THE TRACTARIAN AT FAULT.
Soon after the Rev. Mr. Roscoe and his lady returned home, Miss Roscoe received the following letter from her aunt:—
"My Dear Sophia,—We are again at home, and in good health; but before I say anything about home, I will give you a short account of the adventures of our journey. We had, for nearly half the distance, two gentlemen for our fellow-travellers—one a Roman Catholic, the other a Protestant—whom I shall call Mr. O'Brian and Mr. Robertson. Mr. O'Brian was a very demure-looking man, with a large head, overhanging brows, and strongly marked with a severe yet self-complacent expression. On taking his seat, he at once opened a newspaper and commenced reading. At length, having wearied himself by the intensity of his reading, or having exhausted the subject matter of his paper, he folded it up, put it on his knee, took off his spectacles, and then placing them cautiously in an elegant silver case, he slightly changed his position, and appeared equally intent in looking at the varied beauties of nature.
"Mr. Robertson requested that he would favour him with the use of the paper. The favour was granted in silence, and with a somewhat haughty bow.
"Mr. Robertson, who sat opposite me, was an interesting and intelligent-looking man, with a bold, yet rather facetious-looking countenance; while reading, I was much struck with his appearance, his features underwent such frequent and rapid changes of expression. It seemed to me that he had met with something which alternately amused his fancy and roused his ire. The paper, I should tell you, was from the Roman Catholic press, and contained some marvellous tales, the description of some gorgeous ecclesiastical ceremonies, and a Jesuitical defence of the Catholic clergy, on whom the editor lavished many praises, for their active benevolence and their earnestness in the grand work of saving the people.
"On returning the paper, Mr. Robertson said, 'I greatly dislike these marvellous tales, because I think them legendary inventions; and I greatly dislike these pompous ceremonies, because they do not harmonize with the beautiful simplicity of the religion of the New Testament; and though I have no doubt but some of your priests are men of active benevolence, yet I do not think they have any more power to save the people than any other men.'
DISCUSSION IN THE STAGE COACH.
Vol. i. page 422.
"'Perhaps, Sir,' said Mr. O'Brian, 'you are what in common parlance we call an unbeliever.'
"'No, Sir, I am not; I believe in the plenary inspiration and absolute authority of the Bible; but I have no faith in the infallibility or divinely delegated power of any order of priesthood; pure sham pretensions, Sir.'
"'But, Sir, our priests are the regular successors of the apostles.'
"'They may be, but what then? Do you mean to imply, in this category of their descent, that they are endowed with the same power and authority as the apostles?'
"'Most certainly I do.'
"'Indeed! that is claiming a good deal of what is superhuman. The apostles had power to work miracles; but do these priests of yours ever do such a thing as open the eyes of a blind man, or raise a dead man to life.'
"'No, Sir, they do not pretend to do such things. The power and authority which is delegated to them is spiritual; to act not on matter but on mind; to remit or retain its sins.'
"'The apostles never possessed this spiritual power, or if they did, they never exercised it.'
"'I beg your pardon, Sir, but you are mistaken.'
"'To the law and the testimony; specify one case in which any one of the apostles ever ventured on forgiving any man his sins.'
"'I have not my New Testament with me, or I could prove the truth of what I say.'
"'I know all the facts of the New Testament, and if you will only refer to any one case, I will give it to you with all its details.'
"No reply.
"'No, Sir; the apostles always directed the attention of the guilty, for the remission of their sins, to God, seated on a throne of grace; or directly to Jesus Christ, as a Saviour mighty to save. I certainly will give your priests the credit of acting a very cunning part in one particular, relating to the possession of apostolic powers.'
"'A very cunning part, Sir! in what particular?'
"'Why, the apostles proved that they had power to work visible miracles; but this power your priests lay no claim to, because, if they did, they would be challenged to the proof; but they claim an authority to forgive sins (after certain cash payments are made), which authority the apostles never exercised; and when they are asked for a proof that they possess it, they have none to offer except their own fallible testimony. However, their deluded devotees very meekly hand over the cash, which the priest very gravely pockets, reminding me of the Ephesian jugglers, who said, in justification of their zeal for the great goddess Diana, "Sirs, ye know that by this craft we have our living." This, Sir, is worse than mere sham; it is a daring usurpation of the Divine prerogative, which is no less than an act of blasphemy; for who can forgive sins but God only?'
"No reply.
