THE RELIGIOUS PARTY.
There was at Mr. Stevens's a select but not a large party. The conversation was of a desultory nature till after tea, when Miss Roscoe was requested to favour the company with a little music. She seated herself at the piano, and sung the following hymn with considerable effect:
"O my Lord, I've often mused
On thy wondrous love to me;
How I have the same abused,
Slighted, disregarded Thee!
"To thy church and Thee a stranger;
Pleas'd with what displeased Thee;
Lost, yet could perceive no danger;
Wounded, yet no wound could see.
"But, unwearied, Thou pursu'dst me;
Still thy calls repeated came,
Till on Calvary's mount I view'd Thee,
Bearing my reproach and blame.
"Then o'erwhelmed with shame and sorrow,
Whilst I view each pierced limb,
Tears bedew the scourge's furrow,
Mingling with the purple stream.
"I no more at Mary wonder,
Dropping tears upon the grave—
Earnest asking all around her,
Where is he who died to save?
"Dying love her heart attracted,
Soon she felt its rising pow'r;
He who Mary thus affected,
Bids his mourners weep no more."
"I scarcely know which to admire most," said Mrs. Stevens, "the air or the hymn itself; there is plaintive melancholy in the music which accords with my feelings, and an exquisite delicacy in some of the expressions of the hymn, which I greatly like. How touching the allusion to our former state of indifference and insensibility! How correct the beautiful reference to the moral efficacy of the Saviour's death in exciting sorrow for sin! But the last stanza, in my opinion, is the most soothing and consolatory—
'He who Mary thus affected,
Bids his mourners weep no more.'"
"It is a favourite hymn of mine," observed Mr. Lewellin; "and the last stanza, to which you refer, brings to my recollection the lines of Cowper:—
'But with a soul that ever felt the sting
Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing.'
But no sorrow is so deep and pungent as that which the mind usually feels when pierced by the convictions of guilt; and yet there is a sacredness in the passion which distinguishes it from unmingled anguish or grief. When first excited, it often occasions deep mental depression; but when relief is obtained, by a clear perception of the way of salvation through faith in the death of Jesus Christ, it is turned into a spring of grateful joy."
"But the generality of professing Christians," said Miss Roscoe, "scornfully reject those religious sentiments which commence their moral operations by inflicting pain in the mind. They are religious, but their religious opinions are not permitted to excite either the passion of sorrow or of joy; and as soon as a person begins to feel what he believes, he is denounced a fanatic."
"Yes," replied Mr. Lewellin, "when a person begins to feel the moral efficacy of the truth, he is regarded by many as falling into a state of idiotcy, or rising to a pitch of frenzy. We may feel the charm of music, but not the charm of devotional sentiment; we may be depressed when we give offence to an endeared friend, but a recollection of our transgressions against our Father who is in heaven must occasion no regret; the imagination may be delighted by captivating scenery, but not with the sublime visions of future bliss. No! An excitement which takes its rise in such causes is considered by the semi-Christians of the present age as a certain indication of a disordered intellect or degenerated taste."
"The veil of ignorance," observed the Rev. Mr. Guion, "which is thrown over the mind of the unregenerate, renders them incapable of forming any clear perceptions of the nature or design of the gospel. They reduce the whole of religion to a human arrangement, which merely requires an external homage to an established formula; and conclude that after they have uttered the solemn responses of the Liturgy, listened to the sermon which the clergyman delivers, and taken the sacrament, they have discharged the whole of their duty towards God; and as they have no clear perceptions of revealed truth, they cannot have any powerful religious impressions. Their heart is as cold during the service as the marble slab which bears down to succeeding generations the names of the deceased of past ages; and as they never feel deep sorrow for sin, nor ardent love for an unseen Redeemer, we ought not to be astonished if they treat with contempt the excitement of such emotions in the breast of others."
"Certainly not," replied Miss Roscoe; "I very well recollect being much surprised when I accidentally heard a little girl singing the following verse of a hymn, which I now much admire:—
''Tis religion that can give
Sweetest pleasures while we live;
'Tis religion must supply
Solid comforts when we die.'
I was quite incapable of conceiving how religion could give pleasure. I compared a religious service with a concert; and while the recollection of the one produced a pleasant feeling, the other appeared dull and insipid. I compared a Sabbath-day with another day, and regretted that custom had set it apart for observances which were repugnant to my taste. If I went to church, I felt no interest in the service; and if I stayed away, I was unconscious of having sustained any loss of mental improvement or enjoyment."
"But I presume," said Mr. Lewellin, "that now you can trace the connection between religion and pleasure."
