THE WORLD'S GREAT SERMONS
_COMPILED BY_
GRENVILLE KLEISER
Formerly of Yale Divinity School Faculty; Author of "How to Speak in
Public," Etc.
With Assistance from Many of the Foremost Living Preachers and Other
Theologians
INTRODUCTION BY LEWIS O. BRASTOW, D.D.
Professor Emeritus of Practical Theology in Yale University
VOLUME III
MASSILLON TO MASON
1908
CONTENTS
VOLUME III
MASSILLON (1663-1742).
The Small Number of the Elect
SAURIN (1677-1730).
Paul Before Felix and Drusilla
EDWARDS (1703-1758).
Spiritual Light
WESLEY (1703-1791).
God's Love to Fallen Man
WHITEFIELD (1714-1770).
The Method of Grace
BLAIR (1718-1800).
The Hour and the Event of all Time
DWIGHT (1752-1817).
The Sovereignty of God
ROBERT HALL (1764-1831).
Marks of Love to God
EVANS (1766-1838).
The Fall and Recovery of Man
SCHLEIERMACHER (1768-1834).
Christ's Resurrection an Image of our New Life
MASON (1770-1829).
Messiah's Throne
MASSILLON
THE SMALL NUMBER OF THE ELECT
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
Jean Baptiste Massillon was born in 1663, at Hyères, in Provence,
France. He first attracted notice as a pulpit orator by his funeral
sermons as the Archbishop of Vienne, which led to his preferment from
his class of theology at Meaux to the presidency of the Seminary
of Magloire at Paris. His conferences at Paris showed remarkable
spiritual insight and knowledge of the human heart. He was a favorite
preacher of Louis XIV and Louis XV, and after being appointed bishop
of Clermont in 1719 he was also nominated to the French Academy. In
1723 he took final leave of the capital and retired to his see, where
he lived beloved by all until his death in 1742.
MASSILLON
1662-1742
THE SMALL NUMBER OF THE ELECT
_And many lepers were in Israel in the time of Eliseus the prophet;
and none of them was cleansed, saving Naaman the Syrian_.--Luke iv.,
27.
Every day, my brethren, you continue to ask of us, whether the road to
heaven is really so difficult, and the number of the saved really so
small as we represent? To a question so often proposed, and still
oftener resolved, our Savior answers you here, that there were many
widows in Israel afflicted with famine; but the widow of Sarepta was
alone found worthy the succor of the prophet Elias; that the number
of lepers was great in Israel in the time of the prophet Eliseus; and
that Naaman was only cured by the man of God.
Were I here, my brethren, for the purpose of alarming, rather than
instructing you, I had only to recapitulate what in the holy writings
we find dreadful with regard to this great truth; and, running over
the history of the just, from age to age, show you that, in all times,
the number of the saved has been very small. The family of Noah alone
saved from the general flood; Abraham chosen from among men to be the
sole depositary of the covenant with God; Joshua and Caleb the only
two of six hundred thousand Hebrews who saw the Land of Promise;
Job the only upright man in the land of Uz; Lot, in Sodom. To
representations so alarming, would have succeeded the sayings of the
prophets. In Isaiah you would see the elect as rare as the grapes
which are found after the vintage, and have escaped the search of the
gatherer; as rare as the blades which remain by chance in the field,
and have escaped the scythe of the mower. The evangelist would still
have added new traits to the terrors of these images. I might have
spoken to you of two roads--of which one is narrow, rugged, and the
path of a very small number; the other broad, open, and strewed with
flowers, and almost the general path of men: that everywhere, in the
holy writings, the multitude is always spoken of as forming the party
of the reprobate; while the saved, compared with the rest of mankind,
form only a small flock, scarcely perceptible to the sight. I would
have left you in fears with regard to your salvation; always cruel to
those who have not renounced faith and every hope of being among the
saved. But what would it serve to limit the fruits of this instruction
to the single point of setting forth how few persons will be saved?
Alas! I would make the danger known, without instructing you how to
avoid it; I would allow you, with the prophet, the sword of the wrath
of God suspended over your heads, without assisting you to escape the
threatened blow; I would alarm but not instruct the sinner.
My intention is, to-day, to search for the cause of this small number,
in our morals and manner of life. As every one flatters himself he
will not be excluded, it is of importance to examine if his confidence
be well founded. I wish not, in marking to you the causes which render
salvation so rare, to make you generally conclude that few will be
saved, but to bring you to ask yourselves if, living as you live, you
can hope to be saved. Who am I? What am I doing for heaven? And what
can be my hopes in eternity? I propose no other order in a matter of
such importance. What are the causes which render salvation so rare?
I mean to point out three principal causes, which is the only
arrangement of this discourse. Art, and far-sought reasonings, would
be ill-timed. Oh, attend, therefore, be ye whom ye may. No subject can
be more worthy your attention, since it goes to inform you what may be
the hopes of your eternal destiny.
Few are saved, because in that number we can only comprehend two
descriptions of persons: either those who have been so happy as to
preserve their innocence pure and undefiled, or those who, after
having lost, have regained it by penitence. This is the first cause.
