Chapter 14

Chapter 14 Constant contact with the WORLD unfavorable to pious joy

One part of "pure religion," is to keep ourselves "unspotted from the world." How few reflect daily on this feature of true religion; and how little danger is felt by professors of piety, from direct and constant contact with the world! But look at this beautiful allusion again. How carefully does the delicate hand adjust and guard the unsoiled garment, as the path becomes obstructed, and the dress exposed! One spot will mar its beauty, and make its owner sigh; but if, by rough contact with some dirty object, it should be bespattered, it will henceforth be laid aside as useless. Is the care which we bestow upon the soul; or even on the Christian character, to be compared with this? And would not some professors sigh over a soiled garment, more than at the gradual diminishing of spiritual purity, which they are experiencing by constant communion with the world. But shall we, therefore, retire into obscurity; and, like the ascetic, pass an act of non-communion with society, while we pore in silent abstraction over our own peculiar feelings? We answer that one extreme, if dangerous, does not justify us in flying to the other, if it is forbidden. Now, our Savior, in his commands and counsels, has not advised to this latter extreme; but has actually indicated his disapprobation of it. By declaring, that his followers are "the salt of the earth," and "the light of the world," and by exhorting them "to let their light shine before men," it is clear that he requires us to live in the world, and to illustrate our piety before its eyes. In his intercessory prayer, also, he says, "I pray not that you should take them out of the world, but that you should keep them from the evil." This is precisely in harmony with the characteristic of pure piety, "to keep unspotted from the world;" and this is all we plead for; that a Christian, if he would not let down his profession, and part with his appropriate joy and felicity, must walk carefully in a world so filled with objects calculated to lead him to act unworthily of his high vocation.

There are extremes: namely, the ascetic life; and the overtasked and jaded spirit, which passes its almost entire existence in the busy and care-corroding world. We shall not undertake to estimate the comparative guilt and danger of these extremes; but simply observe, that in our times, if there be guilt in the life of an ascetic, it is not very probable that many professors of piety will incur it. The danger with us lies on the other extreme; and assimilation with, rather than separation from, the world, is likely to involve us in guilt, and to take from us our confidence and joy. The world has almost given up its persecuting spirit, either because Christianity has become so predominant as fearlessly to ask the shield of the law to protect her; or—which it is feared is the more probable reason—because there is so little of her pure spirit manifested, as not to excite opposition; and hence a sort of compromise has gradually, though not avowedly, taken place. The world will tolerate piety, with such modifications in the conduct of her professors that it will not disturb the fears of the worldling; but rather afford an apology for his continued idolatry. The line of separation having thus gradually faded, the Christian is solicited to part with his scruples, and to mingle indiscriminately with men of all principles and professions.

Now, what is the effect of this? In the first place, the pious man is, by these circumstances, thrown off his guard, and goes into the world with almost as little fear of evil consequences as if he were associating only with the godly. The next effect of such free and constant communion is, to diminish the glow of pious feeling, and to weaken the power of conscience. At length, the professor can scarcely live outside of the world. Its business, its politics, its stirring events, yes, even its pleasures, are gradually becoming topics of deep interest. His joy is now derived from other sources than it was accustomed to be. The place of devotional retirement used to have attractions; and the throne of grace used to be visited as the soul’s happy home. How many hours of tranquil delight have been passed in secret—the world shut out, and the spirit taking excursions to the land of Beulah! But now these joys are gone. Serious obstructions have occurred. The world has put in its claim. It has gone to the Christian, and fastened on him anew its chain. It has required of him—what all tyrants do—that he should acknowledge no other master. It says to him, "You may exercise your piety on the sabbath—when my service cannot be performed—and I will allow you a few moments of hurried and heartless prayer in the morning and in the evening; but the rest of your time and attention I claim for the purposes of business, society, and pleasure!"

We will not undertake to say, how many professors of piety are thus drawn away by the world, and live wholly amid its exciting scenes. But many are exposed to this course of life, from the peculiar state of society in our day and country. Their business and their engagements render them the easy victims of the world’s temptations. It is this constant contact with the world which we deprecate; and which, more than any other cause, we dread as undermining the vital principles of piety. Is such a Christian happy? Is his joy "the joy of the Lord?" Ah, if he has ever tasted of pious joy, he must feel the sad contrast in the meager and unsatisfying pleasures which are tendered to him! Look at Demas. See his care-worn brow, which used to wear the smile of Heaven; and his sorrow-shaded face, which seems to say, "My pious joys are gone!" and yet he has too much conscience left to appropriate, without fearful misgivings, the pleasures of the world. If he would speak out, he would exclaim—"I was once a happy man; I lived on the promises of God, and gathered my joys along the green pastures of his grace. I loved to go alone and commune with my Maker, and felt as if the world was but a vanity. Alas! what am I now? Day after day I am busied and anxious about many things; while the "one thing needful" is neglected! The business I have chosen, and the engagements which I have made, drive me on, against the remonstrating voice of conscience, while my soul is oppressed with the fearful idea of final apostasy and ruin!"