"Yes, Sir; there is an inseparable connection between the influence of religious truth on the heart, and the highest degree of mental enjoyment; it brings the soul into a new world of being, where objects, unseen by the natural eye, disclose their beauties; and truths, unfelt by the unrenewed mind, excite a joy which is unspeakable. Now I can understand the Scriptures; the Saviour is invested with overpowering charms, and the futurity which stretches beyond the grave, presents a clear and spacious scene of bliss to my imagination."
"How naturally," observed Mr. Guion, "the mind of an enlightened Christian associates the hope of future happiness with the name of the Redeemer. How cheering and animating to believe that after the sorrows and turmoils of this life have ceased, we shall enter into rest. What a scene of sublime grandeur will open on us then, enkindling emotions of astonishment and joyous delight infinitely beyond any ever previously felt!"
"I admit," said Mr. Lewellin, "that the external beauties of the heavenly world will impart a high degree of delight, but the society of the place will constitute the chief source of felicity. We shall behold the Son of God seated on his throne of majesty and grace. He is the perfection of beauty, and his form is as glorious as his nature is pure. What an impression will be produced when we see him face to face!"
"I love," said Mrs. Stevens, "to think of heaven as the dwelling-place of my Redeemer. The very anticipation of the first interview with him whom unseen I love and adore, excites a feeling in my soul, rich in all that is sacred and delightful. I have, it is true, many ties which bind me to earth, yet there are seasons when I can sing the ardent language of the poet without a faltering accent—
'Where Jesus dwells my soul would be,
And faints my glorious Lord to see;
Earth, twine no more about my heart,
For 'tis far better to depart.'"
I had as yet taken no part in the conversation, but this reference to Jesus Christ now living in the celestial world, led me to remark that the sufferings he endured when on earth were a decisive proof that he came to accomplish some wonderful ulterior design. We know, from the testimony of the Word of God, that there are beings in heaven of divers rank and order; but from what has taken place, and what is still taking place in the economy of the Divine procedure, we find that a new order of beings is to be called into existence, and one which is to take precedence of all others—to stand out conspicuously for the admiration of all worlds, as the most marvellous specimens of the creating power of God. But instead of putting forth his creative power, as when the angelic orders were called into existence, the Lord Jesus himself, in human form, comes into the dark and wicked world, and, out of the most impure elements, moulds a people for himself, whom he will acknowledge as his brethren, and to whom the angels of God are to act for ever as ministering spirits.
Mr. Lewellin replied: "We are accustomed to say that the facts of real life are often more startling and surprising than the wildest conceptions of romance, but the fact to which you have just given such a prominency is one which must have taken all beings, of all worlds, by surprise; the lowest and the meanest in the scale of intelligence, if not the most polluted and the most vile, are advanced, through the condescending grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, to stand at the head of the intelligent creation of God."
"Then," said Miss Roscoe, "to be a redeemed sinner, when the ulterior purpose of Jesus Christ is actually accomplished in us, will be regarded as a nobler mark of distinction than to be an archangel."
"Yes, the angels of God are the servants of the celestial establishment, but redeemed sinners are the sons of God, fashioned like unto the glorious form of Jesus Christ himself, each one being the express image of Jehovah's person."
An allusion having been made to the impression which must have been made on the minds of the apostles when gazing on the ascension of Jesus Christ, I mentioned that I had recently heard an intimate friend give a graphic description of the scene, in a discourse delivered in his own chapel, and, at my request, he was kind enough to give me a copy of it. As it bore an emphatic relation to the subject of our conversation, I then read it to the party:—
"When going with his apostles from Jerusalem to Bethany, he stops, and stops somewhat abruptly, as though under the impulse of some new thought—they also stop; and when he lifts up his hands, they gather around him; he speaks—they listen with fixed eagerness of attention; he blesses them, though in what form of expression we are not told; they feel the power of his blessing diffusing through their soul an indescribable sensation of calm and ecstatic joy; still looking on him with intense earnestness, at once expressive of their confidence and their love, they suddenly see a movement, and are startled, but not affrighted; he moves, he rises above them, and enters a trackless pathway, on which no one but himself could tread; he is parted from them, gradually ascending higher and higher, till at length a bright cloud receives him, and he disappears out of their sight. They are petrified to the spot, not by terror, but amazement; no one speaks—all instinctively feel that the spot is too hallowed for sounds of human utterance. Two messengers from the celestial world break the silence of ecstatic wonder, saying, 'Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven.' The apostles bow in reverential awe, and on the spot on which he stood before he was parted from them, they kneel down and worship him, and then return to Jerusalem with great joy.