There are only these two ways of salvation: heaven is only open to
the innocent or to the penitent. Now, of which party are you? Are you
innocent? Are you penitent?
Nothing unclean shall enter the kingdom of God. We must consequently
carry there either an innocence unsullied, or an innocence regained.
Now to die innocent is a grace to which few souls can aspire; and to
live penitent is a mercy which the relaxed state of our morals renders
equally rare. Who, indeed, will pretend to salvation by the chain of
innocence? Where are the pure souls in whom sin has never dwelt, and
who have preserved to the end the sacred treasure of grace confided to
them by baptism, and which our Savior will redemand at the awful day
of punishment?
In those happy days when the whole Church was still but an assembly of
saints, it was very uncommon to find an instance of a believer who,
after having received the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and acknowledged
Jesus Christ in the sacrament which regenerates us, fell back to his
former irregularities of life. Ananias and Sapphira were the only
prevaricators in the Church of Jerusalem; that of Corinth had only one
incestuous sinner. Church penitence was then a remedy almost unknown;
and scarcely was there found among these true Israelites one single
leper whom they were obliged to drive from the holy altar, and
separate from communion with his brethren. But since that time the
number of the upright diminishes in proportion, as that of believers
increases. It would appear that the world, pretending now to have
become almost generally Christian, has; brought with it into the
Church its corruptions and its maxims.
Alas! we all go astray, almost from the breast of our mothers! The
first use which we make of our heart is a crime; our first desires.
are passions; and our reason only expands and increases on the wrecks
of our innocence. The earth, says a prophet, is infected by the
corruption of those who inhabit it: all have violated the laws,
changed the ordinances, and broken the alliance which should have
endured forever: all commit sin, and scarcely is there one to be found
who does the work of the Lord. Injustice, calumny, lying, treachery,
adultery, and the blackest crimes have deluged the earth. The brother
lays snares for his brother; the father is divided from his children;
the husband from his wife: there is no tie which a vile interest does
not sever. Good faith and probity are no longer virtues except among
the simple people. Animosities are endless; reconciliations are
feints, and never is a former enemy regarded as a brother: they tear,
they devour each other. Assemblies are no longer but for the purpose
of public and general censure. The purest virtue is no longer a
protection from the malignity of tongues. Gaming is become either
a trade, a fraud, or a fury. Repasts--those innocent ties of
society--degenerate into excesses of which we dare not speak. Our age
witnesses horrors with which our forefathers were unacquainted.
Behold, then, already one path of salvation shut to the generality of
men. All have erred. Be ye whom ye may, listen to me now, the time
has been when sin reigned over you. Age may perhaps have calmed your
passions, but what was your youth? Long and habitual infirmities
may perhaps have disgusted you with the world; but what use did you
formerly make of the vigor of health? A sudden inspiration of grace
may have turned your heart, but do you not most fervently entreat
that every moment prior to that inspiration may be effaced from the
remembrance of the Lord?
But with what am I taking up time? We are all sinners, O my God! and
Thou knowest our hearts! What we know of our errors is, perhaps, in
Thy sight, the most pardonable; and we all allow that by innocence
we have no claim to salvation. There remains, therefore, only one
resource, which is penitence. After our shipwreck, say the saints, it
is the timely plank which alone can conduct us into port; there is no
other means of salvation for us. Be ye whom ye may, prince or subject,
high or low, penitence alone can save you. Now permit me to ask where
are the penitent? You will find more, says a holy father, who have
never fallen, than who, after their fall, have raised themselves by
true repentance. This is a terrible saying; but do not let us carry
things too far: the truth is sufficiently dreadful without adding new
terrors to it by vain declamation.
Let us alone examine as to whether the majority of us have a right,
through penitence, to salvation. What is a penitent? According to
Tertullian, a penitent is a believer who feels every moment his former
unhappiness in forsaking and losing his God; one who has his guilt
incessantly before his eyes; who finds everywhere the traces and
remembrance of it.
A penitent is a man instrusted by God with judgment against himself;
one who refuses himself the most innocent pleasures because he had
formerly indulged in those the most criminal; one who puts up with the
most necessary gratification with pain; one who regards his body as an
enemy whom it is necessary to conquer--as an unclean vessel which must
be purified--as an unfaithful debtor of whom it is proper to exact to
the last farthing. A penitent regards himself as a criminal condemned
to death, because he is no longer worthy of life. In the loss of
riches or health he sees only a withdrawal of favors that he had
formerly abused: in the humiliations which happen to him, only the
pains of his guilt: in the agonies with which he is racked, only the
commencement of those punishments he has justly merited. Such is a
penitent.
