The nature of spiritual distresses, and Satan’s method in working them, being explained, the last thing promised is now to be opened. This is,
3. The burden and weight of these distresses, which how grievous, how intolerable it is, may be sufficiently seen in what hath been already said, and may be further evidenced in the particulars following:—
[1.] Those that are wounded with these fiery darts do at first usually conceal their wound and smother their grief, being ashamed to declare it, partly because some great transgression, it may be, hath kindled all this fire in their bosoms, and this they are unwilling to declare to others; partly because they suspect—though no one remarkable sin hath occasioned these troubles—that the discovery of their case will expose them to the wonder and censures of all that shall hear of them. By this means the fire burns with greater vehemency. Their sore runs continually, and having none to speak a word in season for the least relief, it becomes more painful and dangerous; as bodily distempers, concealed by a foolish modesty from the physician, increase the trouble and hazard of the patient. Here have they many strugglings within themselves, many attempts to overcome their fears, but all in vain. They sit alone and keep silence, they flee the company and society of men, they labour after solitary places where they may weep with freedom, if their tears be not yet dried up, or at least where they may pour out their complaints against themselves. They meditate nothing but their misery, they can fix their thoughts upon nothing else, they ‘chatter as a crane or swallow, they mourn as a dove,’ they are as ‘a pelican in the wilderness, as an owl in the desert,’ but still without ease. They are but as those that are ‘snared in dens and prison-houses,’ who the longer they lie there have the less patience to bear the present unhappiness, and the less hope to be delivered from it.
[2.] When they are tired out with private conflicts, and have no rest or intermission of trouble, then at last they are forced to speak; and having once begun to open their troubles, they care not who knows it. If there be any heinous sin at the bottom, their consciences are forced to confess it. Wickedness, that was once sweet in his mouth, ‘is turned in his bowels, it is the gall of asps within him,’ Job xx. 14, 15. Thus doth God make men to vomit up what they had swallowed down. Terrors chase away all shame, they can now freely speak against their sin with the highest aggravations. And if their consciences have not a heinous crime to accuse them of in particular, yet in the general they will judge and condemn themselves as the most stubborn, sinful, or hardened wretches, justly branded with indelible characters of the wrath of God. However, the distress becomes greater; if they truly accuse themselves of any particular sin, that vomit is not without a violence offered to nature which otherwise would cover its shame. It cannot be done without sickness, straining, and torture; and when it is done, they take it for granted that every one passeth the same judgment upon them which they do upon themselves; and the frequent speaking doth confirm their minds in their fearful expectations. For what men do accustom themselves to assert, that they do more confidently believe. If they only complain of themselves in the general, with any intentions of procurement of pity, as is usual for the distressed to do, yet while they cry out to others, ‘Is this nothing to you, all you that pass by? Is there any sorrow like to my sorrow?’ &c., [Lam. i. 12,] still they think their ‘stroke is heavier than their groaning,’ [Job xxiii. 2;] and their cry to others doth strongly fix this apprehension in themselves, that none can be more miserable than they. Thus are they brought to Job’s condition: chap. xvi. 6, ‘Though I speak, my grief is not assuaged; and though I forbear, what am I eased?’
[3.] All this while they are under an expressible[359] sense of divine wrath. Heman speaks his apprehensions of it under the similitude of the most hideous and dismal comfortless imprisonment: Ps. lxxxviii. 6, ‘Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, in darkness, in the deeps.’ David, in Ps. cxvi. 3, compares it to the ‘sorrows of death,’ and—the highest that human thoughts can reach—‘the pains of hell.’ ‘The sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me; I found trouble and sorrow.’ Well might they thus judge, all things considered; for sin, that then lies heavy upon them, is a great weight, ‘a burden,’ saith David, ‘greater than I can bear,’ especially when it is pressed on by a heavy hand: ‘Thy hand presseth me sore.’ Sin makes the greatest wound, considering the conscience, which is wounded by it, is the tenderest part, and of exquisite sense. Hence the grief of it is compared to the pain of a running, fretting ulcer, that distempers the whole body: ‘My wounds stink and are corrupted; my sore ran in the night, and ceased not.’ Or to the pain of broken and shattered bones: Ps. xxxviii. 3, ‘There is no soundness in my flesh, because of thine anger; neither is there any rest in my bones, because of my sin.’ The instrument also that makes the wound is sharp, and cuts deep: ‘It is sharper than a two-edged sword,’ [Heb. iv. 12;] but when the weapon is poisoned,—and Satan hath a way to do that,—then it burns, making painful, malignant inflammations. The wrath of God, expressed to the conscience, brings the greatest terror: ‘Who knows the power of thine anger?’ Ps. xc. 11. It is impossible for the most trembling conscience, or most jealous fears, to go to the utmost bounds of it; neither can we apprehend any torture greater. The rack, tortures, fire, gibbets, &c., are all nothing to it. Hence it is that those who were afraid of suffering for truth, when by this means they were brought under these distresses, could then be willing to suffer any torment on the body; yea, and heartily wish to suffer much more, so that these tortures might be ended. Thus it was with Bainham martyr,[360] who, in the public congregation, bewailed his abjuration of the truth; and prayed all his hearers ‘rather to die by and by, than do as he had done.’ But that of Spira seems almost beyond belief. Thus speaks he to Vergerius, ‘If I could conceive but the least spark of hope of a better estate hereafter, I would not refuse to endure the most heavy weight of the wrath of that great God, yea, for twenty thousand years, so that I might at length attain to the end of that misery.’ What dreadful agonies were these that put him to these wishes! But it is less wonder, if you observe what apprehensions he had of his present trouble, he judged it worse than hell itself. And if you would have a lively exposition of David’s expression, ‘The pains of hell,’ &c., you may fetch it from this instance: ‘My present estate,’ saith he, ‘I now account worse than if my soul, separated from my body, were with Judas and the rest of the damned; and therefore I desire rather to be there than thus to live in the body.’ So that if you imagine a man crushed under the greatest weight, wounded in the most tender parts, and those wounds provoked by the sharpest corrosives, his bones all disjointed and broken, pined also with hunger and thirst, and in that case put under the highest tortures; yet you have but a very shadow of divine wrath. Add to all these, according to Spira’s wish, twenty thousand years of hell itself, yet all is nothing to that which a distressed mind supposeth; while the word eternity presents the soul with the total sum of utmost misery all at once. Oh, unexpressible burden of a distressed mind! who can understand it truly, but he that feels it? How terribly is the mind of man shaken with terrors, as the wilderness by a mighty wind! which not only produceth violent motions, but also hideous noise, murmur, and howling.
