The fear in this instance is a servile one,--it is not filial and affectionate,--and yet it serves to protect the subject of it from all other feelings of this species, because it is greater than all others, and like Aaron"s serpent swallows up the rest. If we must be liable to fears,--and the transgressor always must be,--it is best that they should all be concentrated in one single overmastering sentiment. Unity is ever desirable; and even if the human soul were to be visited by none but the servile forms of fear, it would be better that this should be the "terror of the Lord." If, by having the fear of G.o.d before our eyes, we could thereby be delivered from the fear of man, and all those apprehensions which are connected with time and sense, would it not be wisdom to choose it? We should then know that there was but one quarter from which our peace could be a.s.sailed. This would lead us to look in that direction; and, here upon earth, sinful man cannot look at G.o.d long, without coming to terms and becoming reconciled with Him.
V. The fifth and last reason which we a.s.sign for cherishing the feeling and principle of fear applies to youth, to manhood, and to old age, alike: _The fear of G.o.d conducts to the love of G.o.d_. Our Lord does not command us to fear "Him, who after he hath killed hath power to cast into h.e.l.l," because such a feeling as this is intrinsically desirable, and is an ultimate end in itself. It is, in itself, undesirable, and it is only a means to an end. By it, our torpid souls are to be awakened from their torpor; our numbness and hardness of mind, in respect to spiritual objects, is to be removed. We are never for a moment, to suppose that the fear of perdition is set before us as a model and permanent form of experience to be toiled after,--a positive virtue and grace intended to be perpetuated through the whole future history of the soul. It is employed only as an antecedent to a higher and a happier emotion; and when the purpose for which it has been elicited has been answered, it then disappears. "Perfect love casteth out fear; for fear hath torment,"
(1 John iv. 18.[7])
But, at the same time, we desire to direct attention to the fact that he who has been exercised with this emotion, thoroughly and deeply, is conducted by it into the higher and happier form of religious experience.
Religious fear and anxiety are the prelude to religious peace and joy.
These are the discords that prepare for the concords. He, who in the Psalmist"s phrase has known the power of the Divine anger, is visited with the manifestation of the Divine love. The method in the thirty-second psalm is the method of salvation. Day and night G.o.d"s hand is heavy upon the soul; the fear and sense of the Divine displeasure is pa.s.sing through the conscience, like electric currents. The moisture, the sweet dew of health and happiness, is turned into the drought of summer, by this preparatory process. Then the soul acknowledges its sin, and its iniquity it hides no longer. It confesses its transgressions unto the Lord,--it justifies and approves of this wrath which it has felt,--and He forgives the iniquity of its sin.
It is not a vain thing, therefore, to fear the Lord. The emotion of which we have been discoursing, painful though it be, is remunerative. There is something in the very experience of moral pain which brings us nigh to G.o.d. When, for instance, in the hour of temptation, I discern G.o.d"s calm and holy eye bent upon me, and I wither beneath it, and resist the enticement because I fear to disobey, I am brought by this chapter in my experience into very close contact with my Maker. There has been a vivid and personal transaction between us. I have heard him say: "If thou doest that wicked thing thou shalt surely die; refrain from doing it, and I will love thee and bless thee." This is the secret of the great and swift reaction which often takes place, in the sinner"s soul. He moodily and obstinately fights against the Divine displeasure. In this state of things, there is nothing but fear and torment. Suddenly he gives way, acknowledges that it is a good and a just anger, no longer seeks to beat it back from his guilty soul, but lets the billows roll over while he casts himself upon the Divine pity. In this act and instant,--which involves the destiny of the soul, and has millenniums in it,--when he recognizes the justice and trusts in the mercy of G.o.d, there is a great rebound, and through his tears he sees the depth, the amazing depth, of the Divine compa.s.sion. For, paradoxical as it appears, G.o.d"s love is best seen in the light of G.o.d"s displeasure. When the soul is penetrated by this latter feeling, and is thoroughly sensible of its own worthlessness,--when, man knows himself to be vile, and filthy, and fit only to be burned up by the Divine immaculateness,--then, to have the Great G.o.d take him to His heart, and pour out upon him the infinite wealth of His mercy and compa.s.sion, is overwhelming. Here, the Divine indignation becomes a foil to set off the Divine love. Read the sixteenth chapter of Ezekiel, with an eye "purged with euphrasy and rue," so that you can take in the full spiritual significance of the comparisons and metaphors, and your whole soul will dissolve in tears, as you perceive how the great and pure G.o.d, in every instance in which He saves an apostate spirit, is compelled to bow His heavens and come down into a loathsome sty of sensuality.