Chapter 17: Rule 3 — Seeking a Change of Spirit for Those Averse to This Blessedness

Rule third. Directing such as upon inquiry find, or see cause to suspect a total aversion in themselves to this blessedness, to be speedy, and restless in their endeavors, to have the temper of their spirits altered, and made suitable to it. Doubts and objections concerning the use of such endeavors, in such a case, answered. Some considerations to enforce this direction propounded and pressed.

3. That if, upon such reflection, we find, or suspect ourselves, wholly disaffected, and unsuitable to this blessedness, we apply ourselves to speedy, incessant endeavors to get the temper of our spirits changed, and fitted thereto.

The state of the case speaks itself, that there is no sitting still here. This is no condition, (soul) to be rested in; unless you are provided to encounter the terrors of eternal darkness, and endure the torture of everlasting burnings. Yet am I not unapprehensive how great a difficulty a carnal heart will make of it, to bestir itself in order to any redress of so deplorable a case. And how real a difficulty it is to say any thing, that will be thought regardable to such a one. Our sad experience tells us, that our most efficacious words are commonly wont to be entertained, as neglected puffs of wind; our most convictive reasonings, and persuasive exhortations lost (indeed, and though they are managed too in the name of the great God) as upon the deaf, and dead. Which is too often apt to tempt into that resolution, of speaking no more in that name. And were it not that the dread of that great Majesty retains us; how hard were it to forbear such expostulations; Lord, why are we commonly sent upon so vain an errand? Why are we required to speak to them that will not hear? And expose your sacred truths and counsels, to the contempt of sinful worms? To labor day by day in vain, and spend our strength for nothing. Indeed; we cannot forbear to complain. None so labor in vain as we. Of all men, none so generally, improsperous, and unsuccessful. Others are wont to see the fruit of their labors, in proportion to the expense of strength in them. But our strength is labor, and sorrow, (for the most part) without the return of a joyful fruit. The husbandman ploughs in hope, and sows in hope, and is, commonly, partaker of his hope; we are sent to plough, and sow among rocks, and thorns, and in the highway; how seldom fall we upon good ground! Where we have any increase. Indeed Lord! how often are men the harder for all our labors with them, the deader for all endeavors to quicken them. Our breath kills them, whom you send us to speak life to, and we often become to them a deadly savor. Sometimes, when we think somewhat is done to purpose, our labor, all returns, and we are to begin again; and when the duties we persuade to come directly to cross men's interests, and carnal inclinations, they revolt and start back, as if we were urging them upon flames, or the sword's point, and their own souls, and the eternal glory are regarded as a thing of nothing. Then Heaven and Hell become with them fancies and dreams, and all that we have said to them false and fabulous. We are to the most, as men that mock, in our most serious warnings, and counsels, and the word of the Lord is a reproach. We sometimes fill our mouths with arguments, and our hearts with hope, and think, sure, they will now yield, but they esteem our strongest reasonings (as Leviathan does iron, and brass) but as straw, and rotten wood, and laugh at divine threats; as he does at the shaking of the spear. Indeed, and when we have convinced them, yet we have done nothing; though we have got their judgments and consciences on our side, and their own; their lusts, only, reluctate, and carry all. They will now have their way, though they perish. We see them perishing under our very eye, and we cry to them (in your name, O Lord) to turn, and live, but they regard us not. For these things sometimes we weep in secret, and our eyes trickle down with tears, indeed we cry to you, O Lord! and you hear us not; your hand seems shortened, that it cannot save; it puts not on strength as in the days of old. It has snatched souls by thousands, as firebrands out of the fire, but now you hide and draw it back. Who has believed our report, to whom is the Arm of the Lord revealed. Meanwhile even the Devil's instruments prosper more than we. And he that makes it his business to tempt, and entice down souls to hell, succeeds more than we that would allure them to heaven.

But we must speak, whether men will hear, or forbear, though it concerns us to do it with fear and trembling. Oh how solemn a business is it to treat with souls! and how much to be dreaded lest they miscarry through our imprudence, or neglect! I write with solicitude what shall become of these lines; with what effect they will be read (if they fall into such hands) by them, whom they most concern; Indeed, and with some doubt, whether it were best to write on, or forbear. Sometimes one would incline to think it, a merciful omission lest we add to the account, and torment of many at last, but sense of duty toward all; and hope of doing good to some must oversway. Considering therefore the state of such souls I am now dealing with, I apprehend there may be obstructions to the entertainment of the counsel here recommended, of two sorts; partly in their minds, partly in their hearts, something of appearing reason; but more of [reconstructed: real] perverse will. That which I shall do in pursuance of it, will fall under two answerable heads, 1. A reply to certain doubts and objections wherein to meet with the former. 2. The proposal of some considerations, wherein to contend against the latter.

