"O yes, I am. His divinity is written as with sunbeams; and I now wonder how any one can doubt it, who admits the authenticity of the Bible. And his atonement is equally conspicuous."
"What, then, is the fresh spiritual difficulty that now disquiets you?"
"I don't know whether I rightly understand the import of the expression which Jesus Christ uses—'Come to me, and I will give you rest.' It is evident he makes the present and future happiness of sinners to depend on a personal application to himself. Hence he says, 'All that the Father giveth to me shall come to me: and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.' As this style of speech was never employed by any other prophet or messenger, it appears to constitute a peculiarity of great importance in relation to his supreme dignity. He cannot be a mere man who places such an inconceivable blessing on such an issue. But though I am convinced, after long and patient investigation, that our salvation is made to depend on a personal application to Jesus Christ, I often have this question pressed on my attention—How may I know if I have actually applied to Him in the exact way which the Scriptures require? To some, who are rooted and grounded in the faith, this question may present no difficulty; but to me it is one of great importance and of painful perplexity."
"One difficulty which attends the solution of this question arises from the very nature of the application which it supposes. If coming to Christ were a bodily act, and if the dependence to be reposed in him fell under the cognizance of the senses, we should be able to decide with perfect ease whether we have come to him or not. But it is simply a mental act, which may be performed even while the believer remains in a state of doubt. To believe or to trust in Christ, is the first act of the mind; but to come to a satisfactory conclusion that this act of dependence agrees with the requirements of the Scripture, supposes that a process of examination and comparison has taken place. I am to judge of my faith from its effects; as the worth of a tree is to be decided by the quality of its fruit. And here two questions demand my attention: first, What moral effects does faith produce? Secondly, Have these effects been produced in me? Faith purifies the heart from the love of sin; brings the distant and unseen objects of the eternal world to act with impressive force on the judgment, and affections, and imagination; induces its possessor to walk as seeing him who is invisible; to love the Redeemer with a supreme affection; and constrains him to attempt to advance the glory of God in the world by a life of practical devotedness to his will. These are some of the effects or moral evidences of faith; and if they always existed in their highest degree, we should have some certain landmarks of decision, when attempting to ascertain the genuine nature of our dependence on Christ, which neither sophistry nor unbelief would be able to remove. But as an excellent writer observes:—'The mind of every Christian experiences many alternations of holiness and sin. Temptations often and unexpectedly intrude. The objects which engross the whole heart of the sinner, unhappily engage at times in greater or less degrees that of the Christian. Nor is their influence always transient. David, Solomon, and other saints mentioned in the Scriptures, for a length of time sinned. Not a small number of sins are committed in thought, word, and action, in the brighter and better seasons; nay, in the brightest and best. 'I sin,' says Bishop Beveridge; 'I repent of my sins, and sin in my repentance. I pray for forgiveness, and sin in my prayers. I resolve against my future sin, and sin in forming my resolutions. So that I may say, My whole life is almost a continued course of sin.' This is the language of one of the best men that ever lived. A still better man has said, 'For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do' (Rom. vii. 19). If, then, the most eminent saints, in the most improved state of their character, and the most sacred seasons of their devotion, have the evidence of their faith weakened by the force of contrary evidence, ought it to excite our surprise if in us it is often obscured, and sometimes overbalanced?"
"Then I judge from the tenor of your remarks, that, for consolation and hope, we must turn from ourselves, and constantly depend on Christ as a Saviour; whatever may be the varying tone and tendencies of the heart."
"Yes; trust in him at all times—in sorrow, and in joy; when assailed by temptation, and in seasons of triumph; whether in transport on the mount, or abased in the valley—one undeviating act of the mind from the beginning to the end of the conflict."
Our conversation now turned on the honour which the God of all grace confers on an individual whom he condescends to admit into a state of fellowship with himself; and on the consequent obligation which this places him under to make an open and unequivocal profession of religion.
"Yes," said Miss Chester, "the noblest distinction we can attain to, is to be endowed with the faith of God's elect; but it is a distinction which often exposes us to the ridicule and the scorn of the world."
"The semi-Christians of modern times," I remarked, "are as ignorant of the relative dignity of the sons of God, as the ancient Jews were of the personal dignity of Jesus Christ. Nor ought this to excite our surprise, seeing that, as the apostle says, 'the world knows us not, because it knew him not.' But though the world be ignorant of our relative dignity, we ourselves are not; and yet there are some who appear ashamed of it. They desire to gain the crown of glory; but refuse to identify themselves with the disciples of Jesus Christ, that they may escape the odium to which they are exposed."