Faith and Good Judgment

We have seen something in the remarks which have been made in some of the preceding chapters, of the mighty influence of faith in the regulation of the affections and the will; but it is worthy of notice, that it has influence in other parts of our nature also; and particularly in giving rectitude to the judgment. 

Knowledge, which is the result of the action of those perceptive and comparing powers, which we commonly express by the single term, the JUDGMENT, has a closer connection with a correct and thorough inward experience, than is sometimes supposed. True knowledge is the food of the purified mind; that upon which it lives and gains strength. “He, that hath the truth,” says the Savior, “heareth my voice.” False knowledge, if we may call it such, or rather falsehood, under the semblance of knowledge, may be described, on the contrary, as the soul’s poison. Looking at the subject in this point of view, it is not easy to appreciate too highly any thing, which gives precision and steadiness to those powers of the mind, in which knowledge has its source.

The Place of Refuge

"A man shall be as an hiding place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest." — Ia 32. 2.

The clouds are gathering in the distant sky;
I hear the fiercely muttering thunders roll;
Terrors invade my breast; my trembling soul
Looks forth around, but sees no refuge nigh.
Ah, whither shall I flee? What friendly hand
Shall guide me to some safe, select retreat,
Where, while the dark, perpetual tempests beat,
Unscathed, uninjured, I may safely stand?
He comes! He comes! I see the platted crown;
I see the bleeding feet, the wounded side.
Now let the bellowing storm rush fiercely down,
Thy smile shall comfort me, Thine arms shall hide.
With Thee, Thou dear Redeemer, are no fears;
Thou scatterest all my doubts, and wipest all my tears.

— The Religious Offering (1835) Scripture Sonnets XXV.

The Effects of Her Conversion

Reflections on
the Life of
Madame Jeanne de la Mothe Guyon.

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Reflections on Madame Guyon's conversion.

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Madame Guyon dates this great change as taking place on Magdalen's day, as it is termed in the Catholic church, the 22d of July; 1668.1 She was then a little more than twenty years of age.

It  is hardly necessary to say, that the change which persons experience in their transition from the life of nature to the life of God in the soul, are very different, in their commencement, in different persons, being much more marked in some cases than in others.  In the case of Madame Guyon, although slowly progressive in its preparatory steps, it seems to have been very decisive and marked at the time of its actually taking place. It was obviously a great crisis in her moral and religious being, — one in which the pride and obstinacy of the natural heart were broken down, and in which, for the first time, she became truly willing to receive Christ alone as her hope of salvation.

A gospel change implies the existence of a new nature. A nature which has life in it; and which, having the principle of life in itself, puts forth the acts of life. And it is thus that the fact, both of its existence and of its character, is verified. The true life always shows itself outwardly, in its appropriate time and way. “By their fruits,” says the Savior, “ye shall know them.” No other evidence will compensate, or ought to compensate for the absence of this. This evidence Madame Guyon gave. From the moment that she gave herself to the Lord to be his, in the inner spirit as well as the outward action, and in the action corresponding to the spirit, the language of her heart, like that of the Apostle Paul was, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do? ”

“I bade farewell forever" she says “to assemblies which I had visited, to plays and diversions, to dancing, to unprofitable walks, and to parties of pleasure. The amusements and pleasures which are so much prized and esteemed by the world, now appeared to me dull and insipid,— so much so, that I wondered how I ever could have enjoyed them." She adds the remark, that for two years previously she had left off the curling of her hair,— a very general and favorite practice at that time, and which, — if we may believe the Maquis De Dangeau, although his statements strictly apply to a somewhat later period,— was sometimes carried to an injurious and unseemly extent. And in connection with doing this she expresses an opinion,— which others, who wish to honor the Savior in a Christian life, might do well to remember, — that she abandoned a practice, which, in the judgment of a correct taste, does not in reality contribute to the attractions of personal appearance; and the abandonment of which, therefore, if rightly considered, cannot be supposed to involve any great personal sacrifice.

Without going into particulars, it may perhaps be sufficient to say, that from this time it became her object, in her dress, in her modes of living, and in her personal habits generally, as well as in her interior dispositions, to conform to the requisitions of the Inward Monitor, the Comforter and Guide of holy souls, who now began to speak in her heart.

— edited from The Life of Madame Guyon (1877) Volume 1,  Chapter 8.

Strength from the Cross

"But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world." — Gal. 6.14.