"When Mr. O'Brian left us, his place was filled up by an elderly man, the most profane person I ever travelled with. I watched the changing countenance of Mr. Robertson, the rapid contraction and distention of his brow, his intent and eager look of indignation. Availing himself of a short pause, he said, with a very stern look, and in an authoritative tone, 'If, Sir, you have no reverence for God, I hope you will pay some respect to a lady, and leave off such profane, disgusting utterances.'
"'I suppose, Sir, you are a believer in the Bible?'
"'I am, Sir.'
"'I am not. I don't believe that God takes any notice of what we say or do.'
"'It is very possible, Sir, you may feel the full force of your belief at some future period of your history.'
"'You speak ambiguously; will you explain your meaning?'
"'Why, Sir, it is possible you may feel, when dying, what the generality of your profane fraternity feel—intense remorse and some awful forebodings—and may, as they have often done, cry aloud for mercy; and then you may be made to feel that God takes no notice of what you say or do.'
"'I don't believe in a futurity; I no more expect to live after death comes, than I expect my dead dog to live again, or that a rotten cabbage-stalk will spring up into vegetable life again.'
"'Well, Sir, if you choose to die like a dog, or rot like a cabbage stump, you will permit me to say that I don't admire your taste.'
"'I defy you to prove that I shall live after I am dead.'
"'You need not defy me to do that, for I assure you I have no wish to do so; and really the sooner such profane beings go out of existence the better; if not for their own sakes, yet certainly for the sake of others.'
"This last stroke of caustic severity struck the evil spirit dumb, and he left us very soon after.
"Your uncle took no notice of any occurrence during the whole of the journey; he entered into no conversation, but appeared deeply absorbed in his own thoughts, and since his return he very rarely leaves his study, except for his meals, and these he often takes in almost total silence. An incident occurred on Saturday week, which, when viewed in connection with the strange alteration of his habits and manners, induces me to hope that his religious opinions, like my own, are undergoing a decided change. He said to me, 'I shall read the service to-morrow, and my curate shall preach;' assigning as the reason for such an unusual arrangement, that he could not select a sermon to his mind; adding, 'I must get a new set.' What spiritual influence that visit is now exerting over him, time alone will show; but as it relates to myself, I assure you, my dear Sophia, I shall never forget it; and I hope the vivid impressions of the superlative importance of personal piety which I received, will never become obliterated. The idea which most forcibly struck me was one which came out incidentally at our interview with the excellent Mrs. Stevens—that genuine religion was a source of mental bliss; it takes its rise in the heart, and brings us into contact with a living Saviour. As soon as this grand idea took possession of my mind, I saw the absurdity, and I may say the impiety of deifying the ceremonies of religion, by ascribing a regenerating power to baptism, an absolving power to confirmation, and a saving power to the priesthood of any church. O! how often have I uttered, in conjunction with others, when in church, the following prayer: 'O God the Son, Redeemer of the world, have mercy upon us, miserable sinners.' But I never felt myself a miserable sinner till now. I never felt the need of mercy till now. I uttered the prayer quite mechanically, not from the heart; but now I feel its appropriateness and its urgent necessity; and I begin to hope he will have mercy on me and on my dear husband.
"You are aware that my sister, who is an eminently devout woman, is also a Dissenter; and hitherto, when she has visited us, we have felt some objection to her staying over the Sunday, because, having no sympathy with your uncle's style of preaching, she could not go with us to church; and we both felt a reluctance to tolerate an inmate of the rectory going to a Dissenting chapel. But the other evening, when alluding to her expected visit, he said to me, 'I hope she will remain with us some weeks; and I see no good reason why we should object to her attending the Dissenting chapel, as we know she prefers it. The apostle commands us to be courteous; and hence we must not suffer any of our ecclesiastical antipathies or predilections to set aside the law of Christian politeness.' This first budding of liberality was hailed by me with more delight than we feel when gathering the first snow-drop of spring; in itself a proof that our visit has thawed away the ice-bound antipathies of a frigid ecclesiastical formalism. Remember me most affectionately to your papa and mamma, and believe me to be, my dear Sophia, your most affectionate aunt,
"A. R."
Soon after receiving this letter, Miss Roscoe wrote to her aunt, in the following terms:—
"My Dear Aunt,—Yours of the 14th more than delighted us; it excited our gratitude to the Author of all good desires and all holy counsels; and both mamma and papa have consented that I should come to you as soon as I can conveniently get ready. I often prayed, while you were with us, that your visit might prove a spiritual blessing to us all; and I now indulge the hope that the Lord is answering my prayers. To see you and my dear uncle moving out of dull, monotonous formality, into newness of life, and to hail you as fellow-heirs of the grace of life, will be indeed the consummation of bliss. With united affection to you and yours,
"Sophia."
