THE SUBJECT OF PRAYER DISCUSSED IN A MORNING'S RIDE.
It was mentioned in the last part of this history, that the chief
reason which had drawn Mr. Worthy to visit his friend just at the
present time was, that Mr. Bragwell had a small estate to sell by
auction. Mr. Worthy, though he did not think he should be a bidder,
wished to be present, as he had business to settle with one or two
persons who were expected at the Golden Lion on that day, and he had
put off his visit till he had seen the sale advertised in the county
paper.
Mr. Bragwell and Mr. Worthy set out early on the Monday morning, on
their way to the Golden Lion, a small inn in a neighboring
market-town. As they had time before them, they had agreed to ride
slowly that they might converse on some useful subject, but here, as
usual, they had two opinions about the same thing. Mr. Bragwell's
notion of a useful subject was, something by which money was to be
got, and a good bargain struck. Mr. Worthy was no less a man of
business than his friend. His schemes were wise, and his
calculations just; his reputation for integrity and good sense made
him the common judge and umpire in his neighbors' affairs, while no
one paid a more exact attention to every transaction of his own. But
the business of getting money was not with him the first, much less
was it the whole concern of the day. He sought, in the _first
place_, 'the kingdom of God and his righteousness.' Every morning
when he rose, he remembered that he had a Maker to worship as well
as a family to maintain. Religion, however, never made him neglect
business, though it sometimes made him postpone it. He used to say,
no man had any reason to expect God's blessing through the day who
did not ask it in the morning; nor was he likely to spend the day in
the fear of God who did not begin it with his worship. But he had
not the less sense, spirit, and activity, when he was among men
abroad, because he had first served God at home.
As these two farmers rode along, Mr. Worthy took occasion, from the
fineness of the day, and the beauty of the country through which
they passed, to turn the discourse to the goodness of God, and our
infinite obligations to him. He knew that the transition from
thanksgiving to prayer would be natural and easy; and he, therefore,
sliding by degrees into that important subject, observed that secret
prayer was a duty of universal obligation, which every man has it in
his power to fulfill, and which he seriously believed was the
ground-work of all religious practice, and of all devout affections.
Mr. Bragwell felt conscious that he was very negligent and irregular
in the performance of this duty; indeed, he considered it as a mere
ceremony, or at least, as a duty which might give way to the
slightest temptation of drowsiness at night, or business in the
morning. As he knew he did not live in the conscientious performance
of this practice, he tried to ward off the subject, knowing what a
home way his friend had of putting things. After some evasion, he at
last said, he certainly thought private prayer a good custom,
especially for people who had time; and that those who were sick, or
old, or out of business, could not do better; but that for his
part, he believed much of these sort of things was not expected from
men in active life.
_Worthy._ I should think, Mr. Bragwell, that those who are most
exposed to temptations stand most in need of prayer; now there are
few, methinks, who are more exposed to temptation than men in
business; for those must be in most danger, at least from the world,
who have most to do with it. And if this be true, ought we not to
prepare ourselves in the closet for the trials of the market, the
field, and the shop? It is but putting on our armor before we go out
to battle.
_Bragwell._ For my part, I think example is the whole of religion,
and if the master of a family is orderly, and regular, and goes to
church, he does every thing which can be required of him, and no one
has a right to call him to an account for any thing more.
_Worthy._ Give me leave to say, Mr. Bragwell, that highly as I rate
a good example, still I must set a good principle above it. I know I
must keep good order, indeed, for the sake of others; but I must
keep a good conscience for my own sake. To God I owe secret piety, I
must, therefore, pray to him in private; to my family I owe a
Christian example, and for that, among other reasons, I must not
fail to go to church.
_Bragwell._ You are talking, Mr. Worthy, as if I were an enemy to
religion. Sir, I am no heathen--Sir, I am a Christian; I belong to
the church; I go to church; I always drink prosperity to the church.
You yourself, as strict as you are, in never missing it twice a day,
are not a warmer friend to the church than I am.