Oh, who shall sing the joyful song at last?
Oh, who shall raise in heaven the conqueror's strain,
O'er foes subdued, and inward vices slain,
And seasons of temptation safely pass'd?
'Tis he, who counts all other things but dross,
When put into the scale with God's dear Son;
Who willingly the Christian race doth run,
And fights and toils and conquers in the cross.
The cross imparts perennial peace within;
The cross resists and scatters outward foes;
'Tis by the cross the saints their victories win,
And rise to glory, as their Savior rose.
Then heed not earthly shame nor earthly loss,
But count it all for good, if thou may'st bear the cross.

— The Religious Offering, Scripture Sonnets XXII.

The Poor of this World Rich in Faith

"And he lifted up his eyes on his disciples, and said, Blessed be ye poor; for yours is the kingdom of God." — Luke 6.20.

In yon dark forest dwells an aged man,
Whose hoary beard descending sweeps his breast;
His numerous days "are dwindled to a span,"
He waits for his dismissal and his rest.
He  hath no worldly wealth, no worldly fame,
But inward wealth and joys of soul are his;
For he doth love the Savior's blessed name,
And prayer and praising constitute his bliss.
In every evening star a God he sees,
In the wild mountain wind a God he hears,
And bending to the earth his aged knees,
He pours his prayer into Jehovah's ears.
His soul, ascending above earthly things,
Finds audience high in heaven, the glorious King of kings. 

— The Religious Offering (1835) XXI.

God Deals With Us as Individuals

God deals with us, (certainly for the most part,) as individuals, and not in masses. When he requires men to repent of sin, to exercise gratitude, to love, and the like, the requisition is obviously made upon them as individuals, as separate from and as independent of others. It is not possible to conceive of any other way, in which obedience to the requisition can be rendered. Nor is it conceivable that the remedial effect of the atonement should be realized in any other way than this. How is it possible, if I, in my own person, have suffered the wound of sin, that a remedy, which is general and does not admit of any specific and personal appropriation, should answer my purpose? Furthermore, in dying for all, in other words, in furnishing a common salvation, available to all on their acceptance of the same, Christ necessarily died for me as an individual, since the common mass or race of men is made up of individuals, and since I am one of that common mass or race. And indeed we can have no idea of a community or mass of men, except as a congregation or collection of separate persons. In dying for the whole on certain conditions, he necessarily, therefore, on the same conditions, died for the individuals composing that whole.

Justification and Self-Renunciation

But justification by faith involves one important mental element, which has sometimes been overlooked. We cannot better describe it, than by calling it the feeling of self-renunciation. A willingness to acknowledge our nakedness, blindness, and want; and to receive, with the helplessness of little children, whatever may be necessary for us from another. This feeling of self-renunciation is involved in the act of faith; or more properly and truly, it is antecedent and prerequisite to it. In other words, we must cease to believe in ourselves as a ground of hope, we must cease to believe in our own merits and our own strength as a source of salvation, before it is possible for us to believe, in a scriptural manner, in Christ as a source of salvation and as a ground of hope.

Childlike Confidence in God

Religious faith, like natural faith, has its appropriate objects; objects, which are in some way connected with religious experience. As natural faith is known in part, by attaching itself to natural objects; so one of the marks or characteristics of religious faith is, that it attaches itself to religious objects.

The facts, which we notice in children, furnish an illustration of what has now been said. The life of children, I suppose, may in general be regarded as a life of faith. Not of religious faith, it is true; but still of faith, of natural faith. It is interesting to see, though they know that they are entirely dependent for food, raiment, and a home, what entire confidence they repose in their parents; a confidence, which, in excluding doubt, banishes anxiety. Hence it is that they live in such simplicity and quietness of spirit; and in the language of Scripture, are “careful for nothing.” When the object of this state of mind is changed, and it is transferred from the earthly parent to God, it becomes religious faith. The existence of such faith not only constitutes God our Father; but those who exercise it, become, in the language of the Savior, “like little children.” They have the same simple-hearted confidence. Freed from the anxieties of unbelief, they leave their life and their health, their food and their raiment, their joy and their sorrow, in the divine keeping. The resemblance or analogy between the two states of mind, as represented in these two cases, is essentially complete. And yet one of them is to be regarded and spoken of as an instance of natural faith merely. The other is a religious faith.