The Rev. Mr. Roscoe had not preached for many Sundays, leaving this part of his clerical duties to be performed by his curate; and one evening, when in conversation with his family, he made a communication that startled them. Alluding to the discussions which had taken place at his brother's mansion, he said, "They have altogether unfitted me for my ministerial functions. I cannot preach now, for I do not know what to preach. I am compelled to renounce my former belief, and I see no alternative but to adopt the evangelical faith; and yet I do not clearly understand it. It is at present enveloped in a thick mist, which may possibly clear off as I pursue my inquiries; and yet I scarcely know how to pursue them. However, I have decided on one important step, which I have no doubt will startle many, and may bring upon me some opprobrium, and that is, I have engaged an evangelical preacher to succeed my present curate, who leaves next Sunday, having obtained preferment. My new curate may prove to me a counsellor and a guide." The effect of this unexpected announcement was electrical, and some tears were shed, as an homage of gratitude to the God of all grace.
"I hope, Sir," said Mrs. Burder, "the Divine Spirit is gently leading you out of the darkness of theological error, into the marvellous light of pure, evangelical truth; and though for a while a thick mist of obscurity may envelope some parts of its harmonious theory, yet if you follow on to know the Lord, the pathway of your inquiry will become clearer and brighter, till in the progress of time you will comprehend, by practical experience of its power, what the apostle designates the height and the depth, the breadth and the length of the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge; and then you will have both joy and peace in believing."
"It will, indeed," said Mrs. Roscoe, "be a delight to my soul to hear pure evangelical truth proclaimed in our church, in which a cold and frigid Tractarianism, which I never very well liked, has long been in the ascendant."
"And to hear it proclaimed by my dear uncle," said Miss Roscoe, "will be as joyous to my heart as the coming up of John the Baptist out of the wilderness, proclaiming the speedy appearance of the Messiah, was to the devout Jews, who were waiting for the consolation of Israel."
"Your father, my dear Sophia, has been the means of effecting a thorough revolution in my theological opinions and belief; but had there not been another power presiding over our discussions, more powerful than his cogent arguments, my haughty spirit would never have yielded to him the palm of victory. Yes, and I am not ashamed to avow it, 'by the grace of God I am what I am.' I have always loved my brother as my brother, but now, henceforth, I shall love and revere him, as my spiritual father in Christ."
"Do you recollect, uncle, what part of the discussion made the first and the deepest impression against your Tractarianism, and in favour of evangelical truth?"
"Yes; I felt staggered by the case of Simon Magus,[19] as a self-evident proof that baptism is not regeneration. The argument rising out of the possible loss[20] of a parish register I felt to be very powerful. I was also, more than once during our debates, very solemnly impressed by your father's serious and intense earnestness; but one expression he uttered, when replying to some observations of your aunt, went to the core of my heart, and I could not extract it."
"Do you recollect the expression?" said Miss Roscoe.
"Yes, and its accompaniments, and the long train of reflections it gave rise to. It was this:—'All false religions take man as he is, and leave him essentially the same; but in genuine religion the man changes,'[A] and I saw an illustration and confirmation of this in your papa. I recollected the time when he was as decided a Tractarian as myself, equally averse to evangelical truth, and more intolerant in his spirit against others. The conversion of Saul of Tarsus did not excite more astonishment amongst the Jews and the disciples of Christ, than I felt at the change which had taken place in my brother. In him I saw a living proof that the man changes,[21] and I saw also that the change brought him into a nearer spiritual conformity to the primitive disciples of Jesus Christ. Then the emphatic exclamation of your aunt helped on this new process of thinking and feeling, and my spirit instinctively responded to the truthfulness of her utterance, 'I must have the religion of principle—that of mere form has no life; it does not bring me into contact with a living Saviour.'"
"I often felt," said Mrs. John Roscoe, addressing her niece, "when associating with your friends, that I was with persons of a new order, very diverse in spirit and in style of speech to our Tractarian neighbours,—advocates for the same ecclesiastical ceremonies, but regarding them merely as the external medium for the conveyance of Divine truth and grace to the mind; not magnifying them, as endowed with any mysterious, self-contained power to operate by their own immediate agency. But the point of difference which struck me most forcibly, was their constant reference to the absolute necessity of a supernatural renovation of the soul, and the infusion of a new and spiritual life."