[8] Would it be love of the highest order, in a seraph, to leave the pure cerulean and trail his white garments through the haunts of vice, to save the wretched inmates from themselves and their sins? O then what must be the degree of affection and compa.s.sion, when the infinite Deity, whose essence is light itself, and whose nature is the intensest contrary of all sin, tabernacles in the flesh upon the errand of redemption! And if the pure spirit of that seraph, while filled with an ineffable loathing, and the hottest moral indignation, at what he saw in character and conduct, were also yearning with an unspeakable desire after the deliverance of the vicious from their vice,--the moral wrath, thus setting in still stronger relief the moral compa.s.sion that holds it in check,---what must be the relation between these two emotions in the Divine Being! Is not the one the measure of the other? And does not the soul that fears G.o.d in a _submissive_ manner, and acknowledges the righteousness of the Divine displeasure with entire acquiescence and no sullen resistance, prepare the way, in this very act, for an equally intense manifestation of the Divine mercy and forgiveness?
The subject treated of in this discourse is one of the most important, and frequent, that is presented in the Scriptures. He who examines is startled to find that the phrase, "fear of the Lord," is woven into the whole web of Revelation from Genesis to the Apocalypse. The feeling and principle under discussion has a Biblical authority, and significance, that cannot be pondered too long, or too closely. It, therefore, has an interest for every human being, whatever may be his character, his condition, or his circ.u.mstances. All great religious awakenings begin in the dawning of the august and terrible aspects of the Deity upon the popular mind, and they reach their height and happy consummation, in that love and faith for which the antecedent fear has been the preparation. Well and blessed would it be for this irreverent and unfearing age, in which the advance in mechanical arts and vice is greater than that in letters and virtue, if the popular mind could be made reflective and solemn by this great emotion.
We would, therefore, pa.s.s by all other feelings, and endeavor to fix the eye upon the distinct and unambiguous fear of G.o.d, and would urge the young, especially, to seek for it as for hid treasures. The feeling is a painful one, because it is a _preparatory_ one. There are other forms of religious emotion which are more attractive, and are necessary in their place; these you may be inclined to cultivate, at the expense of the one enjoined by our Lord in the text. But we solemnly and earnestly entreat you, not to suffer your inclination to divert your attention from your duty and your true interest. We tell you, with confidence, that next to the affectionate and filial love of G.o.d in your heart, there is no feeling or principle in the whole series that will be of such real solid service to you, as that one enjoined by our Lord upon "His disciples first of all." You will need its awing and repressing influence, in many a trying scene, in many a severe temptation. Be encouraged to cherish it, from the fact that it is a very effective, a very powerful emotion. He who has the fear of G.o.d before his eyes is actually and often kept from falling. It will prevail with your weak will, and your infirm purpose, when other motives fail. And if you could but stand where those do, who have pa.s.sed through that fearful and dangerous pa.s.sage through which you are now making a transit; if you could but know, as they do, of what untold value is everything that deters from the wrong and nerves to the right, in the critical moments of human life; you would know, as they do, the utmost importance of cherishing a solemn and serious dread of displeasing G.o.d. The more simple and unmixed this feeling is in your own experience, the more influential will it be. Fix it deeply in the mind, that the great G.o.d is holy. Recur to this fact continually. If the dread which it awakens casts a shadow over the gayety of youth, remember that you need this, and will not be injured by it. The doctrine commends itself to you, because you are young, and because you are strong. If it fills you with misgivings, at times, and threatens to destroy your peace of mind, let the emotion operate. Never stifle it, as you value your salvation. You had better be unhappy for a season, than yield to temptation and grievous snares which will drown you in perdition. Even if it hangs dark and low over the horizon of your life, and for a time invests this world with sadness, be resolute with yourself, and do not attempt to remove the feeling, except in the legitimate way of the gospel. Remember that every human soul out of Christ ought to fear, "for he that believeth not on the Son, the wrath of G.o.d abideth on him." And remember, also, that every one who believes in Christ ought not to fear; for "there is no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus, and he that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life."