I find, in the writings of Richard Cecil, an illustration of the view of the subject just given, which seems to me to be suitable to be introduced here.—

“I imprinted on my daughter,” this devout writer remarks, “the idea of Faith, at a very early age. She was playing one day with a few beads, which seemed to delight her wonderfully. Her whole soul was absorbed in her beads. I said—‘My dear, you have some pretty beads there.’ ‘Yes, Papa!’ ‘And you seem to be vastly pleased with them.’ ‘Yes, Papa!’ ‘Well now, throw them behind the fire.’ The tears started into her eyes. She looked earnestly at me, as though she ought to have a reason for such a cruel sacrifice. ‘Well, my dear, do as you please; but you know I never told you to do any thing, which I did not think would be good for you.’ She looked at me a few moments longer, and then summoning up all her fortitude — her breast heaving with the effort — she dashed them into the fire. ‘Well,’ said I: ‘there let them lie: you shall hear more about them another time; but say no more about them now.’ Some days after, I bought her a box full of larger beads, and toys of the same kind. When I returned home, I opened the treasure and set it before her: she burst into tears with ecstasy. ‘Those, my child,’ said I, ‘are yours, because you believed me, when I told you it would be better for you to throw those two or three paltry beads behind the fire. Now that has brought you this treasure. But now, my dear, remember, as long as you live, what FAITH is. I did all this to teach you the meaning of Faith. You threw your beads away when I bade you, because you had faith in me that I never advised you but for your good. Put the same confidence in God. Believe every thing that he says in his word. Whether you understand it or not, have faith in him that he means your good.”

— edited from The Life of Faith (1852) Part 1, Chapter 3.

If Clouds Arise and Storms Appear

If clouds arise and storms appear,
If fortune, friends, and all forsake me,
There's one to shed with mine the tear,
And to His bleeding bosom take me.

Blest Savior! Let it be my lot,
To tread with Thee this round of being;
Thy love and mercy alter not,
When every sunbeam friend is fleeing.

Oh, be it thine to guide my soul
Along the wave of life's dark ocean;
And nought I'll fear, when billows roll,
Nor dread the whirlwind's rude commotion.

Thy love shall be my polar light,
And whether weal or woe betide me,
Through raging storm and shadowy night,
Its blaze shall shine to cheer and guide me.

— Religious Maxims (1846).

The Sabbath

I.

It is the time of rest, the Sabbath day,
That summons from the heart the gentle strain;
Nor well may those withhold the votive lay,
Who know the joys, that follow in its  train.
The Sabbath! What associations cling,
Holy and high, to that beloved name!
It is not mine upon poetic wing
To soar aloft, and bear it forth to fame;
But e' en from one like me a tribute it  may claim.

Long Did the Clouds and Darkness Roll

Long  did the clouds and darkness roll
Around my troubled breast;
No starlight shone upon my soul,
My footsteps found no rest.
To human help I looked around,
But vainly sought relief;
No balm of Gilead I found,
No healing for my grief.

Then to the Savior's help I cried;
He listening heard my prayer;
I saw his wounded hands and side,
And felt that hope was there.
He guides me in the better way;
He makes my footsteps strong;
The gloomy night is changed to day,
And sadness changed to song.

— Religious Maxims (1846).

Marks of True Humility: No Desire for Great Things

One of the surest evidences of sanctification of heart is true humility. It is this state of mind, when viewed in its true aspect, to which the Savior seems to have especial reference, when he represents to his followers the importance of becoming like little children. Without proposing, at this time, to enter very fully into this subject, we shall proceed to mention some of the marks or characteristics by which true humility is known.

The truly humble man does not desire great things for himself; nor does he desire great things in any worldly sense whatever. If God has given him distinguished talents, he is thankful for it. If God has placed him in a position of great influence in the world he is thankful for it. But he can be happy in his talents, in his influence, and any other possession which the world deems valuable, only as they are the gifts of God, and as they are employed for the promotion of his glory. If God sees flt to deprive him of knowledge, property, influence, or any other mere earthly good, he is equally thankful, equally happy. So that he does not desire worldly prosperity in itself considered; and not desiring it, the possession of it does not puff him up with sentiments of pride.

— edited from Religious Maxims (1846).

Labor Empowered by God

One reason that the labor of the truly holy man ceases to be labor, in the ordinary sense of that term, is, that there is a divine power working in him. The Infinite Mind is necessarily the life of the created and finite mind, so long as sin does not separate them from each other. Man is the instrument, in which and through which God works.

The Savior himself said, "I can of myself do nothing." The wonderful power which was manifested in him, in his incarnate state, had its source in his Father, from whom, in the exercise of faith, he continually drew divine strength. [See Acts, Ch. 1:3, and other passages of similar import.] The language of Paul and of other holy men, who derived their strength from God through Christ, is, "I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me." Philipp. 4: 13.