"And, my dear aunt, was this the only point of difference which you discerned between us and your Tractarian friends?"
"O no. Perhaps if I refer to a passage in a sermon which I heard the venerable Mr. Ingleby preach, it will give you an idea of the other point of difference I perceived. It was contained in a sermon from John iii. 14, 15, and was to this effect: Jesus Christ stands in the same relation to us which the elevated brazen serpent did to the bitten Israelites—every one who looked to it was healed. We, as sinners, are thus addressed: 'Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth; for I am God, and there is none else' (Isa. xlv. 22). 'You are not,' he said, with intense earnestness, 'to look to your virtues for salvation, nor are you to look to your religious ceremonies for salvation; but you are to look to Jesus Christ, symbolized by the brazen serpent of the Hebrew camp, a living Saviour, and one mighty to save.' This was a beautiful passage, beautiful from its simplicity and its adaptation to our condition. I have been baptized, confirmed, have taken the sacrament many times, and have passed through the entire process of ecclesiastical training, but I now find I am not spiritually regenerated, and that I need a Saviour just as much as any unbaptized heathen."
"Tractarians," said Miss Roscoe, "neither deny nor repudiate Jesus Christ; they maintain his original dignity, and often depict, in strongly exciting language, his humiliation and his sufferings. They also extol him as the perfection of moral dignity, combined with personal excellencies of the purest order; but they do not give to him that prominence as a Saviour mighty to save, which the inspired writers and which the evangelical clergy give to him. His substitutional work they virtually reject, as we do the legend of baptismal regeneration. He is, in their ecclesiastical domain, more as the spectre of the Christian faith, moving silently in dim twilight amongst its established forms and lifeless ceremonies, than as the ever-living Son of God, giving life to the spiritually dead, healing the moral disorders of fallen humanity, and saving the chief of sinners from everlasting woe."
On Sunday afternoon they all went to church, and heard the curate deliver his farewell sermon, which, like most sermons of the same school, was a pompous eulogium on the church, its apostolic orders, and its sacraments. Jesus Christ was visible in the remote distance, but not drawing the people to himself by the virtue of his death; the efficacy of the attractive power was deposited in the laver of baptism, and the absolution of the priesthood.
"I am devoutly thankful," said Mrs. Roscoe, as they were returning from church, "that this is the last sermon of the Tractarian school we shall have from this pulpit."
"I think," said Miss Roscoe, as they were chatting together after tea, "we shall be guilty of no offence against any law of our statute-book if we go together to the Dissenting chapel this evening, as we have no service at church."
"I shall not object," said Mr. Roscoe, "to your going; but if I go, now that I have appointed an evangelical curate to do duty at church, a report may be raised that I am going to turn Dissenter. This would most likely operate to my prejudice. However, I intend to hear the sermon, which I can do very easily by walking in the garden alongside the chapel, where I have of late heard many of Mr. Davis's sermons, and have more than admired them; I have felt them."
"My uncle! you progress in liberality rather rapidly. I hope this is not a sign that you will soon be taken from us; choice fruit sometimes gets prematurely ripe."
"O no. I am not meet for heaven as yet. But now that I begin to know and feel the real power of the truth on my heart, I shall throw off the mantle of bigotry; it never sits gracefully on a true believer in Christ. One faith ought to produce one spirit—the spirit of love and Christian fellowship. We shall all be one in heaven, and why not all one on earth?"