And with this thought would we close. This fear of G.o.d may and should end in the perfect love that casteth out fear. This powerful and terrible emotion, which we have been considering, may and ought to prepare the soul to welcome the sweet and thrilling accents of Christ saying, "Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden," with your fears of death, judgment, and eternity, "and I will give you rest." Faith in Christ lifts the soul above all fears, and eventually raises it to that serene world, that blessed state of being, where there is no more curse and no more foreboding.
"Serene will be our days, and bright, And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security."
[Footnote 1: The moral and healthful influence of fear is implied in the celebrated pa.s.sage in Aristotle"s Poetics, whatever be the interpretation. He speaks of a _cleansing [Greek: (katharsin)]_ of the mind, by means of the emotions of pity and terror [Greek: (phobos)]
awakened by tragic poetry. Most certainly, there is no portion of Cla.s.sical literature so purifying as the Greek Drama. And yet, the pleasurable emotions are rarely awakened by it. Righteousness and justice determine the movement of the plot, and conduct to the catastrophe; and the persons and forms that move across the stage are, not Venus and the Graces but,
"ghostly Shapes To meet at noontide; Death the Skeleton And Time the Shadow."
All literature that tends upward contains the tragic element; and all literature that tends downward rejects it. aeschylus and Dante a.s.sume a world of retribution, and employ for the purposes of poetry the fear it awakens. Lucretius and Voltaire would disprove the existence of such a solemn world, and they make no use of such an emotion.]
[Footnote 2: WORDSWORTH: Intimations of Immortality.]
[Footnote 3: LUCRETIUS: De Rerum Natura, III. 989 sq.; V. 1160 sq.]
[Footnote 4: BATES: Discourse of the Fear of G.o.d.]
[Footnote 5: "Praise be to Thee, glory to Thee, O Fountain of mercies: I was becoming more miserable and Thou becoming nearer, Thy right hand was continually ready to pluck me out of the mire, and to wash me thoroughly, and I knew it not; nor did anything call me back from a yet deeper gulf of carnal pleasures, but _the fear of death, and of Thy judgment to come_; which, amid all my changes, never departed from my breast."
AUGUSTINE: Confessions, vi. 16., (Shedd"s Ed., p. 142.)]
[Footnote 6: "Si te luxuria tentat, objice tibi memoriam mortis tuae, propone tibi futuruin judicium, reduc ad memoriam futura tormenta, propone tibi acterna supplicia; et etiaim propone aute oculos tuos perpetuosignes infernorum; propone tibi horribiles poenas gehennae.
Memoria ardoris gehennae extinguat in te ardorem luxuriane."
BERNARD: De Modo Bene Vivendi. Sermo lxvii.]
[Footnote 7: BAXTER (Narrative, Part I.) remarks "that fear, being an easier and irresistible pa.s.sion, doth oft obscure that measure of love which is indeed within us; and that the soul of a believer groweth up by degrees from the more troublesome and safe operation of fear, to the more high and excellent operations of complacential love."]
