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The World's Great Sermons, Vol. 2 (of 10)

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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

Professor Emeritus of Practical Theology in Yale University





Thomas Hooker, graduate and fellow of Cambridge, England, and
practically founder of Connecticut, was born in 1586. He was dedicated
to the ministry, and began his activities in 1620 by taking a small
parish in Surrey. He did not, however, attract much notice for his
powerful advocacy of reformed doctrine, until 1629, when he was cited
to appear before Laud, the Bishop of London, whose threats induced him
to leave England for Holland, whence he sailed with John Cotton, in
1633, for New England, and settled in Newtown, now Cambridge, Mass.

Chiefly in consequence of disagreements between his own and Cotton's
congregation he, with a large following, migrated in 1636 to the
Connecticut Valley, where the little band made their center at
Hartford. Hooker was the inspirer if not the author of the Fundamental
Laws and was of wide political as well as religious influence in
organizing "The United Colonies of New England" in 1643--the first
effort after federal government made on this continent. He was an
active preacher and prolific writer up to his death in 1647.




_And the father of circumcision to them who are not of circumcision
only, but who also walk in the steps of that faith of our father
Abraham, which he had, being yet uncircumcized_.--Romans iv., 12.

I proceed now to show who those are, that may, and do indeed, receive
benefit as Abraham did. The text saith, "They that walk in the steps
of that faith of Abraham:" that man that not only enjoyeth the
privileges of the Church, but yieldeth the obedience of faith,
according to the Word of God revealed, and walketh in obedience,
_that_ man alone shall be blest with faithful Abraham.

Two points may be here raised, but I shall hardly handle them both;
therefore I will pass over the first only with a touch, and that lieth
closely couched in the text.

That faith causeth fruitfulness in the hearts and lives of those in
whom it is.

Mark what I say: a faithful man is a fruitful man; faith enableth
a man to be doing. Ask the question, by what power was it whereby
Abraham was enabled to yield obedience to the Lord? The text answereth
you, "They that walk in the footsteps" not of Abraham, but "in the
footsteps of the faith of Abraham." A man would have thought the text
should have run thus: They that walk in the footsteps of Abraham. That
is true, too, but the apostle had another end; therefore he saith,
"They that walk in the footsteps of the faith of Abraham," implying
that it was the grace of faith that God bestowed on Abraham, that
quickened and enabled him to perform every duty that God required of
him, and called him to the performance of. So that I say, the question
being, whence came it that Abraham was so fruitful a Christian, what
enabled him to do and to suffer what he did? surely it was faith that
was the cause that produced such effects, that helped him to perform
such actions. The point then you see is evident, faith it is that
causeth fruit.

Hence it is, that of almost all the actions that a Christian hath to
do, faith is still said to be the worker. If a man pray as he should,
it is "the prayer of faith." If a man obey as he should, it is the
obedience of faith. If a man war in the Church militant, it is "the
fight of faith." If a man live as a Christian and holy man, he "liveth
by faith." Nay, shall I say yet more, if he died as he ought, "he
dieth by faith." "These all died in faith." What is that? The power
of faith that directed and ordered them in the cause of their death,
furnished them with grounds and principles of assurance of the love of
God, made them carry themselves patiently in death. I can say no
more, but with the apostle, "Examine yourselves, whether ye be in the
faith." Why doth not the apostle say, Examine whether faith be in you,
but "whether ye be in the faith"? His meaning is, that as a man is
said to be in drink, or to be in love, or to be in passion, that is,
under the command of drink, or love, or passion; so the whole man must
be under the command of faith (as you shall see more afterward). If he
prays, faith must indite his prayer; if he obey, faith must work; if
he live, it is faith that must quicken him; and if he die, it is faith
that must order him in death. And wheresoever faith is, it will do
wonders in the soul of that man where it is; it can not be idle; it
will have footsteps, it sets the whole man on work; it moveth feet,
and hands, and eyes, and all parts of the body. Mark how the apostle
disputeth: "We having the same spirit of faith, according as it is
written, I believed, and therefore have I spoken, we also believe, and
therefore speak." The faith of the apostle, which he had in his heart,
set his tongue agoing. If a man have faith within, it will break forth
at his mouth. This shall suffice for the proof of the point; I thought
to have prest it further, but if I should, I see the time would
prevent me.

