Part 14 (1/2)
CHAPTER XXIV.
I had generally found that a Sunday pa.s.sed in a visit was so heavy a day, that I had been accustomed so to arrange my engagements, as commonly to exclude this from the days spent from home. I had often found that even where the week had been pleasantly occupied, the necessity of pa.s.sing several hours of a season peculiarly designed for religious purposes, with people whose habits have little similarity with our own, either draws one into their relaxed mode of getting rid of the day, or drives one to a retirement which having an unsociable appearance, is liable to the reproach of austerity and gloom.
The case was quite different at Stanley Grove. The seriousness was without severity, and the cheerfulness had no mixture of levity. The family seemed more than usually animated, and there was a variety in the religious pursuits of the young people, enlivened by intervals of cheerful and improving conversation, which particularly struck Lady Belfield. She observed to me, that the difficulty of getting through the Sunday, without any mixture of worldly occupations or amus.e.m.e.nts on the one hand, or of disgust and weariness on the other, was among the many right things which she had never been able to accomplish in her own family.
As we walked from church one Sunday, Miss Stanley told me that her father does not approve the habit of criticising the sermon. He says that the custom of pointing out the faults, can not be maintained without the custom of watching for them; that it gives the attention a wrong turn, and leads the hearer only to treasure up such pa.s.sages as may serve for animadversion, and a display, not of Christian temper, but of critical skill. If the general tenor and principle be right, that is the main point they are to look to, and not to hunt for philosophical errors; that the hearer would do well to observe, whether it is not ”he that sleeps,” as often, at least, as ”Homer nods:” a remark exemplified at church, as often as on the occasion which suggested it; that a critical spirit is the worst that can be brought out of church, being a symptom of an unhumbled mind, and an evidence that whatever the sermon may have done for others, it has not benefited the caviler.
Here Mr. Stanley joined us. I found he did not encourage his family to take down the sermon. ”It is no disparagement,” said he, ”to the discourse preached, to presume that there may be as good already printed. Why, therefore, not read the printed sermon at home in the evening, instead of that by which you ought to have been improving while it was delivering? If it be true that _faith cometh by hearing_, an inferior sermon, 'coming warm and instant from the heart,' a.s.sisted by all the surrounding solemnities which make a sermon _heard_, so different from one _read_, may strike more forcibly than an abler discourse coolly perused at home. In writing, the mechanical act must necessarily lessen the effect to the writer, and to the spectator it diminishes the dignity of the scene, and seems like short-hand writer taking down a trial.
”But that, my daughters may not plead this as an excuse for inattention,” continued he, ”I make it a part of their evening duty to repeat what they retain, separately, to me in my library. The consciousness that this repet.i.tion will be required of them, stimulates their diligence; and the exercise itself not only strengthens the memory, but habituates to serious reflection.”
At tea, Ph[oe]be, a charming, warm-hearted creature, but who now and then, carried away by the impulse of the moment, forgets habits and prohibitions, said, ”I think, papa, Dr. Barlow was rather dull to-day.
There was nothing new in the sermon.” ”My dear,” replied her father, ”we do not go to church to hear news. Christianity is no novelty; and though it is true that we go to be instructed, yet we require to be reminded full as much as to be taught. General truths are what we all acknowledge, and all forget. We acknowledge them, because a general a.s.sent of the understanding costs but little; and we forget them, because the remembrance would force upon the conscience a great deal of practical labor. To believe, and remember, and act upon, common, undisputed, general truths, is the most important part of religion.
This, though in fact very difficult, is overlooked, on account of its being supposed very easy. To keep up in the heart a lively impression of a few plain momentous truths, is of more use than the ablest discussion of a hundred controverted points.
”Now tell me, Ph[oe]be, do you really think that you have remembered and practiced all the instructions you have received from Dr. Barlow's sermons last year? If you have, though you will have a better right to be critical, you will be less disposed to be so. If you have not, do not complain that the sermon is not new till you have made all possible use of the old ones; which if you had done, you would have acquired so much humility, that you would meekly listen even to what you already know.
But however the discourse may have been superfluous to such deep divines as Miss Ph[oe]be Stanley, it will be very useful to me, and to other hearers who are not so wise.”
Poor Ph[oe]be blushed up to her ears; tears rushed into her eyes. She was so overcome with shame that, regardless of the company, she flew into her father's arms, and softly whispered that if he would forgive her foolish vanity, she would never again be above being taught. The fond, but not blind father, withdrew with her. Lucilla followed, with looks of anxious love.
During their short absence, Mrs. Stanley said, ”Lucilla is so practically aware of the truth of her father's observation, that she often says she finds as much advantage as pleasure in teaching the children at her school. This elementary instruction obliges her continually to recur to first principles, and to keep constantly uppermost in her mind those great truths contained in the articles of our belief, the commandments, and the prayer taught by our Redeemer.