[Footnote 8: "Thus saith the Lord G.o.d unto Jerusalem, thy birth and thy nativity is of the land of Canaan; thy father was an Amorite, and thy mother an Hitt.i.te. Thou wast cast out in the open field, to the loathing of thy person, in the day that thou wast born. And when I pa.s.sed by thee and saw thee polluted in thy own blood, I said unto thee when, thou wast in thy blood, Live; yea I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live." Ezekiel xvi. 1, 5, 6.]
THE PRESENT LIFE AS RELATED TO THE FUTURE.
LUKE xvi. 25.--"And Abraham said, Son remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented."
The parable of Dives and Lazarus is one of the most solemn pa.s.sages in the whole Revelation of G.o.d. In it, our Lord gives very definite statements concerning the condition of those who have departed this life.
It makes no practical difference, whether we a.s.sume that this was a real occurrence, or only an imaginary one,--whether there actually was such a particular rich man as Dives, and such a particular beggar as Lazarus, or whether the narrative was invented by Christ for the purpose of conveying the instruction which he desired to give. The instruction is given in either case; and it is the instruction with which we are concerned. Be it a parable, or be it a historical fact, our Lord here teaches, in a manner not to be disputed, that a man who seeks enjoyment in this life as his chief end shall suffer torments in the next life, and that he who endures suffering in this life for righteousness" sake shall dwell in paradise in the next,--that he who finds his life here shall lose his life hereafter, and that he who loses his life here shall find it here after.
For, we cannot for a moment suppose that such a Being as Jesus Christ merely intended to play upon the fears of men, in putting forth such a picture as this. He knew that this narrative would be read by thousands and millions of mankind; that they would take it from His lips as absolute truth; that they would inevitably infer from it, that the souls of men do verily live after death, that some of them are in bliss and some of them are in pain, and that the difference between them is due to the difference in the lives which they lead here upon earth. Now, if Christ was ignorant upon these subjects, He had no right to make such representations and to give such impressions, even through a merely imaginary narrative. And still less could He be justified in so doing, if, being perfectly informed upon the subject, He knew that there is no such place as that in which He puts the luxurious Dives, and no such impa.s.sable gulf as that of which He speaks. It will not do, here, to employ the Jesuitical maxim that the end justifies the means, and say, as some teachers have said, that the wholesome impression that will be made upon the vicious and the profligate justifies an appeal to their fears, by preaching the doctrine of endless retribution, although there is no such thing. This was a fatal error in the teachings of Clement of Alexandria, and Origen. "G.o.d threatens,"--said they,--"and punishes, but only to improve, never for purposes of retribution; and though, in public discourse, the fruitlessness of repentance after death be a.s.serted, yet hereafter not only those who have not heard of Christ will receive forgiveness, but the severer punishment which befalls the obstinate unbelievers will, it may be hoped, not be the conclusion of their history."[1] But can we suppose that such a sincere, such a truthful and such a holy Being as the Son of G.o.d would stoop to any such artifice as this? that He who called Himself The Truth would employ a lie, either directly or indirectly, even to promote the spiritual welfare of men? He never spake for mere sensation. The fact, then, that in this solemn pa.s.sage of Scripture we find the Redeemer calmly describing and minutely picturing the condition of two persons in the future world, distinctly specifying the points of difference between them, putting words into their mouths that indicate a sad and hopeless experience in one of them, and a glad and happy one in the other of them,--the fact that in this treatment of the awful theme our Lord, beyond all controversy, _conveys the impression_ that these scenes and experiences are real and true,--is one of the strongest of all proofs that they are so.