The text for the evening sermon was part of the 29th verse of the 34th chapter of the prophecies of Ezekiel—"A plant of renown." After a concise exposition of the prophecy, Mr. Davis remarked, "It is not my intention to give you a lecture on the future restoration of the Jews to the land of their fathers, but rather to fix your attention on that glorious One who is announced in my text under the beautifully appropriate image of a plant of renown. That it refers exclusively to Jesus Christ I shall take for granted, and the following is the leading question I mean to discuss—What is the primary cause to which his pre-eminent distinction and celebrity may be attributed? That there are some subordinate causes which have contributed to it, I readily admit, such as his miracles, his teaching, and the moral grandeur and social loveliness of his character; but these, though brilliant and imposing, are not enough to account for the unparalleled celebrity which he still maintains in universal estimation. For suppose, after performing the miracles which he did perform, and after conveying the knowledge of spiritual truths which he did convey, and after developing the character which he did develope, he had suddenly disappeared, like Enoch or Elijah, doing nothing more in behalf of man, what an impenetrable cloud of mystery would hang over the design of his appearing on earth? We should, in that case, be reduced to the necessity of believing that the greatest, the wisest, and the most benevolent being that ever appeared in the human form, came and went away without accomplishing any purpose commensurate with the moral grandeur of his character, or the vastness of his resources for practical utility. He would flit before our imagination as a wonderful being, but a being of no essential importance to us. His history might live in our recollection without exciting an emotion of gratitude or of love, or it might pass from our recollection without our sustaining any perceptible loss, proving a vast brilliant mirage in the dreary desert of humanity; or, like some splendid night-dream, leaving at the dawn of morning its romantic incidents feebly and uselessly imprinted on the fancy. If, then, his splendid miracles, his sublime revelation of spiritual truth, and his unique character, blending in equal proportions the perfections of divinity with the excellencies of unfallen humanity, are insufficient to account for his unfading and ever-increasing celebrity, and for the absolute dominion he holds over the thoughts, the admiration, and the supreme affection of his disciples, of every tribe and every grade of the intellectual and social world, to what other cause are we to attribute it? To what other cause! to his death, and the relation in which he stands, by virtue of his death, to the great family of man. He came to give his life a ransom for many; his life he gave, laying it down of himself; he suffered, the just for the unjust; he died for us.
"Death severs all relative connections; but the living survivors can derive no benefit from the departed, because all intercourse is broken off, and the medium of communication destroyed. But here is an exception to the universal rule; by giving his life as a ransom for sinners, he became the Saviour of all who believe in him, and his death is the mystic power which brings them into a close and indissoluble union and fellowship with him. John Bunyan, when incarcerated in Bedford jail, was building up his fame as one of the most sagacious moral philosophers of his age; his genius, having gauged the depth of human sorrow, discovered and made known the source of its alleviation and relief—by an allegorical form of representation, which charms the imagination while it touches the heart. His Pilgrim leaves the City of Destruction with a heavy burden on his back, and he groans beneath its weight through every stage of his progress, till, on ascending a little eminence, he suddenly and unexpectedly descries the cross, when in a moment the straps of his burden snap asunder; it rolls off and disappears. This was to him a joyful discovery; and he exclaims, 'He hath given me rest by his sorrow, and life by his death.' Yes, brethren—
——'The cross!
There and there only, is the power to save.
There no delusive hope invites despair;
No mock'ry meets you, no deception there.
The spells and charms that blinded you before,
All vanish there, and fascinate no more.'
Hence, when a sinner feels the pressure of guilt on his conscience, and stands terror-struck lest the wrath of God should fall upon him, he looks by faith to Jesus Christ giving his life a ransom, and then a power is emitted which soothes his sorrows and allays his fears, and gives him joy and peace in believing. And when he arrives at the great crisis of his destiny, conscious that he is going from this world into the great world of spirits, what is it that braces up the nerves of his soul, now on the eve of becoming disembodied? what is it that gives buoyancy to his hope, and calmness if not ecstasy to his feelings? what is it that acts with such great power at such an eventful crisis?—it is a simple trust in the efficacy of the death of Jesus Christ. Hence you may often hear the departing believer saying, as his last audible utterance, Who loved me, and GAVE HIMSELF FOR ME; and his conscious assurance of this great fact disarms death of his sting, and he passes onward into the eternal world with a hope full of immortality."
After proving that he will maintain his celebrity through all future periods of time, and onwards for ever, both in the estimation of the saved and the lost—the saved will never forget him, or cease to feel the manifestations of his love; nor will the lost ever forget him, or cease to feel the terror of his righteous displeasure—he concluded his sermon as follows:—"Will those doomed spirits, who were his contemporaries during his earthly sojourn, and who distinguished themselves by their daring and unprovoked hostility, ever forget his appearance when they held him under their subjection, or his appearance now he has them under his own? Will Judas ever forget taking the sop, and then going deliberately away to receive the reward of treachery? Will he ever forget re-entering the garden, passing along its lonely pathway, followed by an armed force, and stepping forward in advance to give the appointed signal, by saluting him? Will he ever forget the tortuous question, which still vibrates on his ear—'Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?' Will Caiaphas, the high-priest, ever forget rending his clothes, and accusing him of blasphemy, because he admitted he was the Son of God? Or will any of his associates in the council ever forget that they once spat in his face, and buffeted him, and smote him with the palms of their hands? Will Herod and his men of war, now seeing him on his throne of majesty, ever forget setting him at nought, and mocking him, arraying him in a gorgeous robe, and dismissing him in derisive scorn and contempt? Will Pilate ever forget when the Lord of glory stood as a criminal at his tribunal? or when, after pronouncing his innocence, he ordered him to be stripped, and scourged, and then sent him forth to the death of torture and infamy? Will the man who placed the crown of thorns on his head, or the man who put the reed of mockery in his hand, or the men who nailed him to the cross, or the debased malefactor, whose last breath was spent in reviling him—or will any of the Scribes and the Pharisees, whose malignant spirit gave an impulse and a tone to the infuriated rabble, ever forget what they did and what they said against Him who now sits on the throne of majesty and of power, and the day of whose vengeance is come? Ah! no. He will be held in everlasting remembrance by celestial and infernal spirits, and by the saved and the lost, who once sojourned in this vale of tears."