The use, therefore, in a word, is this: if this be so, then it falleth
foul, and is a heavy bill of indictment against many that live in the
bosom of the Church. Go thy ways home, and read but this text, and
consider seriously but this one thing in it: That whosoever is the son
of Abraham, hath faith, and whosoever hath faith is a walker, is a
marker; by the footsteps of faith you may see where faith hath been.
Will not this, then, I say, fall marvelous heavy upon many souls that
live in the bosom of the Church, who are confident, and put it out of
all question, that they are true believers, and make no doubt but what
they have faith? But look to it, wheresoever faith is, it is fruitful.
If thou art fruitless, say what thou wilt, thou hast no faith at all.
Alas, these idle drones, these idle Christians, the Church is too full
of them; Men are continually hearing, and yet remain fruitless and
unprofitable; whereas if there were more faith in the world, we should
have more work done in the world; faith would set feet, and hands, and
eyes, and all on work. Men go under the name of professors, but alas!
they are but pictures; they stir not a whit; mark, where you found
them in the beginning of the year, there you shall find them in
the end of the year, as profane, as worldly, as loose in their
conversations, as formal in duty as ever. And is this faith? Oh! faith
would work other matters, and provoke a soul to other passages than

But you will say, may not a man have faith, and not that fruit you
speak of? May not a man have a good heart to Godward, altho he can not
find that ability in matter of fruitfulness?

My brethren, be not deceived; such an opinion is a mere delusion of
Satan; wherever faith is it bringeth Christ into the soul; mark that,
"Whosoever believeth, Christ dwelleth in his heart by faith. And if
Christ be in you," saith the apostle, "the body is dead, because of
sin, but the spirit is life, because of righteousness." If Christ be
in you, that is, whosoever believeth in the Lord Jesus, Christ dwells
in such a man by faith; now if Christ be in the soul, the body can not
be dead; but a man is alive, and quick, and active to holy duties,
ready, and willing, and cheerful in the performance of whatsoever God
requireth. Christ is not a dear Savior, nor the Spirit a dead Spirit:
the second Adam is made a quickening spirit. And wherever the Spirit
is, it works effects suitable to itself. The Spirit is a spirit of
purity, a spirit of zeal, and where it is it maketh pure and zealous.
When a man will say he hath faith, and in the mean time can be content
to be idle and unfruitful in the work of the Lord, can be content
to be a dead Christian, let him know that his case is marvelously
fearful: for if faith were in him indeed it would appear; ye can not
keep your good hearts to yourselves; wherever fire is it will burn,
and wherever faith is it can not be kept secret. The heart will be
enlarged, the soul quickened, and there will be a change in the whole
life and conversation, if ever faith takes place in a man. I will say
no more of this, but proceed to the second point arising out of the
affirmative part.

You will say, what fruit is it then? Or how shall a man know what
is the true fruit of faith, indeed, whereby he may discern his own
estate? I answer, the text will tell you: "He that walketh in the
footsteps of that faith of Abraham." By footsteps are meant the works
the actions, the holy endeavors of Abraham; and where those footsteps
are there is the faith of Abraham. So that the point of instruction
hence is thus much (which indeed is the main drift of the apostle).

That, Every faithful man may, yea doth, imitate the actions of
faithful Abraham.

Mark what I say; I say again, this is to be the son of Abraham, not
because we are begotten of him by natural generation, for so the Jews
are the sons of Abraham; but Abraham is our father because he is the
pattern, for the proceeding of our faith. "Thy father was an Amorite,"
saith the Scripture: that is, thou followest the steps of the
Amorites in thy conversation. So is Abraham called the "father of the
faithful," because he is the copy of their course, whom they must
follow in those services that God calleth for. So the point is clear,
every faithful man may, yea doth, and must imitate the actions of
faithful Abraham. It is Christ's own plea, and He presseth it as an
undeniable truth upon the hearts of the Scribes and Pharisees, that
bragged very highly of their privileges and prerogatives, and said,
"Abraham is our father." "No (saith Christ), if ye were Abraham's
children ye would do the works of Abraham." To be like Abraham in
constitution, to be one of his blood, is not that which makes a man a
son of Abraham, but to be like him in holiness of affection, to have
a heart framed and a life disposed answerably to his. The apostle in
like manner presseth this point when he would provoke the Hebrews,
to whom he wrote, to follow the examples of the saints: "Whose faith
(says he) follow, considering the end of their conversation." So the
apostle Peter presseth the example of Sarah upon all good women:
"Whose daughter ye are (saith he) as long: as ye do well."