[4.] This burden upon the mind forceth the tongue to vent its sorrow in the saddest accent of most doleful outcries. Their whole language is lamentation; but when the pangs of their agonies come upon them, for their distresses have their fits, then they speak in the bitterness of their souls. Oh, said Bainham, I would not for all the world’s good feel such a hell in my conscience again. One, formerly mentioned, in these distresses cries out, ‘Woe, woe, woe, a woeful, a wretched, a forsaken woman!’[361] It would surely have made a man’s hair to stand upright for dread to have heard Spira roaring out that terrible sentence, ‘How dreadful is it to fall into the hands of the living God!’ [Heb. x. 31.] Or to have heard his reply to him that told of his being at Venice: ‘O cursed day!’ saith he, ‘O cursed day! Oh that I had never gone thither, would God I had then died!’ &c. The like outcries had David often: Ps. xxi. 1, ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?’ And Heman, Ps. lxxxviii. 14, ‘Lord, why castest thou off my soul, why hidest thou thy face from me?’ It is true David’s and Heman’s words have a better complexion than those others last mentioned; but their disquiet of heart seems, at some times, to have urged their expressions with impetuous violence; as those passages seem to say, Ps. xxxviii. 8, ‘I have roared by reason of the disquietness of my heart;’ Ps. xxxii. 3, ‘My bones waxed old through my roaring all the day long;’ Job iii. 24, ‘My roarings are poured out like water,’ If their lamentations were turned into roarings, and those roarings were like the breaking in of a flood, and that flood of so long continuance that it dried up the marrow of the bones, we may safely imagine that they were not so much at leisure to order their words, but that their tongues might speak in that dialect which is proper to astonishment and distress.
[5.] Though the mind be the principal seat of these troubles, yet the body cannot be exempted from a co-partnership in these sorrows. Notwithstanding, this is so far from abating the trouble, that it increaseth it by a circulation. The pains of the body, contracted by the trouble of the mind, are communicated again to the fountain from whence they came, and reciprocally augment the disquiet of the mind. The body is weakened, their ‘strength poured out like water;’ they are ‘withered like grass,’ pined as ‘a skin,’ become as a ‘bottle in the smoke.’ Thus David frequently complains: Ps. xxii. 14, he describes himself as reduced to a skeleton, ‘I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels. My strength is dried up like a potsherd; my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me to the dust of death.’ Neither is this his peculiar case, but the common effect of spiritual distresses: Ps. xxxix. 11, ‘When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity, thou makest his beauty to consume away like a moth.’
[6.] Being thus distressed for their souls, they cast off all care of their bodies, estates, families, and all their outward concerns whatsoever. And no wonder, for being persuaded that they have made shipwreck of their souls, they judge the rest are not worth the saving.
[7.] Giving all for lost, they usually cast about for some ease to their minds, by seeking after the lower degrees of misery, hearing or supposing that all are not tormented alike, they endeavour to persuade themselves of a cooler hell. This, if they could reach it, were but poor comfort, and little to their satisfaction; but, as poor as it is, it is usually denied to them, for while they judge themselves to be the greatest sinners, they cannot but adjudge themselves to the greatest torments; and these endeavours being frustrated, they return back to themselves, as now hopeless of the least case, worse than before. Now they fix themselves upon the deep contemplations of their misery. Oh, think they, how great had our happiness been if we had been made toads, serpents, worms, or anything but men; for then should we never have known this unhappiness; and this begets a thousand vain wishes. Oh that we had never been born! or that death could annihilate us! or that as soon as we had been born, we had died! as Job speaks: chap. iii. 11, 12, ‘Why died I not from the womb? why did I not give up the ghost when I came out of the belly?’ for then had we not contracted so much guilt. ‘Or that the mountains and hills could fall upon us, and cover us from the face of our judge,’ [Rev. vi. 16.]
[8.] When all their hopes are thus dashed, and, like a shipwrecked man on a plank, they are still knocked down with new waves, all their endeavours being still frustrated, they seem to themselves to be able to hold out no longer; then they give over all further inquiries, and the use of means, they refuse to pray, read, hear. They perceive, as Spira said, that they pray to their own condemnation, and that all is to no purpose. They are ‘weary of their groanings,’ Ps. vi. 6; their ‘eyes fail with looking up;’ their ‘knees are feeble;’ their hands hang down; and as Heman: Ps. lxxxviii. 4, 5, ‘They count themselves with those that go down to the pit, free among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, whom God remembereth no more.’ Thus they lie down under their burden, and while they find it so hard to be borne, it is usual for them to come to the utmost point of desperateness, Satan suggesting and forwarding them. Sometimes they open their mouths with complaints against God, and blaspheme. And, as the last part of the tragedy, being weary of themselves, they seek to put an end to their present misery, by putting an end to their lives.