There is an inward conviction, a consciousness felt in the depths of the pious man's spiritual nature, that virtue has a necessary alliance with power, and that the good man never, can be deserted. God, who inspires this remarkable conviction, is pledged, both by nature and by promise, to see it realized. And thus the man of God, who feels this increased strength, finds that easy which would otherwise be hard to him.

— edited from A Treatise on Divine Union (1851) Part 8, Chapter 7.

Cooperation With God: The Proper Time

We  are  not, while we leave to God to ascertain the object to be done, to undertake of ourselves to prescribe the TIME of doing it.

God has not only a work to be done, but He also has a time of doing it. His time is the right time; and no other time is. David was willing to build a house of worship for the Lord. But the time, which infinite wisdom prescribed for this great work, had not arrived. And in the spirit of acquiescence, he left it to his successor. In repeated instances the Savior expressed the sentiment, that "his hour was not yet come"; implying very evidently that the great events of his life, whether of action or of suffering, had their appropriate time. And neither the protestations of friends nor the dictation of enemies could induce Him to violate the maxims of true wisdom, by anticipating, even for a moment, that appropriate period. If, therefore, we gird ourselves for action, however good the object to be done may be, either before the appropriate time or after it, we do not cooperate with God, who always acts precisely at the right time.

This is a point, which it is very important to remember. Persons are more likely to fall into error here, than in the particular which was first mentioned. There is a sort of latent feeling, (a very unrighteous feeling it is,) that if God is permitted exclusively to designate the object, we should have some degree of liberty in exercising our own wisdom, either partially or wholly, in the designation of the time, In other words, we are apt to feel, that a less perfect submission is required in regard to the time, than in regard to the object. This tendency must be carefully guarded against.

— edited from The Interior or Hidden Life (2nd edition, 1844) Part 3, Chapter 5.

Rest From Disquieting Fears

The soul which is brought into entire harmony with God, has rest from all disquieting fears. It is a declaration of the Scriptures, and is no less evident from one's own consciousness, that "fear hath torment.” 1 John 4:18.  In all cases, fear diminishes happiness; and, when it is very great, it is almost inconsistent with any degree of happiness. It  produces distrust; it causes agitation; it sunders friendship; it alienates love. From the wretchedness connected with this state of mind, the holy man has true rest; and no other man has.

Among other things which tend to illustrate these general views, we proceed to remark, that the holy man is delivered from the fear of want. The unrighteous man fears that he will come to want, because he has no faith. On the contrary, where faith and love are perfect, bread will not fail. God will multiply the widow's vessel of oil, or send his ravens, as he did to the famishing prophet, when his people who trust in him are hungry. "I have been young," says the Psalmist, "and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread." Ps. 37:25.

It is proper to add here, it is not the mere fact that God will provide for his people, which delivers from fear; but the belief, the full confidence, that he will do it. And this is not all. The people of God are willing to suffer want, are willing to be as the Savior was, who had no place to lay his head, if God sees it best. In connection with such feelings, it is impossible for fear to exist.

— edited from A Treatise on Divine Union (1851) Part 8, Chapter 5.

Being Like God Means Not Being Impusive

We are continually taught by good men and in the Bible, that we ought to be like our Heavenly Father, to be holy as he is holy, to be perfect as he is perfect. And I suppose it is the general design and aim of Christians, who are striving after high attainments in holiness, to bear this blessed image. But probably we do not any of us conceive of God as acting impulsively and without reflection; as regulating his conduct by the stupid instinct of impressions, without the clear light of perceptive rationality. We should be deeply afflicted and affrighted, in being obliged to ascribe to our Heavenly Father such a character as this.

Similar views will apply to the Savior. He himself says, John 5: 30, "I can of mine own self do nothing. As I hear, I judge; [that is to say, the communications of the Holy Spirit call my judgment into exercise,] and my judgment is just, because, [implying in the remark that he was uninfluenced by any suggestions and impressions from self,] I seek not my own will, but the will of the Father, which hath sent me." Are we not safe, then, if God desires and requires us to be like himself, and to be like him also, whom in the likeness of man He has set before us as our example, in saying, that a judgment, enlightened by the Holy Spirit, is the true guide of our actions, rather than blind impulses and impressions?