_Worthy._ That is to say, you know its inestimable value as a
political institution; but you do not seem to know that a man may be
very irreligious under the best religious institutions; and that
even the most excellent only furnishes the _means_ of being
religious, and is no more religion itself than brick and mortar are
prayers and thanksgivings. I shall never think, however high their
profession, and even however regular their attendance, that those
men truly respect the church, who bring home little of that religion
which is taught in it into their own families or their own hearts;
or, who make the whole of Christianity to consist in a mere formal
attendance there. Excuse me, Mr. Bragwell.
_Bragwell._ Mr. Worthy, I am persuaded that religion is quite a
proper thing for the poor; and I don't think that the multitude can
ever be kept in order without it; and I am a sort of a politician,
you know. We _must_ have bits, and bridles, and restraints for the
vulgar.
_Worthy._ Your opinion is very just, as far as it goes; but it does
not go far enough, since it does not go to the root of the evil; for
while you value yourself on the soundness of this principle as a
politician, I wish you also to see the reason of it as a Christian;
depend upon it, if religion be good for the community at large, it
is equally good for every family; and what is right for a family is
equally right for each individual in it. You have therefore yourself
brought the most unanswerable argument why you ought to be religious
yourself, by asking how we shall keep others in order without
religion. For, believe me, Mr. Bragwell, there is no particular
clause to except _you_ in the gospel. There are no exceptions there
in favor of any one class of men. The same restraints which are
necessary for the people at large, are equally necessary for men of
every order, high and low, rich and poor, bond and free, learned and
ignorant. If Jesus Christ died for no one particular rank, class, or
community, then there is no one rank, class, or community, exempt
from the obedience to his laws enjoined by the gospel. May I ask
you, Mr. Bragwell, what is your reason for going to church?
_Bragwell._ Sir, I am shocked at your question. How can I avoid
doing a thing so customary and so creditable? Not go to church,
indeed! What do you take me for, Mr. Worthy? I am afraid you suspect
me to be a papist, or a heathen, or of some religion or other that
is not Christian.
_Worthy._ If a foreigner were to hear how violently one set of
Christians in this country often speak against another, how earnest
would he suppose us all to be in religious matters: and how
astonished to discover that many a man has perhaps little other
proof to give of the sincerity of his own religion, except the
violence with which he hates the religion of another party. It is
not _irreligion_ which such men hate; but the religion of the man,
or the party, whom we are set against; now hatred is certainly no
part of the religion of the gospel. Well, you have told me why you
go to church; now pray tell me, why do you confess there on your
bended knees, every Sunday, that "you have erred and strayed from
God's ways?" "that there is no health in you? that you have done
what you ought not to do? and that you are a miserable sinner?"
_Bragwell._ Because it is in the Common Prayer Book, to be sure; a
book which I have heard you yourself say was written by wise and
good men; the glory of Christianity, the pillars of the Protestant
church.
_Worthy._ But have you no other reason?
_Bragwell._ No, I can't say I have.
_Worthy._ When you repeat that excellent form of confession, do you
really feel that you _are_ a miserable sinner?
_Bragwell._ No, I can't say I do. But that is no objection to my
repeating it: because it may suit the case of many who are so. I
suppose the good doctors who drew it up, intended that part for
wicked people only, such as drunkards, and thieves, and murderers;
for I imagine they could not well contrive to make the same prayer
quite suit an honest man and a rogue; and so I suppose they thought
it better to make a good man repeat a prayer which suited a rogue,
than to make a rogue repeat a prayer which suited a good man; and
you know it is so customary for every body to repeat the general
confession, that it can't hurt the credit of the most respectable
persons, though every respectable person must know they have no
particular concern in it; as they are not sinners.
_Worthy._ Depend upon it, Mr. Bragwell, those good doctors you speak
of, were not quite of your opinion; they really thought that what
you call honest men were grievous sinners in a certain sense, and
that the best of us stand in need of making that humble confession.
Mr. Bragwell, do you believe in the fall of Adam?
_Bragwell._ To be sure I do, and a sad thing for Adam it was; why,
it is in the Bible, is it not? It is one of the prettiest chapters
in Genesis. Don't _you_ believe it, Mr. Worthy?
