Formerly he was as good as his neighbours. He was no hypocrite. He did not make any great pretensions to religion, it is true, but he was honest in his dealings, kind to the poor, and ready to do what he could to relieve the suffering and deliver the oppressed. Or if his circumstances did not admit of his really doing this, he was disposed to do it. Had he possessed the means, he certainly should have done it; and he who looketh on the heart and requires only according to what a man hath, will readily take the will for the deed.—Some make a great merit of their sobriety. They are not intemperate, not dishonest, not profane, respect the Sabbath, read their Bibles, have read them for a long time, attend meeting regularly:—surely, putting all this together, their characters must stand fair, and their hopes be good.
But here is a new creature. He no longer compares himself with his neighbour. He examines himself by the law of God, and he cries ‘Woe is me, for I am undone; I have broken God’s holy laws, and there is no health, no strength, no soundness in me. I am guilty. I am ruined.’ His honesty, integrity, and kindness, his attention to the means of grace, his attendance in the sanctuary, his reading of God’s word, all his feelings and actions are now seen to be defiled. He can no longer look to them for hope. He turns away from these refuges of lies, and flies to the hope set before him in the gospel. He no longer balances his good deeds against his defective ones. He no longer attempts to number his benevolent actions and weigh his holy desires. He feels that he never did a good deed, not one; that he never performed a benevolent action, not one; that he never entertained a right feeling, not one. In the light which heaven pours down upon his book of debt and credit, which he has been keeping so long, astonished he perceives, that the sum total of his life stands against him in characters black with sin. He despairs of all hope from himself. His own fancied merit, the idol so long worshipped, now is a burden of sin that would sink him to perdition, were there not outstretched a divine arm to rescue him from impending ruin, and raise him to hope and peace. He turns, self-loathing, to the cross of Christ, and sees that thereon only can a sinner like him hang his hope of forgiveness and heaven. It is the blood of Christ, applied to his accusing conscience, that alone can calm his agitation, and speak peace to his troubled soul.
Here, then, is a great change. Every thing else is renounced as a ground of hope before God, but Christ and his cross. Truly, the regenerate man is a new creature. He has a new Saviour. Jesus, formerly a despised Nazarene, deserving none of his confidence or love, is now his Lord and his God. ‘Old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.’
Reader, is it so with you? Is self, or God, your object of supreme love? Is your own will, or the will of God, your rule of duty? Do you think yourself commendable or abominable in the sight of God? Do you trust to your own merit for salvation, or do you see and deeply feel, that it is only by repentance for sin, and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, that any can be saved?
THE END.