But I again ask you--Where, among us, are penitents of this
description? Now look around you. I do not tell you to judge your
brethren, but to examine what are the manners and morals of those who
surround you. Nor do I speak of those open and avowed sinners who have
thrown off even the appearance of virtue. I speak only of those who,
like yourselves, live as most live, and whose actions present nothing
to the public view particularly shameful or depraved. They are sinners
and they admit it: you are not innocent, and you confess it. Now are
they penitent? or are you? Age, vocation, more serious employments,
may perhaps have checked the sallies of youth. Even the bitterness
which the Almighty has made attendant on our passions, the deceits,
the treacheries of the world, an injured fortune, with ruined
constitution, may have cooled the ardor, and confined the irregular
desires of your hearts. Crimes may have disgusted you even with sin
itself--for passions gradually extinguish themselves. Time, and
the natural inconstancy of the heart will bring these about; yet,
nevertheless, tho detached from sin by incapability, you are no nearer
your God. According to the world you are become more prudent, more
regular, to a greater extent what it calls men of probity, more exact
in fulfilling your public or private duties. But you are not penitent.
You have ceased your disorders but you have not expiated them. You are
not converted: this great stroke, this grand operation on the heart,
which regenerates man, has not yet been felt by you. Nevertheless,
this situation, so truly dangerous, does not alarm you. Sins which
have never been washed away by sincere repentance, and consequently
never obliterated from the book of life, appear in your eyes as no
longer existing; and you will tranquilly leave this world in a state
of impenitence, so much the more dangerous as you will die without
being sensible of your danger.
What I say here is not merely a rash expression, or an emotion of
zeal; nothing is more real, or more exactly true: it is the situation
of almost all men, even the wisest and most esteemed of the world.
The morality of the younger stages of life is always lax, if not
licentious. Age, disgust, and establishment for life, fix the
heart and withdraw it from debauchery: but where are those who are
converted? Where are those who expiate their crimes by tears of sorrow
and true repentance? Where are those who, having begun as sinners, end
as penitents? Show me, in your manner of living, the smallest trace of
penitence! Are your graspings at wealth and power, your anxieties
to attain the favor of the great--and by these means an increase of
employments and influence--are these proofs of it? Would you wish
to reckon even your crimes as virtues?--that the sufferings of your
ambition, pride, and avarice, should discharge you from an obligation
which they themselves have imposed? You are penitent to the world, but
are you so to Jesus Christ? The infirmities with which God afflicts
you, the enemies He raised up against you, the disgraces and losses
with which He tries you--do you receive them all as you ought, with
humble submission to His will? Or, rather, far from finding in them
occasions of penitence, do you not turn them into the objects of new
crimes? It is the duty of an innocent soul to receive with submission
the chastisements of the Almighty; to discharge with courage the
painful duties of the station allotted to him, and to be faithful to
the laws of the gospel. But do sinners owe nothing beyond this? And
yet they pretend to salvation! Upon what claim? To say that you are
innocent before God, your own consciences will witness against you. To
endeavor to persuade yourselves that you are penitent, you dare not;
and you would condemn yourselves by your own mouths. Upon what then
dost thou depend, O man! who thus livest so tranquil?
These, my brethren, as I have already told you, are not merely advices
and pious arts; they are the most essential of our obligations. But,
alas! who fulfils them? Who even knows them? Ah! my brethren, did you
know how far the title you bear, of Christian, engages you; could you
comprehend the sanctity of your state, the hatred of the world, of
yourself, and of everything which is not of God that it enjoys, that
gospel life, that constant watching, that guard over the passions, in
a word, that conformity with Jesus Christ crucified, which it exacts
of you--could you comprehend it, could you remember that you ought to
love God with all your heart, and all your strength, so that a single
desire that has not connection with Him defiles you--you would appear
a monster in your own sight. How! you would exclaim. Duties so holy,
and morals so profane! A vigilance so continual, and a life so
careless and dissipated! A love of God so pure, so complete, so
universal, and a heart the continual prey of a thousand impulses,
either foreign or criminal! If thus it is, who, O my God! will be
entitled to salvation? Few indeed, I fear, my dear hearers! At least
it will not be you (unless a change takes place) nor those who
resemble you; it will not be the multitude!
Who shall be saved? Those who work out their salvation with fear and
trembling; who live in the world without indulging in its vices. Who
shall be saved? That Christian woman who, shut up in the circle of her
domestic duties, rears up her children in faith and in piety; divides
her heart only between her Savior and her husband; is adorned with
delicacy and modesty; sits not down in the assemblies of vanity; makes
not a law of the ridiculous customs of the world, but regulates those
customs by the law of God; and makes virtue appear more amiable by her
rank and her example. Who shall be saved? That believer who, in
the relaxation of modern times, imitates the manners of the first
Christian--whose hands are clean and his heart pure--who is
watchful--who hath not lifted up his soul to vanity, but who, in the
midst of the dangers of the great world, continually applies himself
to purify it; just--who swears not deceitfully against his neighbor,
nor is indebted to fraudulent ways for the aggrandizement of his
fortune; generous--who with benefits repays the enemy who sought his
ruin; sincere--who sacrifices not the truth to a vile interest, and
knows not the part of rendering himself agreeable by betraying his
conscience; charitable--who makes his house and interest the refuge of
his fellow creatures, and himself the consolation of the afflicted;
regards his wealth as the property of the poor; humble in
affliction--a Christian under injuries, and penitent even in
prosperity. Who will merit salvation? You, my dear hearer, if you will
follow these examples; for such are the souls to be saved. Now these
assuredly do not form the greatest number. While you continue,
therefore, to live like the multitude, it is a striking proof that you
disregard your salvation.