"There is," said Mr. Roscoe, "I must confess, a power and an impressiveness in this style of preaching, as much superior to our cold and formal Tractarianism, as the beauty and the fertility of summer surpasses the icy chills and sterility of winter."
"The one," said Miss Roscoe, "is the empire of death; the other, of life."
"I long," said Mrs. John Roscoe, "for next Sunday, when I hope we shall hear, for the first time in our church, the glorious gospel of the blessed God."
The Sabbath dawned, and it was a lovely day. Public curiosity had been awakened by the suddenness and novelty of the change; the church was crowded, for the fame of the preacher had preceded him. The service was read by the Rev. Mr. Roscoe. His new curate entered the pulpit with graceful ease, his countenance betokening a deep sense of his responsibility to God and to the people, to act a faithful part in the ministration of Divine truth. His text was a very appropriate one, and it was announced with impressive distinctness, yet in a mild and rather pathetic tone: "Unto me, who am less than the least of all saints, is this grace given, that I should preach among the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ" (Eph. iii. 8). After a very brief introduction, he said, "Here are two things to which I will now call your attention, first, the estimate which the apostle forms of himself; and, second, the commission he was engaged to execute." A few extracts from the second division of his discourse, may not be unacceptable to the intelligent reader. He first gave a graphic sketch of the impure and degrading mythology of the Gentile world, and the safeguards which were placed around it, by the sagacity of its priests, in conjunction with imperial authority, to protect it against any movements which might be made to subvert it, or bring it under the ban of popular outrage or odium. He then represented Paul taking a survey of it, meditating on its antiquity, its imposing and beguiling fascinations, its undisputed ascendency over the passions and prejudices of the people, exclaiming, in anticipation of its overthrow, But who is sufficient to do it? "His faith, brethren," said the preacher, "was as strong as his zeal was ardent; and while conscious that he was in himself less than the least of all saints, yet he knew he had received a commission to go forth and destroy this stronghold of Satanic impurity and crime, and he was to do this by preaching the unsearchable riches of Christ.
"1. The subject of his preaching was defined. He was to preach about Jesus Christ. He doubtless told the people that Jesus Christ was the Son of God, who had appeared on earth in the likeness of men; and then, after giving a sketch of his character, detailing some of his miracles, and repeating some of his sayings, he announced his ignominious and agonizing death. Had Paul been an impostor or a fanatic, and had Jesus Christ been, what our German infidels say he was, a mythical being, the apostle would have cast the myth of his death into the shade, under a full conviction that it was far more likely to elicit the expression of scornful contempt, than to awaken any poignant or sublime emotions in the souls of the people. But no; his death is the chief subject of the apostle's preaching—the magnetic power of a mysterious attraction, awakening morbid sensibilities, and stirring death itself into vigorous life; it is the fact of his extraordinary history on which he dwells with impassioned earnestness: 'For I determined not to know any thing among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified' (1 Cor. ii. 2). He does not dwell on his tragical death to excite popular odium against his murderers, nor to excite popular sympathy or admiration by a description of the calm self-possession and the moral dignity he displayed in his sufferings; but he dwells on it as a marvellous manifestation of Divine benevolence: 'For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life' (John iii. 16; Rom. v).