The reader of Dante"s Inferno is always struck with the sincerity and realism of that poem. Under the delineation of that luminous, and that intense understanding, h.e.l.l has a topographic reality. We wind along down those nine circles as down a volcanic crater, black, jagged, precipitous, and impinging upon the senses at every step. The sighs and shrieks jar our own tympanum; and the convulsions of the lost excite tremors in our own nerves. No wonder that the children in the streets of Florence, as they saw the sad and earnest man pa.s.s along, his face lined with pa.s.sion and his brow scarred with thought, pointed at him and said: "There goes the man who has been in h.e.l.l." But how infinitely more solemn is the impression that is made by these thirteen short verses, of the sixteenth chapter of Luke"s gospel, from the lips of such a Being as Jesus Christ!
We have here the terse and pregnant teachings of one who, in the phrase of the early Creed, not only "descended into h.e.l.l," but who "hath the keys of death and h.e.l.l." We have here not the utterances of the most truthful, and the most earnest of all human poets,--a man who, we may believe, felt deeply the power of the Hebrew Bible, though living in a dark age, and a superst.i.tious Church,--we have here the utterances of the Son of G.o.d, very G.o.d, of very G.o.d, and we may be certain that He intended to convey no impression that will not be made good in the world to come.
And when every eye shall see Him, and all the sinful kindreds of the earth shall wail because of Him, there will not be any eye that can look into His and say: "Thy description, O Son of G.o.d, was overdrawn; the impression was greater than the reality." On the contrary, every human soul will say in the day of judgment: "We were forewarned; the statements were exact; even according to Thy fear, so is Thy wrath" (Ps. xc. 11).
But what is the lesson which we are to read by this clear and solemn light? What would our merciful Redeemer have us learn from this pa.s.sage which He has caused to be recorded for our instruction? Let us listen with a candid and a feeling heart, because it comes to us not from an enemy of the human soul, not from a Being who delights to cast it into h.e.l.l, but from a friend of the soul; because it comes to us from One who, in His own person and in His own flesh, suffered an anguish superior in dignity and equal in cancelling power to the pains of all the h.e.l.ls, in order that we, through repentance and faith, might be spared their infliction.
The lesson is this: _The man who seeks enjoyment in this life, as his chief end, must suffer in the next life; and he who endures suffering in this life, for righteousness" sake, shall be happy in the next._ "Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented."
It is a fixed principle in the Divine administration, that the scales of justice shall in the end be made equal. If, therefore, sin enjoys in this world, it must sorrow in the next; and if righteousness sorrows in this world, it must enjoy in the next. The experience shall be reversed, in order to bring everything to a right position and adjustment. This is everywhere taught in the Bible. "Woe unto you that are rich! for ye have received your consolation. Woe unto you that are full! for ye shall hunger. Woe unto you that laugh now! for ye shall mourn and weep. Blessed are ye that hunger now; for ye shall be filled. Blessed are ye that weep now; for ye shall laugh" (Luke vi. 21, 24, 25). These are the explicit declarations of the Founder of Christianity, and they ought not to surprise us, coming as they do from Him who expressly declares that His kingdom is not of this world; that in this world His disciples must have tribulation, as He had; that through much tribulation they must enter into the kingdom of G.o.d; that whosoever doth not take up the cross daily, and follow Him, cannot be His disciple.
Let us notice some particulars, in which we see the operation of this principle. What are the "good things" which Dives receives here, for which he must be "tormented" hereafter? and what are the "evil things"
which Lazarus receives in this world, for which he will be "comforted" in the world to come?
I. In the first place, the worldly man _derives a more intense physical enjoyment_ from this world"s goods, than does the child of G.o.d. He possesses more of them, and gives himself up to them with less self-restraint. The majority of those who have been most prospered by Divine Providence in the acc.u.mulation of wealth have been outside of the kingdom and the ark of G.o.d. Not many rich and not many n.o.ble are called.