These, my brethren, are truths which should make us tremble! nor are
they those vague ones which are told to all men, and which none apply
to themselves. Perhaps there is not in this assembly an individual who
may not say of himself, "I live like the great number; like those of
my rank, age, and situation; I am lost, should I die in this path."
Now, can anything be more capable of alarming a soul, in whom some
remains of care for his salvation shall exist? It is the multitude,
nevertheless, who tremble not. There is only a small number of the
just who work out severally their salvation with fear and trembling.
All the rest are tranquil. After having lived with the multitude, they
flatter themselves they shall be particularized at death. Every one
augurs favorably for himself, and vainly imagines that he shall be an
exception.
On this account it is, my brethren, that I confine myself to you who
are now here assembled. I include not the rest of men; but consider
you as alone existing on the earth. The idea which fills and terrifies
me is this--I figure to myself the present as your last hour, and the
end of the world! the heavens opening above your heads--the Savior, in
all His glory, about to appear in the midst of His temple--you only
assembled here as trembling criminals, to wait His coming, and hear
the sentence, either of life eternal, or everlasting death! for it is
vain to flatter yourselves that you shall die more innocent than you
are at this hour. All those desires of change with which you are
amused, will continue to amuse you till death arrives. The experience
of all ages proves it. The only difference you have to expect will
most likely be only a larger balance against you than what you would
have to answer for now; and from what would be your destiny, were you
to be judged in this moment, you may almost decide upon what it will
be at death. Now, I ask you--and, connecting my own lot with yours, I
ask it with dread--were Jesus Christ to appear in this temple, in the
midst of this assembly, to judge us, to make the awful separation
between the sheep and the goats, do you believe that the most of us
would be placed at His right hand? Do you believe that the number
would at least be equal? Do you believe that there would even be found
ten upright and faithful servants of the Lord, when formerly five
cities could not furnish that number? I ask you! You know not! I know
it not! Thou alone, O my God, knowest who belong to Thee.
But if we know not who belong to Him, at least we know that sinners
do not. Now, who are the just and faithful assembled here at present?
Titles and dignities avail nothing; you are stript of all these in the
presence of your Savior! Who are they? Many sinners who wish not to be
converted; many more who wish, but always put it off; many others who
are only converted in appearance, and again fall back to their former
course; in a word, a great number, who flatter themselves they have no
occasion for conversion. This is the party of the reprobate! Ah! my
brethren, cut off from this assembly these four classes of sinners,
for they will be cut off at the great day! And now stand forth ye
righteous:--where are ye? O God, where are Thine elect! What remains
as Thy portion!
My brethren, our ruin is almost certain! Yet we think not of it! If in
this terrible separation, which will one day take place; there should
be but one sinner in the assembly on the side of the reprobate, and a
voice from heaven should assure us of it, without particularizing him,
who of us would not tremble, lest he be the unfortunate and devoted
wretch? Who of us would not immediately apply to his conscience, to
examine if its crimes merited not this punishment? Who of us, seized
with dread, would not demand of our Savior, as did the apostles,
crying out, "Lord, is it I?" And should a small respite be allowed
to our prayers, who of us would not use every effort, by tears,
supplication, and sincere repentance, to avert the misfortune?
Are we in our senses, my dear hearers? Perhaps among all who listen to
me now, ten righteous ones would not be found. It may be fewer still.
What do I perceive, O my God! I dare not, with a fixt eye, regard the
depths of Thy judgments and justice! Not more than one, perhaps,
would be found among us all! And this danger affects you not, my dear
hearer! You persuade yourself that in this great number who shall
perish, you will be the happy individual! You, you have less reason,
perhaps, than any other to believe it! You, upon whom alone the
sentence of death should fall, were only one of all who hear me to
suffer! Great God! how little are the terrors of Thy law known to the
world? In all ages the just have shuddered with dread in reflecting on
the severity and extent of Thy judgments, touching the destinies of
men! Alas! what are they laying up in store for the sons of men!
But what are we to conclude from these awful truths? That all must
despair of salvation? God forbid! The impious alone, to quiet his own
feelings in his debaucheries, endeavors to persuade himself that all
men shall perish as well as he. This idea ought not to be the fruit of
the present discourse. It is intended to undeceive you with regard to
the general error, that any one may do whatever is done by others. To
convince you that, in order to merit salvation, you must distinguish
yourself from the rest; that in the midst of the world you are to live
for God's glory, and not follow after the multitude.
When the Jews were led in captivity from Judea to Babylon, a little
before they quitted their own country, the prophet Jeremiah, whom the
Lord had forbidden to leave Jerusalem, spoke thus to them: "Children
of Israel, when you shall arrive at Babylon, you will behold the
inhabitants of that country, who carry upon their shoulders gods of
silver and gold. All the people will prostrate themselves and adore
them. But you, far from allowing yourselves, by these examples, to be
led to impiety, say to yourselves in secret, It is Thou, O Lord! whom
we ought to adore."
