Plain Sermons, Preached at Archbishop Tenison's Chapel, Regent Street

by James Galloway Cowan

It was a thrice enforced precept of the law that none should appear before God empty; that when men drew near to Him to celebrate His past mercies and deliverances, to ask for blessings, to deprecate wrath, to render thanks, to acknowledge dependence on His providence, they should at the same time present unto Him some offering of their substance. And this, be it observed, was not a mere temporary ordinance. It was not, like the sacrifices of bulls and goats, a ceremonious shadowing forth and pleading of the one sacrifice by which alone God could be approached and propitiated. It was a free-will offering, an acknowledgment that all things come of God, and that all things, though intrusted to them, belonged still to God. It was a confession of His Lordship, an act of homage, an exhibition of gratitude, a pledge of readiness to yield all that He might require. As such, it was to be offered whenever man perceived God to be operating upon, or for him, or whenever he would have God to be thus operating; it was to be presented at prescribed places, and under prescribed circumstances, which rendered pains and exertion necessary in the offerer; and it was to be of a kind and in a measure which should make it a real sacrifice—the giving up of something valuable and valued. “Every man shall give as he is able,” says Moses. “I will not offer unto the Lord my God,” exclaims David, “of that which doth cost me nothing.”

Under the Gospel, this duty is not only continued, but, like all the other moral sanctions of the law, enlarged and spiritualised. We Christians are to present ourselves, our souls and bodies, continually, as a reasonable sacrifice unto God. We are to give up our wills, our powers, our affections, our time, our substance, our lives to Him. Our prayer is to be instant; our praise continual; our sacrifice perpetual; our offering all that we are and have. He who withholds anything from God, gives Him nothing. He who does not deny himself, denies God; he who loves any one or anything more than God, hates God; he who bestows more thought and pains, and spends more of his substance on any other object than on religion, takes no thought, bestows no pains, spends none of his substance on God. Lip-service, stinted service, careless or partial service is no service; easy religion, cheap religion, intermittent religion is no religion. Religion, to be worthy of the name, must cost something; yea, and much—much thought, much feeling, much affection, much labour, much self-denial, much submission, much renunciation, much cheerful sacrifice of self and substance. The only limit to our offering is to be our capability; the only time when we may forbear to offer it, is when God gives us no opportunity. Hence it was, that the young man who would not sell all that he had, and give to the poor, and follow Christ whithersoever He went, could not be His disciple. Hence it is, that selfishness, and worldliness, and pride, and self-glorying, and covetousness, are such grievous sins. Hence it is, that life must not be counted dear, when to be faithful to religion would endanger it. Hence it is, that not only directly spiritual acts are to be frequent, and spiritual offerings to be many and large, but that everything we have is to be held for religion, and everything we do, to be done for religion; our daily tasks, our rest and labour, our very eating and drinking. Christ has purchased us entirely soul and body, talents and possessions, to glorify Him by perpetually offering to Him the sacrifice of love; and there is no love in that offering which is formal, indolent, unwilling, self-saving; which is restrained from thought, and effort, and hazard, and bountifulness, by the consideration, how much it will cost. “I will not offer unto the Lord my God,” and the Lord my God will not accept “of that which doth cost me nothing.’”

This is the principle and measure of Christian offering to God. Would we offer affection? it must be all affection. “My Son, give me Thy heart.” Submission? Deny Thyself in all things. Time? Let it be all time—instant, continual, day and night. Substance? Be ready to part with all that thou hast. Work? It must be all work; every labour, and every occupation. Whatsoever thou doest, do all to the glory of God, that God in all things may be glorified through Jesus Christ. We, and all that we are and have, are claimed as whole sacrifices to God. The duration of the offering is to be the length of our life. The altars upon which we are to be offered, are all the places and all the circumstances in which God puts us, or we put ourselves; and we are to be continually laying ourselves upon these altars, without fear or grudging of the cost, yea, rather with cheerful incurring of it.

It is a great and difficult service. The very best of our fallen race, the Abrahams and the Pauls, who have most realised this service, and loved it, and laid themselves out to render it, have yet fallen short, very far short of the perfect offering. Many a time have they reluctantly laid the costly sacrifice on the altar; many a time, alas! have they substituted the lame, the halt, the lean, the blemished, for the firstling of the flock; many a due sacred journey has not been undertaken; many a holy service has been unperformed, or performed amiss; many an altar has been bare, without an offering. Yes, the most godly, the saints that excel, have fallen far short of God’s standard, and have withheld or offered amiss what God required. But yet through infirmity, not through wilfulness or selfishness, have they done it, and speedily and deeply have they repented of it, and then have they straightway laid upon the nearest altar the sacrifice of a broken and a contrite heart, in whose fragrance the ill savour of the other has been lost, with whose costliness God has been well pleased. Such a sacrifice He never despises. Those who offer it shall be forgiven all that is past. They shall be dealt with by the after, not the former life. But, my brethren, if such as these fall short of God’s standard, what of us, who, alas! can lay no claim to attempted perfection, or to grief and contrition for shortcomings? What of our service of God? What do we offer Him? What does religion cost us?

It should cost us much thought—more thought than anything else. Does it? Is it the most frequent and most encouraged employment of our minds to meditate on God, our Creator and Preserver, our Redeemer, our Sanctifier, our Lord and Judge, on heaven, on holiness, on trial and reward, duties and hopes? We all of us have some favourite subject of thought and meditation, something which we ponder chiefly, and lay most plans about, and zealously occupy our mental faculties upon. Is it religion? Does that cost us more thought than anything else? or does business or pleasure, or politics or philosophy, or worldly prospects or cares? If so—no matter how innocent the object, how laudable in some respects its concern—in making it a chief consideration, we leave nought to offer God but that which costs us nothing, and which is therefore nothing accounted of, yea, rather is rejected by Him.