"With what raptures did the celestial spirits hail his return, and with what joyful awe did they witness his re-investure with the glory he had with the Father before the world was. A new and never-to-be-forgotten era in the annals of immortality is now begun; the new dispensation of mediatorial grace and love, for which the events of four thousand years had been a preparation, is now established; inaugurated into his office as a king and a priest on his throne, he presents to the joyous spectators the first redeemed sinner brought from earth to grace his triumphs. And who is selected for this novel manifestation of his power and his love? A man of genius? a man of rank? a man of Platonic virtue or of Socratic fame? No: a man of crime! who but a few days before was hanging on a cross of infamy and torture, reviling him who is now presenting him faultless before the presence of the Most High, amidst the praises of myriads of celestial spirits. What a wondrous scene!"
"Yes," said Mr. Guion, "that is a scene I should like to have beheld, but the resurrection will surpass it in awful grandeur; and this we shall all see."
This animating conversation excited a degree of feeling which I am not able to describe. Every countenance beamed with delight, and even Miss Denham, who had been a mere listener, manifested an interest in it which I was rather surprised to witness. At length Mr. Stevens rang the bell, when the servants entered the parlour, and Mr. Guion, after reading a portion of the Scriptures, engaged in prayer. He was solemn and devout, and though no visions of glory were seen, nor any supernatural voices heard, yet the Divine presence was eminently enjoyed, and we rose from our knees and sang—
"The world knows nothing of the joys
That Christian fellowship supplies;
Enamour'd of their glitt'ring toys,
Our hopes seem nothing in their eyes.
"But we can witness what we know,
And speak aloud, nor care who hears;
Our joys from heavenly sources flow,
And would be ill exchanged for theirs.
"We envy not the great and wise;
We count ourselves more blest than they:
We're taught their honours to despise,
And from their joys to turn away.
"'Twill soon appear who serve the Lord,
And who are they who serve him not:
Then let us hold his faithful word,
And ours will be a glorious lot."
On resuming our seats, Mrs. Stevens said: "I think that all the pleasures of religion are not reserved for another world. There are some which we may partake of in this, and one of the most gratifying is the pleasure of doing good to others."
She then read to us a letter she had received from an aged Dissenting minister, who had a large family and a very limited income, imploring her generous assistance to enable him to extricate himself from some pecuniary embarrassments.
"I am a clergyman," said Mr. Guion, "and feel no disposition to leave the church, but I know how to respect a Dissenting minister, and to sympathize with him in his afflictions. But this good man wants something more than sympathy, and I feel thankful that it is in my power to offer it."
"I have already collected a few pounds," said Mrs. Stevens, "which, with the addition of your liberal donation, will be a very acceptable present."
"The charity of bigotry," said Mr. Lewellin, "is restricted in its sympathies, and, like the Levite, will pass by the sufferer if he belong to another denomination, without extending relief; but the benevolence of the gospel, like the good Samaritan, asks no invidious questions, weeps with them that weep, and rejoices with them that rejoice, and rising to an elevation which renders the landmarks of religious distinctions invisible, pours down its charities upon all who are in trouble."
"I assure you, Sir," replied Mr. Guion, "that as I advance in life and become more imbued with the love of the truth, I feel an increasing attachment to real Christians of every denomination, particularly the faithful ministers of Jesus Christ. When I first took orders I was a first-rate bigot; I resolved to have nothing to do with Dissenters. I despised them. I contemned our venerable friend Mr. Ingleby for his liberality, and refused to associate with him because he associated with some pious Dissenters. I thought that as they left the church they should be banished from all intercourse with our society; and such was the degree of my hostility towards them, that it would have given me pleasure to have seen them sent to some distant colony, where they could live by themselves. But since it hath pleased God to call me out of the darkness of ignorance in which I was involved, into his marvellous light, and shed abroad his love in my soul by the power of the Holy Ghost, I have cherished the pure benevolence of the gospel, and now recognize all as fellow-heirs of the grace of life who bear the image and breathe the spirit of Jesus Christ."
"I think," said Mr. Stevens, "that the spirit of bigotry is decidedly antichristian, as it separates those from each other who are redeemed by the precious blood of Christ, and it has a natural tendency to excite strong aversion in the minds of unbelievers against religion; hence we ought to watch and pray, lest we should be imperceptibly injured by it."
"But do you think," said Miss Roscoe, "that it is possible for a real Christian to possess an atom of bigotry?"
"An atom!" exclaimed Mr. Lewellin, "I know some who are enslaved by it."
"What! and Christians?" said Miss Roscoe.
"Yes."
"Indeed! I should have thought it impossible. But you would not adduce their bigotry as an evidence of their personal religion?"
"O no, it is an evidence of their personal weakness."
"From such a spirit, Sir, I hope we shall ever be preserved. I would shun it as much for its meanness as I do for its malignity; and look on it as a demon who destroys the harmony which ought to prevail among all who rest their hope in Christ."