Common Sense Applied to Religion; Or, The Bible and the People

by Catharine Esther Beecher

Meantime, there did not seem to be any direct and practical way of securing this supernatural interference; for it was to be the result, not of any efforts of mine, nor were any divine promises or encouragements offered to secure my efforts. On the contrary, the selection of the recipients of this favor was regulated by a divine decree of "election," without reference to any acts of a being who did nothing but evil, and only evil, till this favor was bestowed. Moreover, all the exhortations to effort were based simply on the fact that, ordinarily, those who took a certain course were selected, though I perceived that sometimes those who did the least were chosen, while those who did the most were passed by.

It was this view of the case that had the chief influence in leading to an entire neglect of all religious concerns. It was so nearly like a matter of mere chance, and there seemed so little adaptation of means to ends, that, to one so hopeful, and, at the same time, so practical, there was very little motive of any kind to lead to a religious life.

The first real earnest feeling I ever had on this subject was when my tender mother died—such a mother as earth has seldom seen; as strong in intellect as she was modest and gentle in manners, and loving and sympathizing in heart. She left seven children younger than myself, one of them a babe, and I only sixteen. I really tried, for some time, to become a Christian, till the load of grief was alleviated by time, and then such efforts ceased; but these new responsibilities turned my practical habits into useful channels.

Once after this, when "a revival" seemed closing, and my father expressed his distress for my indifference, I told him I was so happy I could not do any thing but enjoy life, and that nothing but trials and sorrow would do me any good. Tears came into his eyes as he said, "Dear child, must I die too?" The responsive tears came to my eyes, but soon all was forgotten.

At this time my theory of morals was, that to lie, steal, swear, quarrel, disobey parents, and break the Sabbath, were sins for which I should feel guilty; but for not becoming a Christian, when I could not understand how to do it, never rested on my conscience as a sin, but was felt to be simply a misfortune. And I wondered, if God desired that I should have a new heart, and he only could give it, why he did not do so. This was the amount of my "reasoning" so far. Till nearly twenty, I gained little knowledge except by intercourse with intelligent people, for still I had no love for solid reading or study. At about that age, I remember turning over Reid's work on Mental Science, in which my mother had been deeply interested, and wondering how people could read such stuff.

At twenty that betrothal took place, so soon and so tragically ended! It was the realization of all my favorite dreams of earthly bliss. Affection, taste, ambition, every thing most desirable to me and to family friends, seemed secured. In a few months all was ended, and in the most terrible and heart-rending manner.

After the first stunning effect was over, the next feeling was, "This is that indispensable sorrow! this is to save me from eternal death!" And so, as soon as I could do any thing, I began a course of religious reading, prayer, and mental conflict. I tried to remedy that pernicious mental habit of reverie and castle-building; I tried to do I knew not what in "becoming a Christian."

Shut up in entire seclusion, all my dearest hopes forever crushed, without hope or object in life, overwhelmed with grief, horrified less at his dreadful death than at the awful apprehensions he himself had imparted that he was unprepared to die, I spent week after week in reading the stern and powerful writings of President Edwards, Dwight's System of Theology, and other similar works. I hoped for nothing, cared for nothing but to become a Christian. Yet no one could tell me intelligibly how to do it, while it was clear that all expected nothing from my efforts, and that all was dependent on a divine efflatus that was to change the birth-gift of a depraved heart.

And yet I was told that the fault was all my own; that it was my obstinate unwillingness to do what was required that alone made it needful for God to interfere. This was urged as a doctrine from God, and so, though it seemed as if I was not only willing, but that I longed for this change, I submitted my humble intellect to His, and owned that it must be so. So passed several dark and weary months.

Next, I went to visit the parents of the friend I had lost. Here I read his private records of years of almost superhuman effort to govern his mind, and to achieve the very thing I was laboring for, and yet, to his mind, all ended in entire failure; and this, too, without any murmuring, or any accusation of any one but himself. It was, as he maintained, because he was so ungrateful, so hardened, so obstinately "unwilling," so averse from God and his service. And yet he was the model of every domestic, social, and official virtue; so reverent to God, so tender as a son and brother, so conscientious and faithful as an instructor! In not a single duty did he fail that the closest intimacy could discover; and yet, by his own showing, he had no love to God, and was entirely "unwilling" to love and serve him.