"2. The subject of his preaching was exclusive. He had, as modern preachers have, a great variety of subjects which he could have introduced in his public ministrations; and we know that on some occasions he did avail himself of them, as when at Athens he exposed the absurdity of the superstitions of the people; and as when, addressing Felix, he reasoned on righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come, making that licentious man tremble, in the presence of his courtiers, under the terror of his appeals; but in general, the pity and the love of Christ for perishing sinners, and his power and willingness to save them, constituted the leading theme of his simple and subduing eloquence. Yes, brethren, and this is the only theme which can render the ministrations of the pulpit attractive and impressive; because it is the power of God unto salvation. Jesus Christ, when on the earth, said, 'I am the way, and the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father but by me' (John xiv. 6). Paul believed this, and he preached it; and so ought we. Yes, we should enter our solemn protest against, and fearlessly denounce, all the false and delusive expedients which superstition and infidelity devise and adopt to conciliate the Divine favour; and boldly maintain that there is only one way of access to the Father for the forgiveness of our sins and for eternal life (Acts iv. 12).
"3. The subject of his preaching required no adventitious circumstances to make it attractive, or to render it successful. See 1 Cor. i. 21, 25. We have been gravely told by some of our Christian philosophers, who admit the Divine origin of Christianity, that she must be preceded by civilization, with its arts and sciences, or she will never gain any splendid triumphs amongst a rude and an uncultivated people. Then, forsooth, the agriculturist must know how to drain his marshes, and how to cast up his furrows; how to plant and prune his hedges, and how to construct his dikes; before his heart can receive the incorruptible seed of the truth, which liveth and abideth for ever. Then, forsooth, the sculptor must know how to convert, and by the most scientific process, the rough and shapeless block of marble into the human form, before his soul can undergo a new creation in Christ Jesus. Then, forsooth, the painter must know how to impress on the canvas the face of the blue heavens, its rising and its setting sun; the sombrous splendour of a starlight night, and the dark and fearful thunderstorm, before he can feel the moral attraction of the powers of the world to come. Then, forsooth, the rude barbarians of the island and the desert must be located in towns or cities, must abandon their wigwams, their caves, and their mud huts, for well-ventilated and ceiled houses; must give over the chase, and cease to pluck subsistence from the unpruned plants of the wilderness, and participate in the luxuries of high living; must have their museums and literary societies, their courts of judicature, and their halls of legislation, and their printing-presses, before they can be formed into Christian churches, to enjoy the communion of saintly brotherhood. This is what I call the poetry of scepticism; something to excite or soothe the sentimental, and to act as a barrier to arrest the progress of the faithful herald of salvation, who, like Paul, goes forth to preach amongst the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ.
"We have another set of philosophers, who have not moral courage enough to reject Christianity as a sham or delusion, but who gravely tell us that she must submit to the operation of the law of progress, or she will never gain any conquests amongst our deep and profound thinkers, or our men of refinement and of taste. She must now, at the opening of this new epoch in her history—so say these semi-sceptical philosophers—come out of her antiquated forms and requisitions, and be moulded into a shape, and trained to a mode of argument and address, adapted to the intellectual attainments and delicate sensibilities of the age. A chaste and classical language must supersede the uncouth technicalities of the olden times; reason must now be admitted as the only standard of appeal and of judgment on all questions of belief; arbitrary dogmas must give place to new discoveries in the science of morals and of theology; and while a subdued respect and reverence is still cherished in the popular mind for the Bible, and the institutions which are upheld by its authority, yet there must be no limits prescribed to the spirit of free inquiry, nor must any coercive power or ceremonial arrangement trespass on the sanctity of human freedom, or on any of our civil or social habitudes. If we choose to dance at a ball; if we choose to bet at the race-stand or frequent the theatre; if we choose to shuffle the cards, or toss the dice, or strike at a billiard-table; if we choose to take recreative pleasures on a Sunday, rather than render obedience to the Puritanical law of its observance, and choose to offer our adorations and our orisons to the Deity beside murmuring streams or gurgling fountains, or on the tops of lofty mountains, in preference to a church consecrated to his worship; and if we should have a greater liking for the poetry of Byron or of Wordsworth than for that of David or Isaiah, and should cherish a stronger predilection for the novels of Scott or of Bulwer than for the dull prose of prophets or of apostles, we feel that Christianity has no moral right to interdict us. The day of absolutism in her history is past and gone. She may now ask to be received amongst us as a guest—she must not come as a despot or as a sovereign; she may advise, but she must not command; she may breathe the words of a soothing sympathy in the house of mourning, or in the chamber of death, but she must not presume to utter any denunciations, if we should say to her, what Felix once said to her heroic champion, 'Go thy way this time, when I have a more convenient season, I will send for thee.'