In the past history of mankind, the great possessions and the great incomes, as a general rule, have not been in the hands of humble and penitent men. In the great centres of trade and commerce,--in Venice, Amsterdam, Paris, London,--it is the world and not the people of G.o.d who have had the purse, and have borne what is put therein. Satan is described in Scripture, as the "prince of this world" (John xiv. 30); and his words addressed to the Son of G.o.d are true: "All this power and glory is delivered unto me, and to whomsoever I will, I give it." In the parable from which we are discoursing, the sinful man was the rich man, and the child of G.o.d was the beggar. And how often do we see, in every-day life, a faithful, prayerful, upright, and pure-minded man, toiling in poverty, and so far as earthly comforts are concerned enjoying little or nothing, while a selfish, pleasure-seeking, and profligate man is immersed in physical comforts and luxuries. The former is receiving evil things, and the latter is receiving good things, in this life.
Again, how often it happens that a fine physical const.i.tution, health, strength, and vigor, are given to the worldling, and are denied to the child of G.o.d. The possession of worldly good is greatly enhanced in value, by a fine capability of enjoying it. When therefore we see wealth joined, with health, and luxury in all the surroundings and appointments combined with taste to appreciate them and a full flow of blood to enjoy them, or access to wide and influential circles, in politics and fashion, given to one who is well fitted by personal qualities to move in them,--when we see a happy adaptation existing between the man and his good fortune, as we call it,--we see not only the "good things," but the "good things" in their gayest and most attractive forms and colors. And how often is all this observed in the instance of the natural man; and how often is there little or none of this in the instance of the spiritual man. We by no means imply, that it is impossible for the possessor of this world"s goods to love mercy, to do justly, and to walk humbly; and we are well aware that under the garb of poverty and toil there may beat a murmuring and rebellious heart. But we think that from generation to generation, in this imperfect and probationary world, it will be found to be a fact, that when _merely_ earthly and physical good is allotted in large amounts by the providence of G.o.d; that when great incomes and ample means of luxury are given; in the majority of instances they are given to the enemies of G.o.d, and not to His dear children. So the Psalmist seems to have thought. "I was envious,"--he says,--"when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. For there are no bands in their death; but their strength is firm. They are not in trouble as other men; neither are they plagued like other men. Therefore pride compa.s.seth them about as a chain; violence covereth them as a garment. Their eyes stand out with fatness; they have more than heart could wish. Behold these are the _unG.o.dly_ who prosper in the world; they increase in riches. Verily _I_ have cleansed my heart in vain, and washed my hands in innocency. For all day long have _I_ been plagued, and chastened every morning" (Ps.
lxxiii). And it should be carefully noticed, that the Psalmist, even after further reflection, does not _alter_ his statement respecting the relative positions of the G.o.dly and the unG.o.dly in this world. He sees no reason to correct his estimate, upon this point. He lets it stand. So far as this merely _physical_ existence is concerned, the wicked man has the advantage. It is only when the Psalmist looks _beyond_ this life, that he sees the compensation, and the balancing again of the scales of eternal right and justice. "When I thought to know this,"--when I reflected upon this inequality, and apparent injustice, in the treatment of the friends and the enemies of G.o.d,--"it was too painful for me, until I went into the sanctuary of G.o.d,"--until I took my stand in the _eternal_ world, and formed my estimate there,--"_then_ understood I their end. Surely thou didst set them in slippery places: thou castedst them down to destruction. How are they brought into desolation as in a moment! They are utterly consumed with terrors." Dives pa.s.ses from his fine linen and sumptuous fare, from his excessive physical enjoyment, to everlasting perdition.
II. In the second place, the worldly man _derives more enjoyment from sin, and suffers less from it_, in this life, than does the child of G.o.d.
The really renewed man cannot _enjoy_ sin. It is true that he does sin, owing to the strength of old habits, and the remainders of his corruption. But he does not really delight in it; and he says with St.
Paul: "What I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I." His sin is a sorrow, a constant sorrow, to him. He feels its pressure and burden all his days, and cries: "O wretched man, who shall deliver me from the body of this death." If he falls into it, he cannot live in it; as a man may fall into water, but it is not his natural element.