_Worthy._ Yes, truly I do. But I don't believe it _merely_ because I
read it in Genesis; though I know, indeed, that I am bound to
believe every part of the word of God. But I have still an
additional reason for believing in the fall of the first man.
_Bragwell._ Have you, indeed? Now, I can't guess what that can be.
_Worthy._ Why, my own observation of what is within myself teaches
me to believe it. It is not only the third chapter of Genesis which
convinces me of the truth of the fall, but also the sinful
inclinations which I find in my own heart corresponding with it.
This is one of those leading truths of Christianity of which I can
never doubt a moment: first because it is abundantly expressed or
implied in Scripture; and next, because the consciousness of the
evil nature, I carry about me confirms the doctrine beyond all
doubt. Besides, is it not said in Scripture, that by one man sin
entered into the world, and that "all we, like lost sheep, have gone
astray?" "that by one man's disobedience many were made sinners?"
and so again in twenty more places that I could tell you of?
_Bragwell._ Well; I never thought of this. But is not this a very
melancholy sort of doctrine, Mr. Worthy?
_Worthy._ It is melancholy, indeed, if we stop here. But while we
are deploring this sad truth, let us take comfort from another, that
"as in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive."
_Bragwell._ Yes; I remember I thought those very fine words, when I
heard them said over my poor father's grave. But as it was in the
burial of the dead, I did not think of taking it to myself; for I
was then young and hearty, and in little danger of dying, and I have
been so busy ever since, that I have hardly had time to think of it.
_Worthy._ And yet the service pronounced at the burial of all who
die, is a solemn admonition to all who live. It is there said, as
indeed the Scripture says also, "I am the resurrection and the life;
whosoever _believeth in me_ shall never die, but I will raise him up
at the last day." Now do you think you _believe in Christ_, Mr.
Bragwell?
_Bragwell._ To be sure I do; why you are always fancying me an
atheist.
_Worthy._ In order to believe in Christ, we must believe first in
our own guilt and our own unworthiness; and when we do this we shall
see the use of a Saviour, and not till then.
_Bragwell._ Why, all this is a new way of talking. I can't say I
ever meddled with such subjects before in my life. But now, what do
you advise a man to do upon your plan of religion?
_Worthy._ Why, all this leads me back to the ground from which we
set out, I mean the duty of prayer; for if we believe that we have
an evil nature within us, and that we stand in need of God's grace
to help us, and a Saviour to redeem us, we shall be led of course to
pray for what we so much need; and without this conviction we shall
not be led to pray.
_Bragwell._ Well, but don't you think, Mr. Worthy, that you good
folks who make so much of prayer, have lower notions than we have of
the wisdom of the Almighty? You think he wants to be informed of the
thing you tell him; whereas, I take it for granted that he knows
them already, and that, being so good as he is, he will give me
every thing he sees fit to give me, without my asking it.
_Worthy._ God, indeed, who knows all things, knows what we want
before we ask him; but still has he not said that, "with prayer and
supplication we must make known our requests unto him?" Prayer is
the way in which God has said that his favor must be sought. It is
the channel through which he has declared it his sovereign will and
pleasure that his blessings should be conveyed to us. What ascends
up in prayer, descends to us again in blessings. It is like the rain
which just now fell, and which had been drawn up from the ground in
vapors to the clouds before it descended from them to the earth in
that refreshing shower. Besides prayer has a good effect on our
minds; it tends to excite a right disposition toward God in us, and
to keep up a constant sense of our dependence. But above all, it is
the way to get the good things we want. "Ask," says the Scripture,
"and ye shall receive."
_Bragwell._ Now, that is the very thing which I was going to deny:
for the truth is, men do not always get what they ask; I believe if
I could get a good crop for asking it, I would pray oftener than I
do.
_Worthy._ Sometimes, Mr. Bragwell, men "ask and receive not, because
they ask amiss;" "they ask that they may consume it on their lusts."
They ask worldly blessings, perhaps, when they should ask spiritual
ones. Now, the latter, which are the good things I spoke of, are
always granted to those who pray to God for them, though the former
are not. I have observed in the case of some worldly things I have
sought for, that the grant of my prayer would have caused the misery
of my life; so that God equally consults our good in what he
withholds, and in what he bestows.