As to the first, it appears men are grown ingeniously wicked; and have learned how to dispute themselves into hell; and to neglect what concerns their eternal blessedness, with some color, and pretense of reason. It will therefore be worth the while to discuss a little their more specious pretenses; and consider their more obvious (supposable) scruples, which will be found to concern, either the possibility, lawfulness, advantage, or necessity of the endeavors we persuade to.

Is it a possible undertaking you put us upon? Or is there anything we can do in order to the change of our own hearts? We find ourselves altogether, undesirous of those things wherein you state blessedness, and they are without savor to us. If therefore the notion you give us of blessedness be right, all the work necessary to qualify us for it, is yet to be done; we yet remain wholly destitute of any principle of life, that may dispose us to such relishes and enjoyments. If the new creature, (as you say) consist in a suitable temper of spirit to such a state as this, it is as yet wholly unformed in us. And is there anything to be done by a dead man in order to life? Can a child contribute anything to its first formation? Or a creature to its coming into being?

If you were serious in what you say, methinks you should have little mind to play the sophists, and put fallacies upon yourselves in a matter that concerns the life of your souls. And what else are you now doing? For sure, otherwise one would think it were no such difficulty to understand the difference between (the esse simpliciter) the mere being of anything, and (the esse tale) its being such, or such; by the addition of somewhat afterward to that being. Though nothing could contribute to its own being simply, yet sure, when it is in being, it may contribute to the bettering, or perfecting of itself (as even the unreasonable creatures themselves do). And if it be a creature naturally capable of acting with design, it may act designedly in order to its becoming so or so qualified, or the attaining of somewhat yet wanting to its perfection. You cannot be thought so ignorant, but that you know the new creature is only an addition to your former being. And though it be true, that it can do no more to its own production, than the unconceived child (as nothing can act before it is) does it therefore follow, that your reasonable soul, in which it is to be formed, cannot use God's prescribed means in order to that blessed change? You cannot act holily, as a saint; but therefore can you not act rationally, as a man? I appeal to your reason and conscience in some particulars.

Is it impossible to you to attend upon the dispensation of that Gospel, which is God's power to salvation? The seal by which he impresses his image, the glass through which his glory shines to the changing of souls into the same likeness — are you not as able to go to church, as to the tavern; and to sit in the assembly of saints, as of mockers?

Is it [reconstructed: impossible] to you to consult the written word of God, and from there learn what you must be and do in order to blessedness? Will not your eyes serve you to read the Bible as well as a Gazette or play-book?

Is it impossible to inquire of your minister, or an understanding Christian neighbor concerning the way and terms of blessedness? Cannot your tongue pronounce these words, what shall I do to be saved? As well as these — pray what do you think of the weather? Or what news is there going? Yet further,

Is it [reconstructed: impossible] to apply your thoughts to what you meet with suitable to your case, in your attendance upon preaching, reading, or discourse? Have all such words a [reconstructed: barbarous] sound in your ear? Can you not consider what sense is carried under them? What they import and signify? Can you not ask yourself: do the doctrines of God, and Christ, and the life to come, signify something or nothing? Or do they signify anything worth considering, or that it is fit for me to take notice of?

And yet to proceed a little further with you,

I pray you once more demand of yourselves, and put your consciences closely to it; whether, when they have told you (as no doubt they will) that such things deserve your consideration, it be impossible to you, to use your considering power thus, and employ it even about these things. Do but make this easy trial, and then say, whether it be impossible; see if you cannot select one hour on purpose, wherein to sit down by yourselves alone, with this resolution. Well, I will now spend this hour in considering my eternal concerns. When you have obtained so much of yourself: set your thoughts on work (you will find them voluble and unfixed, very apt to revolt, and fly off from things you have no mind to) but use your authority with yourself. Tell your soul (or let it tell itself) these things concern your life. At least, taking this prepared matter along with you (that you may not have this pretense you know not what to think of) try if you cannot think of these things, now actually suggested, and offered to your thoughts; as namely,

Consider, that you have a reasonable immortal soul, which, as it is liable to eternal misery, so it is capable of eternal blessedness.

That this blessedness you do understand to consist only in the vision of the blessed God, in being made like to him, and in the satisfaction that [reconstructed: is] from there to result and accrue to you.

Consider (what your very objection supposes) that you find the temper of your spirit to be altogether indisposed, and averse to such a blessedness. Is it not so? Is not this your very case? Feel now again your heart, try — is it not at least coldly affected towards this blessed state?