Again, the good man not only takes no real delight in sin, but his reflections after transgression are very painful. He has a tender conscience. His senses have been trained and disciplined to discern good and evil. Hence, the sins that are committed by a child of G.o.d are mourned over with a very deep sorrow. The longer he lives, the more odious does sin become to him, and the more keen and bitter is his lamentation over it. Now this, in itself, is an "evil thing." Man was not made for sorrow, and sorrow is not his natural condition. This wearisome struggle with indwelling corruption, these reproaches of an impartial conscience, this sense of imperfection and of constant failure in the service of G.o.d,--all this renders the believer"s life on earth a season of trial, and tribulation. The thought of its lasting forever would be painful to him; and if he should be told that it is the will of G.o.d, that he should continue to be vexed and foiled through all eternity, with the motions of sin in his members, and that his love and obedience would forever be imperfect, though he would be thankful that even this was granted him, and that he was not utterly cast off, yet he would wear a shaded brow, at the prospect of an imperfect, though a sincere and a struggling eternity.
But the unG.o.dly are not so. The worldly man loves sin; loves pleasure; loves self. And the love is so strong, and accompanied with so much enjoyment and zest, that it is _l.u.s.t_, and is so denominated in the Bible. And if you would only defend him from the wrath of G.o.d; if you would warrant him immunity in doing as he likes; if you could shelter him as in an inaccessible castle from the retributions of eternity; with what a delirium of pleasure would he plunge into the sin that he loves. Tell the avaricious man, that his avarice shall never have any evil consequences here or hereafter; and with what an energy would he apply himself to the acquisition of wealth. Tell the luxurious man, full of pa.s.sion and full of blood, that his pleasures shall never bring down any evil upon him, that there is no power in the universe that can hurt him, and with what an abandonment would he surrender himself to his carnal elysium. Tell the ambitious man, fired with visions of fame and glory, that he may banish all fears of a final account, that he may make himself his own deity, and breathe in the incense of worshipers, without any rebuke from Him who says: "I am G.o.d, and my glory I will not give to another,"-a.s.sure the proud and ambitious man that his sin will never find him out, and with what a momentum will he follow out his inclination.
For, in each of these instances there is a _hankering_ and a _l.u.s.t_. The sin is _loved and revelled in_, for its own deliciousness. The heart is worldly, and therefore finds its pleasure in its forbidden objects and aims. The instant you propose to check or thwart this inclination; the instant you try to detach this natural heart from its wealth, or its pleasure, or its earthly fame; you discover how closely it clings, and how strongly it loves, and how intensely it enjoys the forbidden object.
Like the greedy insect in our gardens, it has fed until every fibre and tissue is colored with its food; and to remove it from the leaf is to tear and lacerate it.
Now it is for this reason, that the natural man receives "good things,"
or experiences pleasure, in this life, at a point where the spiritual man receives "evil things," or experiences pain. The child of G.o.d does not relish and enjoy sin in this style. Sin in the good man is a burden; but in the bad man it is a pleasure. It is all the pleasure he has. And when you propose to take it away from him, or when you ask him to give it up of his own accord, he looks at you and asks: "Will you take away the only solace I have? I have no joy in G.o.d. I take no enjoyment in divine things. Do you ask me to make myself wholly miserable?"
And not only does the natural man enjoy sin, but, in this life, he is much less troubled than is the spiritual man with reflections and self-reproaches on account of sin. This is another of the "good things"
which Dives receives, for which he must be "tormented;" and this is another of the "evil things" which Lazarus receives, for which he must be "comforted." It cannot be denied, that in this world the child of G.o.d suffers more mental sorrow for sin, in a given period of time, than does the insensible man of the world. If we could look into the soul of a faithful disciple of Christ, we should discover that not a day pa.s.ses, in which his conscience does not reproach him for sins of thought, word, or deed; in which he does not struggle with some bosom sin, until he is so weary that he cries out: "Oh that I had wings like a dove, so that I might fly away, and be at rest." Some of the most exemplary members of the Church go mourning from day to day, because their hearts are still so far from their G.o.d and Saviour, and their lives fall so far short of what they desire them to be.[2] Their experience is not a positively wretched one, like that of an unforgiven sinner when he is feeling the stings of conscience. They are forgiven. The expiating blood has soothed the ulcerated conscience, so that it no longer stings and burns. They have hope in G.o.d"s mercy. Still, they are in grief and sorrow for sin; and their experience, in so far, is not a perfectly happy one, such as will ultimately be their portion in a better world. "If in this life only,"--says St. Paul,--"we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable" (1 Cor. xv. 19).