_Bragwell._ And yet you continue to pray on, I suppose?
_Worthy._ Certainly; but then I try to mend as to the object of my
prayers. I pray for God's blessing and favor, which is better than
riches.
_Bragwell._ You seem very earnest on this subject.
_Worthy._ To cut the matter short; I ask then, whether prayer is not
positively commanded in the gospel? When this is the case, we can
never dispute about the necessity or the duty of a thing, as we may
when there is no such command. Here, however, let me just add also,
that a man's prayers may be turned into no small use in the way of
discovering to him whatever is amiss in his life.
_Bragwell._ How so, Mr. Worthy?
_Worthy._ Why, suppose now, you were to try yourself by turning into
the shape of a prayer every practice in which you allow yourself.
For instance, let the prayer in the morning be a sort of preparation
for the deeds of the day, and the prayer at night a sort of
retrospection of those deeds. You, Mr. Bragwell, I suspect, are a
little inclined to covetousness; excuse me, sir. Now, suppose after
you have been during a whole day a little too eager to get rich;
suppose, I say, you were to try how it would sound to beg of God at
night on your knees, to give you still more money, though you have
already so much that you know not what to do with it. Suppose you
were to pray in the morning, "O Lord, give me more riches, though
those I have are a snare and a temptation to me;" and ask him in the
same solemn manner to bless all the grasping means you intend to
make use of in the day, to add to your substance?
_Bragwell._ Mr. Worthy, I have no patience with you for thinking I
could be so wicked.
_Worthy._ Yet to make such a covetous prayer as this is hardly more
wicked, or more absurd, than to lead the life of the covetous, by
sinning up to the spirit of that very prayer which you would not
have the courage to put into words. Still further observe how it
would sound to confess your sins, and pray against them all, except
one favorite sin. "Lord, do thou enable me to forsake all my sins,
except the love of money;" "in this one thing pardon thy servant."
Or, "Do thou enable me to forgive all who have injured me, except
old Giles." This you will object against as a wicked prayer, it must
be wicked in practice. It is even the more shocking to make it the
language of the heart, or of the life, than of the lips. And yet,
because you have been used to see people act thus, and have not been
used to hear them pray thus, you are shocked at the one, and not
shocked at the other.
_Bragwell._ Shocked, indeed! Why, at this rate, you would teach one
to hate one's self.
_Worthy._ Hear me out, Mr. Bragwell; you turned your good nephew,
Tom Broad, out of doors, you know; you owned to me it was an act of
injustice. Now, suppose on the morning of your doing so you had
begged of God, in a solemn act of prayer, to prosper the deed of
cruelty and oppression, which you intended to commit that day. I see
you are shocked at the thought of such a prayer. Well, then, would
not hearty prayer have kept you from committing that wicked action?
In short, what a life must that be, no act of which you dare beg God
to prosper and bless? If once you can bring yourself to believe that
it is your bounden duty to pray for God's blessing on your day's
work, you will certainly grow careful about passing such a day as
you may safely ask his blessing upon. The remark may be carried to
sports, diversions, company. A man, who once takes up the serious
use of prayer, will soon find himself obliged to abstain from such
diversions, occupations, and societies, as he can not reasonably
desire that God will bless to him; and thus he will see himself
compelled to leave off either the practice or the prayer. Now, Mr.
Bragwell, I need not ask you which of the two he that is a real
Christian will give up, sinning or praying.
Mr. Bragwell began to feel that he had not the best of the argument,
and was afraid he was making no great figure in the eyes of his
friend. Luckily, however, he was relieved from the difficulty into
which the necessity of making some answer must have brought him, by
finding they were come to the end of their little journey: and he
never beheld the bunch of grapes, which decorated the sign of the
Golden Lion, with more real satisfaction.
I refer my readers for the transactions at the Golden Lion, and for
the sad adventures which afterward befell Mr. Bragwell's family, to
the fifth part of the History of the Two Wealthy Farmers.