"And now, forsooth, we have a new set of philosophers[22] coming up within our own borders, men of learning and of taste, and of Oxford or of Cambridge training, who have recently discovered that Christianity is not, as hitherto believed by our great theological authorities, a remedial scheme of grace and truth, to recover man from the ruins of the fall, but a mere educational scheme, to develope his inner spiritual life, and train it to a state of perfection. Hence, they tell us that we are to regard Jesus Christ as a prophet and an example, rather than as a priest and a sacrifice; and that the basis of our hope of salvation is not his meritorious righteousness, imputed to us and received by faith, but his personal excellencies, which he displayed through the whole tenor of his life; these excellencies becoming inwrought in our souls by an assimilative process, conducted by our own unaided meditative musings. So then, according to the doctrine of this new school of Christian philosophers, if I meditate, under the mysterious charm of an approving sympathy, on the gentleness, the meekness, and the patience of Jesus Christ—on his benevolence, his heroic fortitude, and his calm endurance of suffering—on the graceful urbanity of his manners—on the amiability of his temper and spirit—and on the moral dignity of his character—I shall so inwork his personal righteousness in my inner spirit as to make it my own; and on this my hope must rest of being justified against all the charges of a violated law, and through this source I must look for peace with God and for final salvation.
"I will meet all these new discoveries and semi-profane speculations by one simple remark:—If the apostle had lived through all succeeding ages up to the present time, he would continue to write and to preach as he wrote and preached to the citizens of Ephesus and Corinth. He would have indulged in no vain speculations, nor would he have made any new discoveries. If he stood in this pulpit now, and if any of the departed spirits of Ephesus or of Corinth were raised from the dead to form part of his audience, they would see the same man and hear the same voice, and hear that voice giving utterance to the same truths, and in the same style and tone of proclamation. He would again tell them, as he told them when preaching to them, that by nature they are the children of wrath, even as others, and are saved by grace, through faith, and that not of themselves, it being the gift of God, 'not of works, lest any man should boast' (Eph. ii. 9). He would preach the unsearchable riches of Christ.
"Hence we perceive that the theme of preaching is to be the same throughout all ages, though the heralds of its proclamation may be different men, dying off in the progress of time, to be succeeded by others; but woe be to that herald who dares to substitute a vain philosophy, or any new discoveries, for the glorious gospel of the blessed God. Hear what Paul says: 'But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed' (Gal. i. 8). He has, I know, been censured for using such awful words of denunciation, and held up to popular reprobation, as breathing a malignant as well as a dogmatic spirit. But, brethren, allow me to ask you one question. Do you think it possible for human language to embody that amount of indignant feeling which you would virtuously cherish against the monster who, on a dangerous coast, and for no personal advantage, would falsify the colours of the lighthouse, or who would shift the buoys on a rocky shore? No. If you could inhale the breath of the most scorching vengeance, you would breathe it forth against such an infernal being, who is willing to become a wholesale murderer, beguiling to danger and to death by the very signals which are appointed for life and safety. Hence heavy denunciations of woe on some special occasions are the utterances of pure benevolence. And this is strictly correct in reference to Paul. He knew that the gospel he preached was a true and faithful saying, the power of God to salvation; and consequently any gospel in opposition to it would be false and fatal: and hence he sends forth his warning voice, as you would send forth yours if you saw a man in the very act of changing the signals of safety for those of destruction and of death.
"In conclusion, brethren, ever remember that preaching is only the proclamation of mercy and of grace. It is an instrument of power; but it is nothing more. To you the word of salvation is now brought, and to you it has been delivered this night; will you receive it, or will you reject it? If you receive it in faith and in love, it will prove a savour of life unto life; but if you reject or neglect it, it will prove a savour of death unto death. On its reception or rejection your eternal destiny is dependent, and shall that destiny be endless happiness or endless woe? Decide; now is the accepted time."
The congregation listened with close attention, and appeared powerfully excited; a deep solemnity was the predominant expression of almost every countenance, quite unlike the apathetic indifference of former times. On passing away from the church, with Mrs. Roscoe and his niece, who were in an ecstasy of delight, one of Mr. Roscoe's most intelligent hearers said to him, "You have now, Sir, a curate who is an honour to your pulpit; he knows his work, and has given us a proof that he knows how to do it; he will very soon fill the church, for we need, and have long felt the want of a pure evangelical gospel. Under such a ministry we shall soon see some signs of spiritual life amongst us."