Let me now finish by addressing to you the same words.
At your departure from this temple, you go to enter into another
Babylon. You go to see the idols of gold and silver, before which all
men prostrate themselves. You go to regain the vain objects of human
passions, wealth, glory, and pleasure, which are the gods of this
world and which almost all men adore. You will see those abuses which
all the world permits, those errors which custom authorizes, and those
debaucheries, which an infamous fashion has almost constituted as
laws. Then, my dear hearer, if you wish to be of the small number of
true Israelites, say, in the secrecy of your heart, "It is Thou alone,
O my God! whom we ought to adore. I wish not to have connection with
a people which know Thee not; I will have no other law than Thy holy
law; the gods which this foolish multitude adore are not gods; they
are the work of the hands of men; they will perish with them; Thou
alone, O my God! art immortal; and Thou alone deservest to be adored.
The customs of Babylon have no connection with the holy laws of
Jerusalem. I will continue to worship Thee, with that small number
of the children of Abraham which still, in the midst of an infidel
nation, composes Thy people; with them I will turn all my desires
toward the holy Zion. The singularity of my manners will be regarded
as a weakness; but blest weakness, O my God! which will give me
strength to resist the torrent of customs, and the seduction of
example. Thou wilt be my God in the midst of Babylon, as Thou wilt one
day be in Jerusalem above!"
Ah! the time of the captivity will at last expire. Thou wilt call to
Thy remembrance Abraham and David. Thou wilt deliver Thy people. Thou
wilt transport us to the holy city. Then wilt Thou alone reign over
Israel, and over the nations which at present know Thee not. All being
destroyed, all the empires of the earth, all the monuments of human
pride annihilated, and Thou alone remaining eternal, we then shall
know that Thou art the Lord of hosts, and the only God to be adored.
Behold the fruit which you ought to reap from this discourse! Live
apart. Think, without ceasing, that the great number work their own
destruction. Regard as nothing all customs of the earth, unless
authorized by the law of God, and remember that holy men in all ages
have been looked upon as a peculiar people.
It is thus that, after distinguishing yourselves from the sinful on
earth, you will be gloriously distinguished from them in eternity!
SAURIN
PAUL BEFORE FELIX AND DRUSILLA
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
Jacques Saurin, the famous French Protestant preacher of the
seventeenth century, was born at Nismes in 1677. He studied at Geneva
and was appointed to the Walloon Church in London in 1701. The scene
of his great life work was, however, the Hague, where he settled in
1705. He has been compared with Bossuet, tho he never attained the
graceful style and subtilty which characterize the "Eagle of Meaux."
The story is told of the famous scholar Le Clerc that he long refused
to hear Saurin preach, on the ground that he gave too much attention
to mere art. One day he consented to hear him on the condition that he
should be permitted to sit behind the pulpit where he could not see
his oratorical action. At the close of the sermon he found himself in
front of the pulpit, with tears in his eyes. Saurin died in 1730.
SAURIN
1677--1730
PAUL BEFORE FELIX AND DRUSILLA
_And before certain days, when Felix came with his wife Drusilla,
which was a Jewess, he sent for Paul, and heard him concerning the
faith of Christ. And as he reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and
judgment to come, Felix trembled, and answered, Go thy way for this
time; when I have a convenient season, I will call for thee_.--Acts
xxiv., 24, 25.
My brethren, tho the kingdoms of the righteous be not of this world,
they present, however, amidst their meanness, marks of dignity and
power. They resemble Jesus Christ. He humbled Himself so far as to
take the form of a servant, but frequently exercised the rights of a
sovereign. From the abyss of humiliation to which He condescended,
emanations of the Godhead were seen to proceed. Lord of nature, He
commanded the winds and seas. He bade the storm and tempest subside.
He restored health to the sick, and life to the dead. He imposed
silence on the rabbis; He embarrassed Pilate on the throne; and
disposed of Paradise at the moment He Himself was pierced with the
nails, and fixt on the cross. Behold the portrait of believers! "They
are dead. Their life is hid with Christ in God." (Col. iii., 3.) "If
they had hope only in this life, they were of all men most miserable."
(I Cor. xv., 19.) Nevertheless, they show I know not what superiority
of birth. Their glory is not so concealed but we sometimes perceive
its luster! just as the children of a king, when unknown and in
a distant province, betray in their conversation and carriage
indications of illustrious descent.
