie down and die; let
us bear his heavy hand, if we must bear it, sullenly, desperately: but,
as for saying that God is love, or to say that we know the love which God
has for us, we say in our hearts, Let the clergyman talk of that; it is
his business to speak about it; or comfortable, easy people, who are not
watering their pillow with bitter tears all night long. But if they were
in my place (says the unhappy man), they would know a little more of what
poor souls have to go through: they would talk somewhat less freely about
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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