For the opening of the point, and that ye may more clearly understand
it, a question here would be resolved, what were "the footsteps of
the faith of Abraham"? which way went he? This is a question, I say,
worthy the scanning, and therefore (leaving the further confirmation
of the point, as already evident enough) I will come to it that you
may know what to settle your hearts upon.

I answer, therefore, there are six footsteps of the faith of Abraham,
which are the main things wherein every faithful man must do as
Abraham did, in the work of faith--I mean in his ordinary course; for
if there be any thing extraordinary no man is bound to imitate him
therein; but in the works of faith, I say, which belongeth to all men,
every man must imitate Abraham in these six steps, and then he is
in the next door to happiness, the very next neighbor, as I say, to

The first advance which Abraham made in the ways of grace and
happiness, you shall observe to be a yielding to the call of God. Mark
what God said to Abraham: "Get thee out of thy country, and from thy
kindred, and from thy father's house, unto a land that I will show
thee; and Abraham departed," saith the text, "as the Lord had spoken
unto him." Even when he was an idolater, he is content to lay aside
all and let the command of God bear the sway; neither friends, nor
kindred, nor gods can keep him back, but he presently stoopeth to the
call of God. So it is, my brethren, with every faithful man. This is
his first step: he is content to be under the rule and power of God's
command. Let the Lord call for him, require any service of him, his
soul presently yieldeth, and is content to be framed and fashioned to
God's call, and returneth an obedient answer thereto; he is content
to come out of his sins, and out of himself, and to receive the
impressions of the Spirit. This is that which God requireth, not only
of Abraham, but of all believers: "Whosoever will be my disciple,"
saith Christ, "must forsake father, and mother, and children, and
houses, and lands"; yea, and he must "deny himself, and take up his
cross and follow me." This is the first step in Christianity, to lay
down our own honors, to trample upon our own respects, to submit our
necks to the block, as it were, and whatever God commands, to be
content that His good pleasure should take place with us.

Then Abraham, as doth every faithful soul, set forward, in this wise:
He showed that whenever faith cometh powerfully into the heart, the
soul is not content barely to yield to the command of God, but it
breatheth after His mercy, longeth for His grace, prizeth Christ and
salvation above all things in the world, is satisfied and contented
with nothing but with the Lord Christ, and altho it partake of many
things below, and enjoy abundance of outward comforts, yet it is not
quieted till it rest and pitch itself upon the Lord, and find and feel
that evidence and assurance of His love, which He hath promised unto
and will bestow on those who love Him. As for all things here below,
he hath but a slight, and mean, and base esteem of them. This you
shall see apparent in Abraham. "Fear not, Abraham (saith God), I am
thy shield, and thy exceeding great reward." What could a man desire
more? One would think that the Lord makes a, promise here large enough
to Abraham, "I will be thy buckler, and exceeding great reward." Is
not Abraham contented with this? No; mark how he pleadeth with God:
"Lord God (saith he), what wilt thou give me, seeing I go childless?"
His eye is upon the promise that God had made to him of a son, of whom
the Savior of the world should come. "O Lord, what wilt thou give me?"
as if he had said, What wilt Thou do for me? alas! nothing will do my
soul good unless I have a son, and in him a Savior. What will become
of me so long as I go childless, and so Saviorless, as I may so speak?
You see how Abraham's mouth was out of taste with all other things,
how he could relish nothing, enjoy nothing in comparison of the
promise, tho he had otherwise what he would, or could desire. Thus
must it be with every faithful man. That soul never had, nor never
shall have Christ, that doth not prize Him above all things in the

The next step of Abraham's faith was this, he casteth himself and
flingeth his soul, as I may say, upon the all-sufficient power and
mercy of God for the attainment of what he desireth; he rolleth and
tumbleth himself, as it were, upon the all-sufficiency of God. This
you shall find in Rom. iv. 18, where the apostle, speaks of Abraham,
who "against hope, believed in hope"; that is, when there was no hope
in the world, yet he believed in God, even above hope, and so made it
possible. It was an object of his hope, that it might be in regard of
God, howsoever there was no possibility in regard of man. So the text
saith, "he considered not his own body now dead, when he was about a
hundred years old, neither yet the deadness of Sarah's womb, but was
strong in faith." He cast himself wholly upon the precious promise and
mercy of God.