We might illustrate this truth by numerous instances. Let us attend to
that in our text. There we shall discover that association of humility
and grandeur, of reproach and glory, which constitutes the condition
of the faithful while on earth. Behold St. Paul, a Christian, an
apostle, a saint. See him hurried from tribunal to tribunal, from
province to province; sometimes before the Romans, sometimes before
the Jews, sometimes before the high-priest of the synagog, and
sometimes before the procurator of Caesar. See him conducted from
Jerusalem to Caesarea, and summoned to appear before Felix. In all
these traits, do you not recognize the Christian walking in the narrow
way, the way of tribulation, marked by his Master's feet? But consider
him nearer still. Examine his discourse, look at his countenance;
there you will see a fortitude, a courage, and a dignity which
constrain you to acknowledge that there was something really grand in
the person of St. Paul. He preached Jesus Christ at the very moment
he was persecuted for having preached Him. He preached even when in
chains. He did more; he attacked his judge on the throne. He reasoned,
he enforced, he thundered. He seemed already to exercise the function
of judging the world, which God has reserved for His saints. He made
Felix tremble. Felix felt himself borne away by a superior force.
Unable to hear St. Paul any longer without appalling fears, he sent
him away. "After certain days, when Felix came with his wife Drusilla,
he sent for Paul, and heard him concerning the faith in Christ," etc.
We find here three considerations which claim our attention: An
enlightened preacher, who discovers a very peculiar discernment in the
selection of his subject; a conscience appalled and confounded on the
recollection of its crimes and of that awful judgment where they must
be weighed, a sinner alarmed, but not converted; a sinner who desires
to be saved, but delays his conversion: a case, alas! of but too
common occurrence.
You perceive already, my brethren, the subject of this discourse:
first, that St. Paul reasoned before Felix and Drusilla of
righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come; second, that Felix
trembled; third, that he sent the apostle away; three considerations
which shall divide this discourse. May it produce on your hearts, on
the hearts of Christians, the same effects St. Paul produced on the
soul of this heathen; but may it have a happier influence on your
lives. Amen.
Paul preached before Felix and Drusilla "on righteousness, temperance,
and judgment to come." This is the first subject of discussion.
Before, however, we proceed further with our remarks, we must first
sketch the character of this Felix and this Drusilla, which will serve
as a basis to the first proposition.
After the scepter was departed from Judah, and the Jewish nation
subjugated by Pompey, the Roman emperors governed the country by
procurators. Claudius filled the imperial throne while St. Paul was
at Caesarea. This emperor had received a servile education from his
grandmother Lucia, and from his mother Antonia; and having been
brought up in obsequious meanness, evinced, on his elevation to the
empire, marks of the inadequate care which had been bestowed on his
infancy. He had neither courage nor dignity of mind. He who was raised
to sway the Roman scepter, and consequently to govern the civilized
world, abandoned his judgment to his freedmen, and gave them a
complete ascendency over his mind. Felix was one of those freedmen.
"He exercised in Judea the imperial functions with a mercenary soul."
Voluptuousness and avarice were the predominant vices of his heart. We
have a proof of his avarice immediately after our text, where it is
said he sent for Paul,--not to hear him concerning the truth of the
gospel which this apostle had preached with so much power; not to
inquire whether this religion, against which the Jews raised the
standard, was contrary to the interest of the State; but because he
hoped to have received money for his liberation. Here is the effect of
avarice.
Josephus recited an instance of his voluptuousness. It is his marriage
with Drusilla. She was a Jewess, as is remarked in our text. King
Azizus, her former husband, was a heathen; and in order to gain her
affections, he had conformed to the most rigorous ceremonies of
Judaism. Felix saw her, and became enamored of her beauty. He
conceived for her a violent passion; and in defiance of the sacred
ties which had united her to her husband, he resolved to become master
of her person. His addresses were received. Drusilla violated her
former engagements, and chose rather to contract with Felix an
illegitimate marriage than to adhere to the chaste ties which united
her to Azizus. Felix the Roman, Felix the procurator of Judea and the
favorite of Caesar appeared to her a noble acquisition. It is indeed a
truth, we may here observe, that grandeur and fortune are charms which
mortals find the greatest difficulty to resist, and against which the
purest virtue has need to be armed with all its constancy. Recollect
these two characters of Felix and Drusilla. St. Paul, before those
two personages, treated concerning "The faith in Christ"; that is,
concerning the Christian religion, of which Jesus Christ is the sum
and substance, the author and the end: and from the numerous doctrines
of Christianity, he selected "righteousness, temperance, and judgment
to come."
Here is, my brethren, an admirable text; but a text selected with
discretion. Fully to comprehend it, recollect the character we have
given of Felix. He was covetous, luxurious, and governor of Judea. St.
Paul selected three subjects, correspondent to the characteristics.
Addressing an avaricious man, he treated of righteousness. Addressing
the governor of Judea, one of those persons who think themselves
independent and responsible to none but themselves for their conduct,
he treated of "judgment to come."
But who can here supply the brevity of the historian, and report the
whole of what the apostle said to Felix on these important points? It
seems to me that I hear him enforcing those important truths he has
left us in his works, and placing in the fullest luster those divine
maxims interspersed in our Scriptures. "He reasoned of righteousness."