Is it not then obvious to you to consider that the temper of your spirit must be changed, or you are undone? That, inasmuch as your blessedness lies in God, this change [reconstructed: must lie] in the alteration of your dispositions and the posture of your spirit towards him. Further,

Can you not consider the power, and fixedness of your aversion from God? And with how mighty a weight your heart is carried, and held down from him? Try, lift at your heart, see if it will be raised Godward, and Heavenward? Do you not find it is as if you were lifting at a mountain, that it lies as a dead weight, and stirs not? Ponder your case in this respect. And then,

Is it not to be considered, that your time is passing away quickly? That if you let yourself alone, it is likely to be as bad with you tomorrow, as this day, and as bad the next day, as tomorrow? And if your time expires, and you are snatched away in this state, what will become of you? And do you not therefore see a necessity of considering whatever may be most moving, and most likely to incline your heart Godward, of pleading yet more loudly, and importunately with yourself?

And can you not consider, and reason the matter thus? O my soul, what is the reason that you so draw back, and hang off from your God? That you are so unwilling to be blessed in him? That you should venture to run yourself upon eternal perdition rather? What cause has he ever given you to disaffect him? What is the ground of your so mighty prejudice? Has he ever done you hurt? Do you think he will not accept a returning soul? That is to give the lie to his Gospel, and it becomes not a perishing wretch so to provoke him in whom is all its hope. Is the eternal glory an undesirable thing? Or the everlasting burnings tolerable? Can you find a way of being forever blessed without God, or whether he will or no? Or is there a sufficient, present pleasure in your sinful distance from God, to outweigh Heaven and Hell? Dare you venture upon a resolution of giving God and Christ their last refusal? Or say, you will never hearken to, or have to do with them more? Or dare you venture to do, what you dare not resolve? And act the wickedness you cannot think of? Scorn eternal Majesty and love? Spurn and trample a bleeding Savior.

Commune thus awhile with yourself, but if yet you find your heart relents nothing. You can yet further consider, that it lies not in your power to turn your own heart (or else how do you come thus to object?) And hence,

Can you avoid considering, this is a distressed case? That you are in great straits; liable to perish (indeed sure to do so, if you continue in that ill temper of spirit) and wholly unable to help yourself. Surely you cannot but see this to be a most distressed case.

I put it now to your conscience; whether, being thus led on, you cannot go thus far. See whether upon trial, your conscience gives you leave to say; I am not able thus to do, or think: and be not here so foolish, as to separate the action of the first cause, and the second, in judging your ability. You may say no, I cannot think a good thought without God; true, so I know you cannot move your finger without God; but my meaning in this appeal to your conscience, is, whether upon trial, you find not an assistance sufficient to carry you thus far?

Possibly you will say indeed; but what am I the better? I am only brought to see myself in a distressed, perishing condition, and can get no further.

I answer, it is well you are got so far; if you do indeed see yourself perishing, and your drowsy soul awake, into any sense of the sadness of your case. But I intend not thus to leave you here. Therefore let me, furthermore, demand of you: What course would you take in any other distress, wherein you know not what to do to help yourself? Would not such an exigency, when you find yourself pinched, and urged on every side, and every way is shut up to you, that you are beset with calamities, and can no way turn yourself to avoid them; would not such an exigency force you down on your knees? And set you a crying to the God of mercy for relief and help? Would not nature itself prompt to this? Is it not natural to lift up hands, and eyes to Heaven, when we know not what to do?

Therefore having thus far reasoned with you about your considering power, let me demand of you, if you cannot yet go somewhat further than considering? That is, in short,

Is it impossible to you to obey this dictate of nature? I mean, represent the deplorable case of your soul before him that made it, and crave his merciful relief? Do not dispute the matter, you cannot but see this is a possible, and a rational course as your case is. Should not a people seek to their God? Fall down therefore low before him, prostrate yourself at the footstool of his mercy-seat. Tell him you understand him to be the Father of Spirits, and the Father of Mercies, that you have heard of his great mercy, and pity towards the spirits of men, in their forlorn lapsed state. What a blessedness he has designed for them, what means he has designed to bring them to it. Tell him you only need a temper of spirit, suitable to this blessedness he invites you to. That you cannot master, and change your sensual, earthly heart, you know he easily can; you are come to implore his help, that his blessed and holy Spirit may descend, and breathe upon your stupid, dead soul; and may sweetly incline, and move it towards him, that it may eternally rest in him; and that you may not perish, after so much done, in order to your blessedness; only for want of a heart to entertain it. Tell him you come upon his gracious encouragement, having heard he is as ready to give his Spirit, to them that ask him, as parents bread to their craving children, rather than a stone. That it is for life you beg. That it is not so easy to you to think of perishing forever, that you cannot desist, and give up all your hopes; that you shall be in Hell shortly, if he hears and helps you not.