This perpetual simplifying of religion she a.s.sures me, keeps her more humble, fixes her attention on fundamental truths, and makes her more indifferent to controverted points.”
In a few minutes Mr. Stanley and his daughters returned cheerful and happy: Lucilla smiling like the angel of peace and love.
”If I were not afraid,” said Lady Belfield, ”of falling under the same censure with my friend Ph[oe]be,” smiling on the sweet girl, ”I should venture to say that I thought the sermon rather too severe.”
”Do not be afraid, madam,” replied Mr. Stanley; ”though I disapprove that cheap and cruel criticism which makes a man _an offender for a word_, yet discussion does not necessarily involve censoriousness; so far from it, it is fair to discuss whatever seems to be doubtful, and I shall be glad to hear your ladys.h.i.+p's objections.”
”Well then,” replied she, in the most modest tone and accent, ”with all my reverence for Dr. Barlow, I thought him a little unreasonable in seeming to expect universal goodness from creatures whom he yet insisted were fallen creatures.”
”Perhaps, madam,” said Mr. Stanley, ”you mistook his meaning, for he appeared to me perfectly consistent, not only with himself, but with his invariable rule and guide, the Scriptures. Sanctification--will you allow me to use so serious a word?--however imperfect, must be universal. It is not the improvement of any one faculty, or quality, or temper, which divines mean, when they say we are renewed in part, so much as that the change is not perfect, the holiness is not complete in _any_ part or power, or faculty, though progressive in all. He who earnestly desires a universal victory over sin, knows which of his evil dispositions or affections it is that is yet unsubdued. This rebellious enemy he vigilantly sets himself to watch against, to struggle with, and, through divine grace, to conquer. The test of his sincerity does not so much consist in avoiding many faults to which he has no temptation, as in conquering that one to which his natural bent and bias forcibly impel him.”
Lady Belfield said, ”But is it not impossible to bring every part of our nature under this absolute dominion? Suppose a man is very pa.s.sionate, and yet very charitable; would you look upon that person to be in a dangerous state?”
”It is not my province, madam, to decide,” replied Mr. Stanley. ”'G.o.d,'
as Bishop Sanderson says, 'reserves this _royalty_ to himself of being the searcher of hearts.' I can not judge how far he resists anger, nor what are his secret struggles against it. G.o.d, who expects not perfection, expects sincerity. Though complete, unmixed goodness is not to be attained in this imperfect state, yet the earnest desire after it is the only sure criterion of the sincerity we profess. If the man you allude to does not watch, and pray, and strive against the pa.s.sion of anger, which is his natural infirmity, I should doubt whether any of his affections were really renewed; and I should fear that his charity was rather a mere habitual feeling, though a most amiable one, than a Christian grace. He indulges in charity, because it is a const.i.tutional bias, and costs him nothing. He indulges in pa.s.sion, because it is a natural bias also; and to set about a victory over it would cost him a great deal. This should put him on a strict self-examination; when he would probably find that, while he gives the uncontrolled reins to any one wrong inclination, his religion, even when he does right things, is questionable. True religion is seated in the heart; that is the centre from which all the lines of right practice must diverge. It is the great duty and chief business of a Christian to labor to make all his affections, with all their motives, tendencies, and operations, subservient to the word and will of G.o.d. His irregular pa.s.sions, which are still apt to start out into disorder, will require vigilance to the end. He must not think all is safe, because the more tractable ones are not rebellious; but he may entertain a cheerful hope, when those which were once rebellious are become tractable.”
”I feel the importance of what you say,” returned Lady Belfield; ”but I feel also my utter inability to set about it.”
”My dear madam,” said Mr. Stanley, ”this is the best and most salutary feeling you can have. That very consciousness of insufficiency will, I trust, drive you to the fountain of all strength and power: it will quicken your faith, and animate your prayer; faith, which is the habitual principle of confidence in G.o.d; and prayer, which is the exercise of that principle toward him who is the object of it.”
”But Dr. Barlow,” said Lady Belfield, ”was so discouraging! He seemed to intimate, as if the conflict of a Christian with sin must be as lasting as his life; whereas, I had hoped that victory once obtained, was obtained forever.”
”The _strait gate_,” replied Mr. Stanley, ”is only the entrance of religion; the _narrow way_ is a continued course. The Christian life, my dear Lady Belfield, is not a point but a progress. It is precisely in the race of Christianity as in the race of human glory. Julius Caesar and St. Paul describe their respective warfares in nearly the same terms.
_We should count nothing done, while any thing remains undone_,[2] says the Warrior. _Not counting myself to have attained--forgetting the things which are behind, and pressing forward to those which are before_, says the Apostle. And it is worth remarking, that they both made the disqualifying observation after attainments almost incredible.