There he maintained the right of the widow and the orphan. There he
demonstrated that kings and magistrates are established to maintain
the rights of the people, and not to indulge their own caprice; that
the design of the supreme authority is to make the whole happy by the
vigilance of one, and not to gratify one at the expense of all; that
it is meanness of mind to oppress the wretched, who have no defense
but cries and tears; and that nothing is so unworthy of an enlightened
man as that ferocity with which some are inspired by dignity, and
which obstructs their respect for human nature, when undisguised by
worldly pomp; that nothing is so noble as goodness and grandeur,
associated in the same character; that this is the highest felicity;
that in some sort it transforms the soul into the image of God; who,
from the high abodes of majesty in which He dwells, surrounded with
angels and cherubim, deigns to look down on this mean world which we
inhabit, and "Leaves not Himself without witness, doing good to all."
"He reasoned of temperance." There he would paint the licentious
effects of voluptuousness. There he would demonstrate how opposite is
this propensity to the spirit of the gospel; which everywhere enjoins
retirement, mortification, and self-denial. He would show how it
degrades the finest characters who have suffered it to predominate.
Intemperance renders the mind incapable of reflection. It debases
the courage. It debilitates the mind. It softens the soul. He would
demonstrate the meanness of a man called to preside over a great
people, who exposes his foibles to public view; not having resolution
to conceal, much less to vanquish them. With Drusilla, he would make
human motives supply the defects of divine; with Felix, he would
make divine motives supply the defects of human. He would make this
shameless woman feel that nothing on earth is more odious than a woman
destitute of honor, that modesty is an attribute of the sex; that an
attachment, uncemented by virtue, can not long subsist; that those who
receive illicit favors are the first, according to the fine remark of
a sacred historian, to detest the indulgence: "The hatred wherewith
'Ammon, the son of David,' hated his sister, after the gratification
of his brutal passion, was greater than the love wherewith he had
loved her" (II Sam. xiii., 15). He would make Felix perceive that,
however the depravity of the age might seem to tolerate a criminal
intercourse with persons of the other sex, with God, who has called us
all to equal purity, the crime was not less heinous.
"He reasoned," in short, "of judgment to come." And here he would
magnify his ministry. When our discourses are regarded as connected
only with the present period, their force, I grant, is of no avail.
We speak for a Master who has left us clothed with infirmities, which
discover no illustrious marks of Him by whom we are sent. We have only
our voice, only our exhortations, only our entreaties. Nature is not
averted at our pleasure. The visitations of Heaven do not descend at
our command to punish your indolence and revolts: that power was
very limited, even to the apostle. The idea of a future state, the
solemnities of a general judgment, supply our weakness, and St. Paul
enforced this motive; he proved its reality, he delineated its luster,
he displayed its pomp. He resounded in the ears of Felix the noise,
the voices, the trumpets. He showed him the small and the great, the
rich man and Lazarus, Felix the favorite of Caesar, and Paul the
captive of Felix, awakened by that awful voice: "Arise, ye dead, and
come to judgment."
But not to be precipitate in commending the apostle's preaching. Its
encomiums will best appear by attending to its effects on the mind of
Felix. St. Jerome wished, concerning a preacher of his time, that the
tears of his audience might compose the eulogy of his sermons. We
shall find in the tears of Felix occasion to applaud the eloquence
of our apostle. We shall find that his discourses were thunder and
lightning in the congregation, as the Greeks used to say concerning
one of their orators. While St. Paul preached, Felix felt I know not
what agitations in his mind. The recollection of his past life; the
sight of his present sins; Drusilla, the object of his passion and
subject of his crime; the courage of St. Paul--all terrified him.
His heart burned while that disciple of Jesus Christ expounded the
Scriptures. The word of God was quick and powerful. The apostle,
armed with the two-edged sword, divided the soul, the joints, and the
marrow, carried conviction to the heart. Felix trembled, adds
our historian, Felix trembled! The fears of Felix are our second
reflection.
What a surprizing scene, my brethren, is here presented to your view.
The governor trembled, and the captive spoke without dismay. The
captive made the governor tremble. The governor shuddered in the
presence of the captive. It would not be surprizing, brethren, if we
should make an impression on your hearts (and we shall do so, indeed,
if our ministry is not, as usual, a sound of empty words); it would
not be surprizing if we should make some impression on the hearts of
our hearers. This sanctuary, these solemnities, these groans, this
silence, these arguments, these efforts,--all aid our ministry, and
unite to convince and persuade you. But here is an orator destitute of
these extraneous aids: behold him without any ornament but the truth
he preached. What do I say? that he was destitute of extraneous aids?
See him in a situation quite the reverse,--a captive, loaded with
irons, standing before his judge. Yet he made Felix tremble. Felix
trembled! Whence proceeded this fear, and this confusion? Nothing is
more worthy of your inquiry. Here we must stop for a moment: follow
us while we trace this fear to its source. We shall consider the
character of Felix under different views; as a heathen, imperfectly
acquainted with a future judgment, and the life to come; as a prince,
or governor, accustomed to see every one humble at his feet; as an
avaricious magistrate, loaded with extortions and crimes; in short, as
a voluptuous man, who has never restricted the gratification of his
senses. These are so many reasons of Felix's fears.