Lastly, if thus you obtain any communication of that holy blessed Spirit, and you find it gently moving your dead heart, let me once more demand of you; Is it impossible to forbear this or that external act of sin at this time, when you are tempted to it, surely you cannot say, it is impossible. What necessitates you to it? And then certainly you may as well, ordinarily, withhold yourself from running into such customary sensualities, as tend to grieve the Spirit, debauch conscience, stupefy your soul, and hide God from you.

And if you can do all this, do not fool your slothful soul with as idle a conceit, that you have nothing to do, but to sit still, expecting till you drop into Hell.

2. But have I not reason to fear I shall but add sin to sin, in all this? And so increase the burden of guilt upon my own soul, and by endeavoring to better my case, make it far worse.

Two things I consider, that suggest to me this fear. The manner, and end, of the duties you put me upon, as they will be done by me in the case wherein I apprehend myself yet to lie.

1. Manner. (As to the positive actions you advise to) I have heard the best actions of an unregenerate person are sins through the sinfulness of their manner of doing them, though as to matter of the thing done, they be enjoined, and good. And though it be true, that the regenerate cannot perform a sinless duty, neither yet their persons, and works being covered over with the righteousness of Christ, are looked upon as having no sin in them, which I apprehend to be none of my case.

2. End. You put me upon these things in order to the attaining of blessedness: and to do such things with intuition to a reward, is to be (as may be doubted) unwarrantably, mercenary, and servile.

1. First, as to this former reason of your doubt, methinks the proposal of it answers it. For as much as you acknowledge the matter of these actions to be good, and duty (and plain it is they are moral duties, of common, perpetual concernment to all persons, and times) dare you decline, or dispute against your duty.

Sure, if we compare the evil of what is so substantially in itself, and what is so circumstantially, only by the adherence of some undue manner; it cannot be hard to determine which is the greater, and more dreadful evil. As to the present case, should you, when the great God sends abroad his proclamation of pardon and peace, refuse to attend it; to consider the contents of it, and your own case in reference thereto; and thereupon to sue to him for the life of your own soul. Do you not plainly see your refusal must needs be more provoking than your defective performance. This speaks disability, but that rebellion, and contempt. Besides, do you not see that your objection lies as much against every other action of your life; the wise man tells us, the ploughing of the wicked is sin (if that be literally to be understood.) And what would you therefore sit still and do nothing; then how soon would that idleness draw on gross wickedness? And would not that be a dreadful confutation of yourself, if you who pretended a scruple, that you might not pray, read, hear, meditate, shall not scruple to play the glutton, the drunkard, the wanton, and indulge yourself in all riot, and excess. Indeed, if you do not break out into such exorbitances, would anyone think him serious, that should say it were against his conscience to be working out his salvation, and striving to enter in at the strait gate. Seeking first the Kingdom of God, etc. — would not this sound strangely? And especially that, in the mean time, it should never be against his conscience, to trifle away his time, and live in perpetual neglects of God, in persevering atheism, infidelity, hardness of heart, never regretted or striving against; as if these were more innocent?

And what you say of the different case of the regenerate, is impertinent; for as to this matter, the case is not different, they that take themselves to be such, must not think that by their supposed interests in the righteousness of Christ, their real sins cease to be such, they only become pardoned sins; and shall they therefore sin more boldly than other men, because they are surer of pardon?

Secondly. As to the other ground of this doubt, there can only be a fear of sinning, upon this account, to them, that make more sins and duties than God has made. The doubt supposes religion inconsistent with humanity, and that God were about to raze out of the nature of man, one of the most radical, and fundamental laws written there, a desire of blessedness. And supposes it, against the express scope, and tenor of his whole Gospel revelation. For what does that design, but to bring men to blessedness? And how is it a means to compass that design, but as it tends to engage men's spirits to design it too? Unless we would imagine they should go to heaven blindfold; or be rolled there as stones, that know not whether they are moved; in which case the Gospel, that reveals the eternal glory, and the way to it, were a useless thing. If such express words had not been in the Bible, as that Moses had respect to the recompense of reward; indeed, that our Lord Jesus himself for the joy set before him, endured the cross, etc. this had been a little more colorable, or more modest.