But he took another step in true justifying faith. He proved to us the
believer is informed touching the excellency of the Lord Jesus,
and that fulness that is to be had in Him, tho he can not find the
sweetness of His mercy, tho he can not or dare not apprehend and
apply it to himself, tho he find nothing in himself, yet he is still
resolved to rest upon the Lord, and to stay himself on the God of his
salvation, and to wait for His mercy till he find Him gracious to his
poor soul. Excellent and famous is the example of the woman of Canaan.
When Christ, as it were, beat her off, and took up arms against her,
was not pleased to reveal Himself graciously to her for the present,
"I am not sent (saith He) but to the lost sheep of the house of
Israel; and it is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast
it to the dogs"; mark how she replied, "Truth, Lord, I confess
all that; yet notwithstanding, the dogs eat of the crumbs that fall
from their master's table." Oh, the excellency, and strength, and
work of her faith! She comes to Christ for mercy, He repelleth her,
reproacheth her, tells her she is a dog; she confesseth her baseness,
is not discouraged for all that, but still resteth upon the goodness
and mercy of Christ, and is mightily resolved to have mercy whatsoever
befalleth her. Truth, Lord, I confess I am as bad as Thou canst term
me, yet I confess, too, that there is no comfort but from Thee, and
tho I am a dog, yet I would have crumbs. Still she laboreth to catch
after mercy, and to lean and to bear herself upon the favor of Christ
for the bestowing thereof upon her. So it must be with every faithful
Christian in this particular; he must roll himself upon the power, and
faithfulness, and truth of God, and wait for His mercy (I will join
them both together for brevity's sake, tho the latter be a fourth step
and degree of faith); I say he must not only depend upon God, but he
must wait upon the Holy One of Israel.

But a further step of Abraham's faith appeared in this: he counted
nothing too dear for the Lord; he was content to break through all
impediments, to pass through all difficulties, whatsoever God would
have, He had of him. This is the next step that Abraham went; and this
you shall find when God put him upon trial. The text saith there "that
God did tempt Abraham," did try what He would do for Him, and He bade
him, "Go, take thy son, thine only son, Isaac, whom thou lovest, and
slay him"; and straight Abraham went and laid his son upon an altar,
and took a knife, to cut the throat of his son--so that Abraham did
not spare his son Isaac, he did not spare for any cost, he did not
dodge with God in this case; if God would have anything, He should
have it, whatsoever it were, tho it were his own life, for no question
Isaac was dearer to him than his own life. And this was not his case
alone, but the faithful people of God have ever walked the same
course. The apostle Paul was of the same spirit; "I know not (saith
he) the things that shall befall me, save that the Holy Ghost
witnesseth in every city, saying that bonds and afflictions abide me:
but none of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto
myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, and the ministry
which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the Gospel of the
grace of God." O blest spirit! here is the work of faith. Alas! when
we come to part with anything for the cause of God, how hardly comes
it from us! "But I (saith he) pass not, no, nor is my life dear unto
me." Here, I say, is the work of faith, indeed, when a man is content
to do anything for God, and to say if imprisonment, loss of estate,
liberty, life, come, I pass not, it moveth me nothing, so I may finish
my course with comfort. Hence it was that the saints of God in those
primitive times "took joyfully the spoiling of their goods." Methinks
I see the saints there reaching after Christ with the arms of faith,
and how, when anything lay in their way, they were content to lose
all, to part with all, to have Christ. Therefore saith Saint Paul, "I
am ready not to be bound only, but also to die at Jerusalem for the
name of the Lord Jesus." Mark, rather than he would leave his Savior,
he would leave his life, and tho men would have hindered him, yet was
resolved to have Christ, howsoever, tho he lost his life for Him. Oh,
let me have my Savior, and take my life!