First, we shall consider Felix as a heathen, imperfectly acquainted
with a future judgment and the life to come: I say, imperfectly
acquainted, and not as wholly ignorant, the heathens having the "work
of the law written in their hearts" (Rom. ii., 15). The force of habit
had corrupted nature, but had not effaced its laws. They acknowledged
a judgment to come, but their notions were confused concerning its
nature.
Such were the principles of Felix, or rather such were the
imperfections of his principles, when he heard this discourse of St.
Paul. You may infer his fears from his character. Figure to
yourselves a man hearing for the first time the maxims of equity and
righteousness inculcated in the gospel. Figure to yourselves a man who
heard corrected the immorality of pagan theology; what was doubtful,
illustrated; and what was right, enforced. See a man who knew of no
other God but the incestuous Jupiter, the lascivious Venus, taught
that he must appear before Him, in whose presence the seraphim veil
their faces, and the heavens are not clean. Behold a man, whose
notions were confused concerning the state of souls after death,
apprized that God shall judge the world in righteousness. See a man
who saw described the smoke, the fire, the chains of darkness, the
outer darkness, the lake of fire and brimstone; and who saw them
delineated by one animated by the Spirit of God. What consternation
must have been excited by these terrific truths!
This we are incapable adequately of comprehending. We must surmount
the insensibility acquired by custom. It is but too true that our
hearts--instead of being imprest by these truths, in proportion to
their discussion--become more obdurate. We hear them without alarm,
having so frequently heard them before. But if, like Felix, we had
been brought up in the darkness of paganism, and if another Paul had
come and opened our eyes, and unveiled those sacred terrors, how
exceedingly should we have feared! This was the case with Felix. He
perceived the bandage which conceals the sight of futurity drop in a
moment. He heard St. Paul, that herald of grace and ambassador to the
Gentiles, he heard him reason on temperance and a judgment to come.
His soul was amazed; his heart trembled; his knees smote one against
another.
Amazing effects, my brethren, of conscience! Evident argument of the
vanity of those gods whom idolatry adorns after it has given them
form! Jupiter and Mercury, it is true, had their altars in the temples
of the heathens; but the God of heaven and earth has His tribunal in
the heart: and, while idolatry presents its incense to sacrilegious
and incestuous deities, the God of heaven and earth reveals His
terrors to the conscience, and there loudly condemns both incest and
sacrilege.
Secondly, consider Felix as a prince; and you will find in this second
office a second cause of his fear. When we perceive the great men of
the earth devoid of every principle of religion, and even ridiculing
those very truths which are the objects of our faith, we feel that
faith to waver. They excite a certain suspicion in the mind that our
sentiments are only prejudices, which have become rooted in man,
brought up in the obscurity of humble life. Here is the apology of
religion. The Caligulas, the Neros, those potentates of the universe,
have trembled in their turn as well as the meanest of their subjects.
This independence of mind, so conspicuous among libertines, is
consequently an art,--not of disengaging themselves from prejudices,
but of shutting their eyes against the light, and of extinguishing the
purest sentiments of the heart. Felix, educated in a court fraught
with the maxims of the great instantly ridicules the apostle's
preaching. St. Paul, undismayed, attacks him, and finds a conscience
concealed in his bosom: the very dignity of Felix is constrained to
aid our apostle by adding weight to his ministry. He demolishes
the edifice of Felix's pride. He shows that if a great nation was
dependent on his pleasure, he himself was dependent on a Sovereign in
whose presence the kings of the earth are as nothing. He proves that
dignities are so very far from exempting men from the judgment of God
that, for this very reason, their account becomes the more weighty,
riches being a trust which Heaven has committed to the great: and
"where much is given, much is required." He makes him feel this awful
truth, that princes are responsible, not only for their own souls,
but also for those of their subjects; their good or bad example
influencing, for the most part, the people committed to their care.
See then Felix in one moment deprived of his tribunal. The judge
became a party. He saw himself rich and in need of nothing; and yet he
was "blind, and naked, and poor." He heard a voice from the God of the
whole earth, saying unto him, "Thou profane and wicked prince, remove
the diadem and take off the crown. I will overturn, overturn, overturn
it, and it shall be no more" (Ezekiel xxi., 25-27). "Tho thou exalt
thyself as the eagle, and tho thou set thy nest among the stars,
thence will I bring thee down, saith the Lord" (Obadiah, 4). Neither
the dignity of governor, nor the favor of Caesar, nor all the glory of
empire shall deliver thee out of My hand.
Thirdly, I restrict myself, my brethren, as much as possible in order
to execute without exceeding my limits the plan I have conceived;
and proceed to consider Felix as an avaricious man: to find in this
disposition a further cause of his fear. Felix was avaricious, and St.
Paul instantly transported him into a world in which avarice shall
receive its appropriate and most severe punishment. For you know that
the grand test by which we shall be judged is charity. "I was hungry,
and ye gave me meat"; and of all the constructions of charity
covetousness is the most obstinate and insurmountable.