And what, do not all men in all the ordinary actions of their lives act, allowably enough, with intuition to much lower ends? Even those particular ends, which the works of their several callings tend to, else they should act as brutes in every thing they do. And would such a one scruple, if he were pining for want of bread, to beg, or labor for it, for this end, to be relieved. It is the mistaking of the notion of heaven, that has also an ingredient into this doubt (if it be really a doubt) — what is it a low thing to be filled with the divine fullness? To have his glory replenishing our souls? To be perfectly freed from sin? In every thing conformed to his holy nature and will? That our minding our interest in this, or any affairs, should be the principal thing with us, is not to be thought; our supreme end must be the same with his, who made all things for himself, of whom, through whom, and to whom all things are, that he alone might have the glory. But subordinates need not quarrel. A lower end does not exclude, the higher but serves it; and is, as to it, a means. God is our end, as he is to be glorified, and enjoyed by us: our glorifying him is but the acknowledgment of his glory; which we do most in beholding, and partaking it, which is therefore in direct subordination thereto.

3. But it may further be doubted, what if it be acknowledged that these are both things possible and lawful; yet to what purpose will it be to attempt any thing in this kind? O! what assurance have I of success? Is there any word of promise for the encouragement of one in my case? Or is God under any obligation to reward the endeavors of nature with special grace? Therefore, when I have done all I can, he may withhold his influence, and then I am but where I was, and may perish notwithstanding.

And suppose you perish notwithstanding. Do but yet consult a little with your own thoughts, which is more tolerable and easy to them: to perish as not attaining what your fainter strivings could not reach, or for the most direct, willful rebellion, doing wickedly as you could? Or who shall have, do you think, the more fearful condemnation? He that shall truly say when his Master comes to judgment: I never had indeed (Lord) a heart so fully changed, and turned to you, as should denote me to be the subject of your saving, pardoning mercy; but you know (who knows all things) I long (and with some earnestness) did endeavor it. You have been privy to my secret desires, and moans, to the weak strivings of a listless, distempered spirit, not pleased with itself, aiming at a better temper toward you. I neglected not your prescribed means, only that grace which I could not claim you were pleased not to give; you did require what I must confess myself to have owed you; you did withhold only what you owed me not; therefore must I yield myself a convicted guilty wretch, and have nothing to say why your sentence should not pass. Or he that shall as truly hear from the mouth of his Judge: Sinner, you were often forewarned of this approaching day, and called upon to provide for it. You had precept upon precept, and line upon line. The counsels of life and peace were, with frequent importunity, pressed upon you, but you rejected all with proud contempt, did despise, with the same profane scorn, the offers, commands, and threats of him that made you; hardened your heart to the most obstinate rebellion against his known laws, did all the wickedness to which your heart prompted you, without restraint, declined every thing of duty which his authority, and the exigency of your own case did oblige you to; did avoid, as much as you could, to hear or know any thing of my will, could not find one serious considering hour in [reconstructed: your] whole lifetime, to bethink yourself [reconstructed: what] was likely to become of you, when your place on earth should know you no more. You might know you were at my mercy, your breath in my hand, and that I could easily have cut you off, any moment of that large space of time, my patience allowed you in the world. Yet you never thought it worthy the while to sue to me for your life. Destruction from the Lord was never a terror to you. You would never be brought upon your knees, I had none of your addresses, never did you sigh out a serious request for mercy: your soul was not worth so much in your account. Your blood, wretch, be upon your guilty head; Depart, accursed, into everlasting flames, etc.

Come now, use your reason a while; employ a few sober thoughts about this matter; remember, you will have a long eternity, wherein to recognize the passages of your life, and the state of your case in the last judgment. Were it supposable, that one who had done as the former, should be left finally destitute of divine grace, and perish, yet in which of these cases would you choose to be found at last?

But why yet should you imagine so sad an issue as that after your utmost endeavors, grace should be withheld, and leave you to perish, because God has not bound himself by promise to you? What promise have the ravens to be heard when they cry? But you are a sinner. True, otherwise you were not without promise; the promises of the first covenant would, at least, belong to you. Yet experience tells the world his unpromised mercies freely flow everywhere; the whole earth is full of his goodness. Indeed, but his special grace is conveyed by promise only; and that only through Christ; and how can it be communicated [reconstructed: through him] to any but those that are in him? What then, is the first in-being in Christ no special grace? Or is there any being in him before the first, that should be the ground of that [reconstructed: gracious] communication? Things are plain enough, if we make them not intricate, or entangle ourselves by foolish subtleties. God promises sinners indefinitely pardon, and eternal life for the sake of Christ, on condition that they believe on him. He gives of his good pleasure that grace whereby he draws any to Christ, without promise directly made to them, whether absolute, or conditional; though he give it for the sake of Christ also. His discovery of his purpose to give such grace to some indefinitely amounts not to a promise claimable by any, for if it be said to be an absolute promise, to particular persons, who are they? Whose duty is it to believe it made to him? If conditional, what are the conditions upon which the first grace is certainly promised? Who can be able to assign them?