Again, religion should cost us much affection. Our affections should be chiefly set on it, and only on other things when they can be lawfully considered the adjuncts of religion. Is it so? Do we love God more than anything else? Do we desire heaven’s treasures more than earth’s; eternal glories more than temporal? Do we delight above all things in spiritual pursuits? If any other person, any other thing presents itself as a candidate for our best affections, is it rejected because the place is already filled? Is it disliked, if opposed to religion? Is it but moderately esteemed and distantly entertained, when though not opposed to it, is not religion itself? If otherwise, then religion costs us not our best affections, and so of our hearts we offer unto God of that which doth cost us nothing.

Again, religion should cost us much labour, much self-denial, much zeal and patience, more than anything else. Does it? Is there nothing for which we toil more, and endure more, and encounter more; nothing which we pursue more constantly and zealously? Do we take more pains to please God than man? Do we make more strenuous endeavours to become good Christians than to become apt scholars, profound philosophers, able and respected politicians, successful tradesmen, accomplished members of society? Would we, and do we rather rise early, and late take rest, go without our usual meals, undertake fatiguing journeys, contend with difficulties, suffer reproaches for religion than for anything else? Do we bear the inconvenience of a warm church more cheerfully than that of a close shop, a crowded hall of business or pleasure? Do we venture forth on religious errands, in cold, and wet, and forbidding weather, more readily than we do for anything else? In what do we wear out our strength and energies, run our greatest risks, and consume our time? Is it, directly or indirectly, in religion; or is it in business or in pleasure? For what do we renounce all needless occupations, for what do we get through as speedily as may be our necessary work? Is it to have time and strength for religion, or for what? The answer, my brethren, which your consciences honestly give to these questions, and many like them that might be asked, will help to determine what religion costs you in this respect, and whether or no, you offer unto God only of that which doth cost you nothing.

Again, religion should cost much of our substance. In one sense, it should cost us all our substance, i.e. we should never spend one mite on a sinful or doubtful pleasure or business, or in contributing to an unhallowed end. Much, indeed, we must lay out in the sustenance of our natural life, in the prosecution of our worldly calling, in the support and advancement of our families, in the maintenance of our social position. Something, too, we are allowed to spend on our innocent recreations and those of others. But that which is to cost us most, on which we are to spend all that we can, and to yearn to be able to spend more, is on God; directly, by spreading the knowledge of His name, by promoting His service, by building fit temples for His worship, and adorning them suitably to our devotion and His glory; indirectly, by ministering to His representatives, the poor, and afflicted, and helpless, and ignorant.

What, my brethren, let me ask in all plainness, for I speak for God, and God’s representatives—the poor—what does religion cost you in this respect? Are you sure that you have left no Lazaruses to perish of hunger? no pining sick to die for want of the nutriment or attention which you could have afforded? no children to grow up in ignorance and blasphemy whom you could have maintained at school, and helped to make enlightened, serious, holy men and women? Have you looked to these things, yourselves? or have you ungrudgingly, liberally supported those who do? Have you ascertained that the sick and visiting funds of your parish are able to meet the many demands upon them? that there is no difficulty in maintaining the necessary staff of the poor’s best guardians, the clergy? that the alms-boxes will hold no more, or that there is no demand on their contents? Have you done all this before you have laden your tables with rich viands and costly wines, and bought expensive toys and ornaments, and gone on unnecessary excursions, and paid much for amusements? Or have you consulted self first, and fed, and decked, and petted, and amused self, and then been ready (not, perhaps, even then, forward, but waiting to be asked) to give up something of what self could conveniently spare, for crying, grievous necessities—sparing God your leavings, that which you did not want, or, at least, could easily do without? Remember, brethren, I lay no charge against any one of you. I only, in faithfulness, put to you plain questions, which it is your duty to consider; and bid you speedily discover, from their consideration, what your religion costs you; whether, in your succour, temporal and spiritual, of those worse off than yourselves, you deny and inconvenience yourselves, giving what you cannot part with without feeling its loss and curtailing from other things on account of it (as you all ought to do); or whether you offer unto God, in this way, of that which doth cost you nothing.

Once more, religion should cost you much in the direct service of God; in providing amply for His wide and becoming worship. I pass by now, as duties which there are other opportunities of enforcing, the maintenance of missions, at home and abroad; the building and endowing of schools and churches, and many like things, that I may dwell for a few moments upon the costliness of the materials of our churches, and their furniture, and, let me add, their ornaments; for all which, if I understand the Bible, we Christians are bound to provide. In the descriptions given us in the Bible, of heaven and heavenly things, there is frequent mention and great display, as it were, of gold, and precious stones, and musical instruments, and beautiful robes, and the like. There are some who understand these descriptions literally, and who suppose that, being raised in material, though glorified bodies, the redeemed will inhabit a material heaven—either this earth transformed, or some other planet—and will be surrounded with glorious material objects, the most beautiful and precious of nature’s productions, fashioned like to art’s best accomplishments. If this is to be so, then it is urged, earth’s tabernacles, as the type of heaven, should be as nearly assimilated to heaven as possible; we should improve and furnish our plainer and barer churches as much as we can; we should build our new churches in the best, the handsomest style of art; and decorate and furnish them in the most substantially costly manner.