The last step of all is this: when the soul is thus resolved not to
dodge with God, but to part with anything for Him, then in the last
place there followeth a readiness of heart to address man's self to
the performance of whatsoever duty God requireth at his hands; I say
this is the last step, when, without consulting with flesh and blood,
without hammering upon it, as it were, without awkwardness of heart,
there followeth a readiness to obey God; the soul is at hand. When
Abraham was called, "Behold (saith he) here I am." And so Samuel,
"Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth," and so Ananias. "Behold, I am
here, Lord." The faithful soul is not to seek, as an evil servant that
is gone a roving after his companions, that is out of the way when his
master would use him, but is like a trusty servant that waiteth upon
his master, and is ever at hand to do His pleasure. So you shall see
it was with Abraham, when the Lord commanded him to go out of his
country, "he obeyed, and went out, not knowing whither he went"; he
went cheerfully and readily, tho he knew not whither; as who would
say, if the Lord calls, I will not question, if He command I will
perform, whatever it be. So it must be with every faithful soul--we
must blind the eye of carnal reason, resolve to obey, tho heaven and
earth seem to meet together in a contradiction, care not what man or
what devil saith in this case, but what God will have done, do it;
this is the courage and obedience of faith. See how Saint Paul, in the
place before named, flung his ancient friends from him, when they came
to cross him in the work of his ministry. They all came about him, and
because they thought they should see his face no more, they besought
him not to go up to Jerusalem. Then Paul answered, "What, mean ye to
weep, and to break my heart?" as who should say, It is a grief and a
vexation to my soul, that ye would burden me, that I can not go with
readiness to perform the service that God requireth at my hands. The
like Christian courage was in Luther when his friends dissuaded him to
go to Worms: "If all the tiles in 'Worms' were so many devils (said he)
yet would I go thither in the name of my Lord Jesus." This is the last

Now gather up a little what I have delivered. He that is resolved to
stoop to the call of God; to prize the promises, and breathe after
them; to rest upon the Lord, and to wait His time for bestowing mercy
upon him; to break through all impediments and difficulties, and to
count nothing too dear for God; to be content to perform ready and
cheerful obedience; he that walketh thus, and treadeth in these steps,
peace be upon him; heaven is hard by; he is as sure of salvation as
the angels are; it is as certain as the Lord liveth that he shall be
saved with faithful Abraham, for he walketh in the steps of Abraham,
and therefore he is sure to be where he is. The case, you see, is
clear, and the point evident, that every faithful man may, and must,
imitate faithful Abraham.

It may be here imagined, that we draw men up to too high a pitch; and
certainly, if this be the sense of the words, and the meaning of the
Holy Ghost in this place, what will become of many that live in the
bosom of the Church? Will you therefore see the point confirmed by
reason? The ground of this doctrine stands thus: every faithful man
hath the same faith, for nature and for work, that Abraham had;
therefore, look what nature his faith was of, and what power it had;
of the same nature and power every true believer's faith is. Briefly
thus: the promises of God are the ground upon which all true faith
resteth; the Spirit of God it is that worketh this faith in all
believers; the power of the Spirit is that that putteth forth itself
in the hearts and lives of all the faithful; gather these together:
if all true believers have the same promises for the ground of their
faith; have one and the same spirit to work it; have' one and the same
power to draw out the abilities of faith, then certainly they can not
but have the very self-same actions, having the very self-same ground
of their actions.

Every particular believer (as the apostle Peter saith) "hath obtained
the like precious faith." Mark, that there is a great deal of copper
faith in the world--much counterfeit believing; but the saints do
all partake of "the like precious faith." As when a man hath but a
sixpence in silver, or a crown in gold, those small pieces, for the
nature, are as good as the greatest of the same metal; so it is with
the faith of God's elect. And look as it is in grafting; if there be
many scions of the same kind grafted into one stock, they all partake
alike of the virtue of the stock; just so it is here. The Lord Jesus
Christ is the stock, as it were, into which all the faithful are
grafted by the spirit of God and faith; therefore, whatsoever fruit
one beareth, another beareth also: howsoever, there may be degrees of
works, yet they are of the same nature. As a little apple is the same
in taste with a great one of the same tree, even so every faithful man
hath the same holiness of heart and life, because he hath the same
principle of holiness. The fruit indeed that one Christian bringeth
may be but poor and small in comparison with others, yet it is the
same in kind; the course of his life is not with so much power and
fulness of grace, it may be, as another's, yet there is the same true
grace, and the same practise, in the kind of it, for truth, however in
degree it differ.