But poor soul! you need not stay to puzzle yourself about this matter. God binds himself to do what he promises; but has he anywhere bound himself to do no more? Did he promise you your being; or that you should live to this day? Did he promise you the bread that sustains you, the daily comforts of your life? Indeed, (what is nearer the present purpose) did he promise you a station under the Gospel? or that you should ever hear the name of Christ? If ever his Spirit has in any degree moved upon your heart, inclined you at all seriously to consider your eternal concerns, did he beforehand make you any promise of that?

A promise would give you a full certainty of the issue, if it were absolute out of hand; if conditional, as soon as you find the condition performed. But what, can you act upon no lower rate than a foregoing certainty, a pre-assurance of the event?

My friend, consider a little (what you cannot but know already) that it is hope (built with those that are rational, upon rational probabilities, with many, oftentimes, upon none at all) is the great engine that moves the world, that keeps all sorts of men in action. Does the farmer know in advance, when he plows and sows, that the crop will answer his cost and pains? Does the merchant know in advance, when he embarks his goods, he shall have a safe and gainful return? Do you know in advance, when you eat, it shall refresh you? When you take medicine, that it shall recover your health and save your life? Indeed further, can the [reconstructed: covetous] man pretend a promise that his unjust practices shall enrich him? The malicious, that he shall prosper in his design of revenge? The ambitious, that he shall be great and honorable? The voluptuous, that his pleasures shall be always unmixed with gall and wormwood? Can any say they ever had a promise to assure them that profaneness and sensuality would bring them to heaven? That an ungodly dissolute life would end in blessedness? Here the Lord knows men can be confident and active enough without a promise, and against many an express threatening. Will you not, upon the hope you have before you, do as much for your soul, for eternal blessedness, as men do for uncertain riches, short pleasures, an airy soon-blasted name? Indeed, as much as men desperately do to damn themselves and purchase their own swift destruction.

Or can you pretend, though you have no presuming promise, you have no hope? Is it nothing to have heard so much of God's gracious nature? Is it suitable to the reports and discoveries he has made of himself, to let a poor wretch perish at his feet, that lies prostrate there expecting his mercy? Did you ever hear he was so little a lover of souls? Do his giving his Son, his earnest, unwearied strivings with sinners, his long patience, the clear beams of Gospel-light, the amiable appearances of his grace, give ground for no better, no kinder thoughts of him? Indeed, has he not expressly styled himself the God hearing prayers, taken a name on purpose to encourage all flesh to come to him? Will you dare then to adopt those profane words, what profit is it to pray to him? And say it is better to sit still, resolving to perish, than address to him or seek his favor, because he has not by promise assured you of the issue, and that, if he suspends his grace, all you do will be in vain?

How would you judge of the like resolution? If the farmer should say, when I have spent my pains and cost in breaking up and preparing the earth, and casting in my seed; if the sun shine not, and the rain fall not in season; if the influences of heaven be suspended, if God withhold his blessing: or if an evading enemy anticipate my harvest; all I do and expend is to no purpose; and God has not assured me of the contrary by express promise; it is as good therefore to sit still. Censure and answer him, and yourself both together.

But you will yet, it may be, say that though all this may be possibly true, yet you cannot, all this while, be convinced of any need so earnestly to [reconstructed: busy] yourself about this affair. For God is wont to surprise souls by preventing acts of grace, to be found of them that sought him not, to break in by an irresistible power, which he least thought of. And to [reconstructed: go about to] anticipate his grace were to detract from the [illegible], and so from the glory of it.

But are you not in all this afraid of charging God foolishly? When the merciful God, in compassion to the souls of men, has given his Gospel, constituted and settled a standing office to be perpetuated through all ages for the publication of it; invited the world therein to a treaty with him, touching the concerns of their eternal peace; required so strictly their attendance to, and most serious consideration of his proposals and offers; encouraged and commanded their addresses to him, set up a throne of grace on purpose — will you dare to say all this is needless?

When God speaks to you, is it needless for you to hear him, or regard what he says? Or when he commands you to pour forth your soul to him, will you say it is a needless thing?

Do you not plainly see that the peculiar, appropriate aptitude of the things pressed upon you speaks them necessary as means to their designed end; from which also they are fitly called means of grace? Is not the Word of God the immortal seed? Are not souls begotten by that Word to be the firstfruits of his creatures? Is it not the type, the mold, or print, by which divine impressions are put upon the soul? The instrument by which he sanctifies. Are not the exceeding great and precious promises the [reconstructed: Vehicula], the conveyances of the divine nature? And what can be the means to mollify and melt the obdurate heart of a sinner, to assuage its enmity, to overcome it into the love of God, to transform it into his image, but the Gospel-discovery of God's own gracious and holy nature? And can it operate to this purpose, without being heard, or read, and understood, and considered, and taken to heart? Do but compare this means God works by, with the subject to be wrought upon, and the effect to be wrought, and nothing can be conceived more adequate and fitly corresponding.