It will be recollected, that we do not absolutely deny the occasional existence of impulses and impressions, resulting from the operations of the Spirit of God. But we cannot well avoid the conclusion, that they are entitled to no influence, and are not designed to have any, except in connection with the subsequent action of an awakened and sanctified judgment. And it is this view only, which can rescue them from the imputation of blindness and irrationality, even when they come from a good and right source. When, therefore, we speak of them as blind and irrational, we wish to be understood as speaking of them, as they are in themselves, and without being enlightened by the subsequent action of a sanctified intellect. The subsequent action of the mind, which may always be expected to follow when they come from the Holy Spirit, cannot fail to impart to them a new and interesting character.

— edited from The Interior or Hidden Life (2nd edition 1844) Part 3, Chapter 4.

The True Ground of Joy

"Notwithstanding, in this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice because your names are written in heaven."  Luke x. 20.

Rejoice not in thy wealth of house and fields,
Nor build your hopes and bliss on earthly fame;
Earth but a momentary glory yields,
Its brightest joys are as an empty name.
Oh, fix no fondness there; 't will prove a thorn;
Many, that deeply loved, have deeply rued
Attachments so unworthy; and they warn
Others from treading where their feet have stood.
The Savior teaches a far wiser course,
To deem it glory, not that we possess
Mere wealth or power, or learning's proud resource,
Which mock us with the show of happiness;
But that we have, in that dread Book on high,
Our names inscribed of God, in words that never die.

— American Cottage Life (1850) XXII.

The Power of Love

The man, therefore, who is inspired and moved by the sentiments of pure or holy love, is a man of power. The maxim, that knowledge is power, is not more true than the proposition, that love is power. Limited in knowledge, and weak perhaps in social position, the man who loves is powerful by character. His mere opinions, divested as they necessarily are of the perversions of selfishness, inspire more confidence than the proofs all arguments of other men. His wish becomes a law, and has far more influence with those around him than the arts and compulsions, which a spirit less pure and generous would be likely to apply. Power is lodged in him, lives in him, moves in him, goes out from him. It costs him no effort. It is felt, almost without being exercised.

Christlikeness: Living for Others

The Savior was conscientious and strictly faithful in whatever his Father committed into his hands to do. He lived for others. And in living for others, he made no secret reservation, that he would in some things consult his own interest. In the language of Scripture, HE PLEASED NOT HIMSELF. In the various companies, in which he mingled, he never forgot the great mission on which he came. He was a man of labor, as well as of faith; and showed in his whole life, that action is the result of believing. It has been remarked of him, that if he had not had something to say to Simon, he probably would not have been found seated at Simon's table; and that "there is not an instance of his having sat at meat with sinners, without reproving their iniquities; or sharing the hospitality of unbelievers, without forcing them to listen to his words." He felt it his duty to leave nothing undone, which ought to  be done. And he did it deliberately, thoroughly, unremittingly. His whole being, in all its innate power and all its outward efforts, was devoted to the one great work of doing his Father's will. No personal inconvenience, no opposition and threats of men, no pressure of personal and temporary interest, nor any other obstacles of whatever nature, had the effect to deter him from doing his duty, and his whole duty to God and to men. "I find it impossible," says David Brainerd, "to enjoy peace and tranquillity of mind, without a careful improvement of time. This is really an imitation of God and Christ Jesus. 'My Father worketh hitherto, and I work,' says our Lord. If we would be like God, we must see that we fill up our time for him."

— edited from The Interior or Hidden Life (1844) Part 2, Chapter 13.

Christlikeness: Prayer

The Savior was a man of PRAYER. We have already had occasion to notice his declaration, that "without his Father he could do nothing." And as if in practical recognition and manifestation of his entire personal dependence, we find him often kneeling in supplication, and drawing divine strength from the Everlasting Fountain. As God, he had all power. As man, (the aspect in which we are now contemplating him,) he had no power, which he did not receive from his heavenly Father. And if there was ever any instance of "living by the moment," (which seems to us the true way of Christian living, and which obviously implies praying by the moment,) we find it undoubtedly in the life of Jesus Christ. He may be said, therefore, with a great deal of truth, to have been praying all the time. Certainly he was always in the spirit of prayer. But, besides this spirit of continual intercourse with God, which was as natural to him as the breath which he breathed, he had especial seasons of supplication, when he went apart from men, and poured forth his soul in private.

"Cold mountains and the midnight air,

"Witnessed the fervor of his prayer."

If even the Savior could do nothing without his Father, if prayer was as necessary to his spiritual support as the very air he breathed was to the support of his body, let no one suppose, that he can sustain the grace of a truly regenerated and sanctified heart, without possessing a like prayerful spirit.

— edited from The Interior or Hidden Life (1844) Part 2, Chapter 13.