By the REV. W. JAY.
Who are they that principally occupy the pen of biographers, and
allure the attention of readers? Travelers, painters, poets, scholars,
writers, philosophers, statesmen, princes. All these have their
respective and comparative claims, which we by no means wish to
undervalue. But, my brethren, we are going to bring forward this
evening a character often, indeed, like the original, “despised and
rejected of men,” but superior to them all, and great where they are
nothing,—great in the sight of the Lord,—great in the desolation of the
universe, great in the annals of eternity: a Christian.
1. Let us consider the _commonness of the appellation_. We may take
_three_ views of the commonness of this name.
[Footnote G: “A Christian.”—1 Peter iv: 16. A sermon.]
In one respect _the commonness is astonishing and should be
convincing_. We may say to an infidel, Pray how came this name to be
so common as it now is? The founder (we now refer to his humanity; and
the argument requires such a reference)—the founder was a poor man,
a mechanic in a village. “Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air
have nests; but the son of man hath not where to lay his head.” He
had received no university education; he was trained up at the feet of
no Gamaliel; the people therefore said, “How knoweth this man letters,
never having learned?” It was said of him, not only that “the common
people heard him gladly,” but that “many of the rulers believed on
him.” The chief ministers in his new empire were a company of fishermen
in the Lake of Galilee; and the kingdom itself was established on
the overthrow of every worldly opinion and fashion. When we consider
the nature of the doctrines they preached—the difficulties they had
to overcome, in the profligacy of the multitude, in the subtlety of
philosophers, in the covetousness of priests, in the opposition and
edicts of magistrates and emperors,—and when we consider their natural
resourcelessness in themselves, what can be more astonishing than that
this name should be spread so rapidly from province to province, and
from country to country, till before the termination of three centuries
it had reached the boundaries of the unwieldy Roman empire. It has
since far surpassed them, and is now advancing toward the ends of the
earth.... “His name shall endure forever: his name shall be continued
as long as the sun: and men shall be blessed in him: all nations shall
call him blessed. Blessed be the Lord God, the God of Israel, who only
doeth wondrous things. And blessed be his holy name for ever and ever,
and let the whole earth be filled with his glory!” Amen and amen!
In another view, _this commonness is reasonable_: we wish it were
more common; we wish it prevailed exclusively above every other; we
wish no other ever obtained in the world; we wish that the Church
could, even _now_, fling off the world; and we hope that this _will_
be the case by and by, when the pristine glory of Christianity shall
revive, and the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the Lord,
as the waters cover the sea; and we shall see eye to eye. They pay an
idolatrous homage to any man who name themselves religiously after him;
as Calvinists, after Calvin; Arminians, after Arminius; Baxterians,
from Baxter. If I _must_ have a human appellation, I will go back at
once to the apostolic times; I will call myself a Johnite, after John,
or a Paulite, after Paul. But, no; “who is Paul, and who is Apollos?
was Paul crucified for you? or were you baptised in the name of Paul?”
No; I will be called by no human name, not even if it be an inspired
one: my name shall not be derived from the servant, but from the Master
himself. I will remember his command: “Call no man Master, on earth;
for one is your Master, even Christ, and all ye are brethren.”
In another view, _the commonness of the name is lamentable_. Let
me explain: The word _Christian_ was once very significant and
distinguishing. But, alas! in numberless instances now, it is not
distinguishable at all. Whom does it now comprehend? All the world,
with the exception of pagans, Turks, Jews, and infidels: all others it
takes in: it is now a kind of geographical distinction, rather than
religious. France is a _Christian_ country—Portugal is a _Christian_
country—Spain is a _Christian_ country—Italy is a _Christian_
country—England is a _Christian_ country; and _this_, after all, _is_
a Christian country, comparatively. But a Christian country is not
a country of Christians; and, therefore, the term, even amongst us,
includes numbers who are swearers, drunkards, and Sabbath-breakers,
revilers, and multitudes who, though not distinguished by any grossness
of life, yet are entirely opposite to the spirit and commands of
Christianity in their principles and tendencies. Often, therefore, now
it means nothing—yea, it is _worse_ than nothing—it is even _injurious_
by its indiscrimination. Men are easily deluded in their own opinions;
they easily imagine that they _are_ what they are _called_; and having
_the name_, they imagine that they have _the thing_, especially when
there is no one to dispute their title. Multitudes of these would be
offended if you were to withhold from them the name of a Christian; and
yet if you were to call them _saints_, or _the sanctified_, they would
be still more surprised and mortified: and yet _the saint_ and _the
Christian_ are the same person, according to the language of the New
Testament; and the apostle assures us that “without holiness, no man
shall see the Lord.”
Let us consider,