But the stupid and impenitent man, a luxurious Dives, knows nothing of all this. His days glide by with no twinges of conscience. What does he know of the burden of sin? His conscience is dead asleep; perchance seared as with a hot iron. He does wrong without any remorse; he disobeys the express commands of G.o.d, without any misgivings or self-reproach. He is "alive, without the law,"-as St. Paul expresses it. His eyes stand out with fatness; and his heart, in the Psalmist"s phrase, "is as fat as grease" (Ps. cxix. 70). There is no religious sensibility in him. His sin is a pleasure to him without any mixture of sorrow, because unattended by any remorse of conscience. He is receiving his "good things" in this life. His days pa.s.s by without any moral anxiety, and perchance as he looks upon some meek and earnest disciple of Christ who is battling with indwelling sin, and who, therefore, sometimes wears a grave countenance, he wonders that any one should walk so soberly, so gloomily, in such a cheery, such a happy, such a jolly world as this.
It is a startling fact, that those men in this world who have most reason to be distressed by sin are the least troubled by it; and those who have the least reason to be distressed are the most troubled by it. The child of G.o.d is the one who sorrows most; and the child of Satan is the one who sorrows least. Remember that we are speaking only of _this_ life. The text reads: "Thou _in thy lifetime_ receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things." And it is unquestionably so. The meek and lowly disciple of Christ, the one who is most ent.i.tled by his character and conduct to be untroubled by religious anxiety, is the very one who bows his head as a bulrush, and perhaps goes mourning all his days, fearing that he is not accepted, and that he shall be a cast-a-way; while the selfish and thoroughly irreligious man, who ought to be stung through and through by his own conscience, and feel the full energy of the law which he is continually breaking,--this man, who of all men ought to be anxious and distressed for sin, goes through a whole lifetime, perchance, without any convictions or any fears.
And now we ask, if this state of things ought to last forever? Is it right, is it just, that sin should enjoy in this style forever and forever, and that holiness should grieve and sorrow in this style forevermore? Would you have the Almighty pay a bounty upon unrighteousness, and place goodness under eternal pains and penalties?
Ought not this state of things to be reversed? When Dives comes to the end of this lifetime; when he has run his round of earthly pleasure, faring sumptuously every day, clothed in purple and fine linen, without a thought of his duties and obligations, and without any anxiety and penitence for his sins,--when this worldly man has received all his "good things," and is satiated and hardened by them, ought he not then to be "tormented?" Ought this guilty carnal enjoyment to be perpetuated through all eternity, under the government of a righteous and just G.o.d? And, on the other hand, ought not the faithful disciple, who, perhaps, has possessed little or nothing of this world"s goods, who has toiled hard, in poverty, in affliction, in temptation, in tribulation, and sometimes like Abraham in the horror of a great darkness, to keep his robes white, and his soul unspotted from the world,--when the poor and weary Lazarus comes to the end of this lifetime, ought not his trials and sorrows to cease? ought he not then to be "comforted" in the bosom of Abraham, in the paradise of G.o.d? There is that within us all, which answers, Yea, and Amen. Such a balancing of the scales is a.s.sented to, and demanded by the moral convictions. Hence, in the parable, Dives himself is represented as acquiescing in the eternal judgment. He does not complain of injustice.