But inasmuch as there has been an enmity between God and sinners, and that therefore the whole entire means of reconciliation must be a treaty, and that a treaty cannot be managed or conceived without mutual interlocution; therefore must the sinner have a way of expressing its own sense to God, as well as he speaks his mind to it; which shows the necessity of prayer too. And therefore, because the peace begins on his part (though the war began on ours) he calls upon sinners to open themselves to him: Come now, let us reason together — he invites and addresses; Seek the Lord, while he may be found, and call upon him, while he is near, etc. And does not the natural relation itself between the Creator and a creature require this, besides the urgency of our present case? Every creature is a supplicant; its necessary dependence is a natural prayer. The eyes of all things look up, etc. It is the proper glory of a deity to be depended on and addressed to. Should not a people seek to their God? It is an appeal to reason — is it not a fitting thing?

Further, do you not know your Maker's will made [reconstructed: known], laying upon you a necessity of obeying; unless you think the [reconstructed: breach] between God and you is better to be healed by rebellion: and that the only way to expiate wickedness were to continue and multiply them. Is it a needless thing to comply with the will of him that gave you breath and being, and whose power is so absolute over you, as to all your concerns, both of time and eternity?

Again, while you pretend these things are needless; come now, speak out freely: what are the more necessary affairs in which you are so deeply engaged, that you cannot suffer a diversion? What — is the service and gratification of your flesh and sense so important a business, that you can be at no leisure for that more needless work of saving your soul? Where is your reason and your modesty? Do you mind nothing else from day to day but necessary affairs? Do you use, when you are tempted to vain dalliances, empty discourses, intemperate indulgence to your appetite, to answer the temptation: It is not necessary? Or are you so destitute of all conscience and shame, to think it unnecessary to work out your salvation, to strive to enter in at the strait gate that leads to life — but most indispensably necessary to be very critically curious about what you shall eat and drink and put on, and how to spend your time with greatest ease and pleasure to your flesh, that it may not have the least cause to complain it is neglected?

Your pretense, that God is accustomed to be found of them that sought him not — to the purpose you intend it — is a most ignorant or malicious abuse of Scripture. The Prophet is in that text foretelling the calling of the Gentiles, who, while they remained such, did not (it is true) inquire after God; but then he expressly first tells us (personating God), "I am sought of them that asked not for me" (that is, after the Gospel came among them), and then it is added, "I am found" (upon this seeking, plainly) of those that sought me not (that is, who once in their former darkness, before I revealed myself in the Gospel-dispensation, sought me not) — as if to say: I am now sought of a people that lately sought me not, nor asked after me, and I am found of them (Isaiah 65:1). But what is this to your case, whom God has been in Gospel earnestly inviting to seek after him, and you all this while refuse to comply with the invitation?

And suppose you hear of some rare instances of persons suddenly snatched by the hand of grace out of the midst of their wickedness, as firebrands out of the fire. Is it therefore the safest course to go on in a manifest rebellion against God, until possibly he may do so by you also? How many thousands may have dropped into hell since you heard of such an instance (as a worthy person speaks to that purpose)? If you have heard of one Elijah fed by ravens, and of some thousands by our Savior's miracles, can you from that plead a repeal of that law to the world: they that will not labor shall not eat — or is it a safer or wiser course to wait until food drops into your mouth from heaven, than to use a prudent care for the maintenance of your life? If you say you hear but of few that are wrought upon in this way, of their own foregoing expectation and endeavor — remember (and let the thought of it startle you) that there are but few that are saved. And therefore so few are wrought upon in this way, because so few will be persuaded to it. But can you say (though God has not bound himself to the mere natural endeavors of his creature, neither) that ever any took this course and persisted with faithful diligence, but they succeeded in it?

What you talk of regarding the freeness of God's grace looks like a hypocritical pretense. Is there no way to honor his grace but by affronting his authority — but to sin, that grace may abound? Surely grace will be better pleased by obedience than by such sacrifice. For a miserable perishing wretch to use God's means to help itself — does that look like merit? Is the beggar afraid you should interpret his coming to your door and seeking your alms to signify, as if he thought he had deserved them? I hope you will acknowledge yourself less than the least of all God's mercies, and that you cannot deserve from him a morsel of bread — may you not therefore, in your necessity, labor for your living, lest you should intrench upon the freeness of divine bounty? With as much wisdom and reason, you might decline the use of all other means to preserve your life (which you must always owe to free mercy) — to eat when you are hungry, to take medicine when you are sick, lest you should intimate yourself to have merited the strength and health sought thereby.

Nor can I think of any rational pretense that can more plausibly be insisted on than these that have been thus briefly discussed. And it must needs be difficult to bring any appearance of reason for the patronage of so ill a cause as the careless giving up of a man's soul to perish eternally, that is visibly capable of eternal blessedness. And certainly, were we once apprehensive of the case, the attempt of disputing a man into such a resolution would appear much more ridiculous than if one should gravely urge arguments to all the neighborhood, to persuade them to burn their houses, to put out their eyes, to kill their children, or cut their own throats. And surely, let all imaginable pretenses be debated to the uttermost, and it will appear that nothing withholds men from putting forth all their might in the endeavor of getting a spirit suitable to this blessedness, but an obstinately perverse and sluggish heart, despoiled and naked of all show of reason and excuse. And though that be a hard task to reason against mere will, yet that being the way to make men willing — and the latter part of the work proposed, in pursuance of this direction — I shall recommend only some such considerations as the text itself will suggest, for the stirring up and persuading of slothful, reluctant hearts (choosing those as the most proper limits, and not being willing to be infinite herein, as amidst so great a variety of considerations to that purpose, one might).

That, in general, which I shall propose, shall be only the misery of the unrighteous, of which we may take a view in the opposite blessedness here described. The contradictories of it will afford a negative description; the contraries, a positive description of this misery. So that each consideration will be double, which I shall now rather glance at than insist upon.

Consider then; if you be found at last unqualified for this blessedness; How will you bear it to be banished eternally from the blessed face of God? There will be those that shall behold that face in righteousness, so you shall not. The wicked is driven away in his wickedness, with a never more see my face.

Again, what amazing visions will you have? What ghastly, frightful objects to converse with, amidst those horrors of eternal darkness: when the Devil, and his angels shall be your everlasting associates! What direful images shall those accursed, enraged spirits, and your own fruitful parturient imagination for ever entertain you with, and present to your view?

Is it a small thing with you, to be destitute of all those inherent excellencies, which the perfected image of God, whereof you were capable, comprehends? View them over in that (too defective) account, some of the former pages gave you of them. You are none of those bright stars, those sons of the morning, those blessed glorified spirits: You might have been. But

Consider, what are you? What will you for ever be? What image or likeness will you bear; alas! poor wretch you are now a fiend! Conformed to your hellish partners; you bear their accursed likeness. Death is now finished in you, and as you sowed to the flesh, you reap corruption. You are become a loathsome carcass; the worms that never die, abound in your putrified, filthy soul. You have a Hell in you. Your venomous lusts are now mature, are in their full grown state. If a world of iniquity, a fullness of deadly poison, tempered by Hell fire, is here sometimes, to be found in a little member, what will there then be in all your parts and powers;

Consider, how blessed a satisfaction do you lose? How pleasant, and delightful a rest, arising both from the sight of so much glory, and so peaceful a temper, and constitution of spirit? Here you might have enjoyed an eternal undisturbed rest.

But for rest, and satisfaction you have vexation; and endless torment, both by what you behold, and what you feel within you. Your dreadful visions will not let you rest; but the chief matter of your disquiet, and torment, is in the very temper, and composition of your soul. Your horrid lusts are fuller of poisonous energy, and are destitute of their usual objects, from where they turn all their power, and fury upon your miserable self. Your enraged passions would fly in the face of God, but they spend themselves in tormenting the soul that bred them. Your curses, and blasphemies, the envenomed darts, pointed at Heaven, are reverberated, and driven back into your own heart. And therefore,

Consider what awaking do you have? You do not awake into the mild, and cheerful light of that blessed day, wherein the saints of the most High, hold their solemn, joyful triumph.

But you awake into that great and terrible day of the Lord (do you desire it for what end is it to you?) a day of darkness, and not light; a gloomy, and a stormy day. The day of your birth is not a more hateful than this is a dreadful day. You awake, and are beset with terrors, presently apprehended, and dragged before your glorious, severe Judge: and from there into eternal torments. O happy you, might you never awake, might the grave conceal, and its more silent darkness cover you for ever. But since you must awake, then, how much more happy were you, if you would suffer yourself to be awakened now. What, to lose, and endure so much, because you will not now a little bestir yourself, and look about you? Sure your conscience tells you, you are urged but to what is possible, and lawful, and hopeful, and necessary, methinks, if you are a man, and not a stone; if you have a reasonable soul about you, you shall presently fall to work, and rather spend your days in serious thoughts, and prayers, and tears, than run the hazard of losing so transcendent a glory, and of suffering misery, which, as you are now little able to conceive, you will then be less able to endure.