Let us now come to see what benefit we may make to ourselves of this
point, thus proved and confirmed; and, certainly, the use of this
doctrine is of great consequence. In the first place, it is a just
ground of examination. For if it be true (as can not be denied, the
reasons being so strong, and arguments so plain) that every son of
Abraham followeth the steps of Abraham, then here you may clearly
perceive who it is that hath saving faith indeed, who they be that are
true saints and the sons of Abraham. By the light of this truth, by
the rule of this doctrine, if you would square your courses, and look
into your conversations, you can not but discern whether you have
faith or no. That man whose faith showeth itself and putteth itself
forth in its several conditions, agreeably to, the faith of Abraham,
that man that followeth the footsteps of the faith of Abraham, let him
be esteemed a faithful man, let him be reckoned for a true believer.

You that are gentlemen and tradesmen, I appeal to your souls whether
the Lord and His cause is not the loser this way? Doth not prayer pay
for it? Doth not the Word pay for it? Are not the ordinances always
losers when anything of your own cometh in competition? Is it not
evident, then, that you are not under the command of the Word? How do
you tremble at the wrath and threatenings of a mortal man? and yet,
when you hear the Lord thunder judgments out of His Word, who is
humbled? When He calls for fasting, and weeping, and mourning, who
regards it? Abraham, my brethren, did not thus: these were none of his
steps; no, no: he went a hundred miles off this course. The Lord no
sooner said to him, "Forsake thy country and thy kindred, and thy
father's house," but he forsook all, neither friend nor father
prevailed to detain him from obedience, but he stooped willingly to
God's command.

There are a sort that come short of being the sons of Abraham, and
they are the close-hearted hypocrites. These are a generation that are
of a more refined kind than the last, but howsoever they carry the
matter very covertly, yea, and are exceeding cunning; yet the truth
will make them known. Many a hypocrite may come thus far, to be
content to part with anything, and outwardly to suffer for the cause
of God, to part with divers pleasures and lusts, and to perform many
holy services. But here is the difference between Abraham and these
men: Abraham forsook his goods and all, but your close-hearted
hypocrites have always some god or other that they do homage to--their
ease, or their wealth, or some secret lust, something or other they
have set up as an idol within them--and so long as they may have and
enjoy that, they will part with anything else. But thou must know
that, if thou be one of Abraham's children, thou must come away from
thy gods--the god of pride, of self-love, of vainglory--and leave
worshiping of these, and be content to be alone by God and His truth.
This shall suffice for the first use; I can not proceed further in the
pressing thereof, because I would shut up all with the time.

The second use is a word of instruction, and it shall be but a word or
two; that if all the saints of God must walk in the same way of life
and salvation that Abraham did, then there is no byway to bring a man
to happiness. Look, what way Abraham went, you must go; there are no
more ways: the same course that he took must be a copy for you to
follow, a rule, as it were, for you to square your whole conversation
by. There is no way but one to come to life and happiness. I speak it
the rather to dash that idle device of many carnal men, that think the
Lord hath a new invention to bring them to life, and that they need
not go the ordinary way, but God hath made a shorter cut for them.
Great men and gentlemen think God will spare them. What, must they be
humbled, and fast, and pray! That is for poor men, and mean men. Their
places and estates will not suffer it; therefore surely God hath
given a dispensation to them. And the poor men, they think it is for
gentlemen that have more leisure and time: alas! they live by their
labor, and they must take pains for what they have, and therefore they
can not do what is required. But be not deceived; if there be any way
beside that which Abraham went, then will I deny myself. But the case
is clear, the Lord saith it, the Word saith it; the same way, the same
footsteps that Abraham took, we must take, if ever we will come where
Abraham is.

You must not balk in this kind, whoever you are; God respecteth no
man's person. If you would arrive at the same haven, you must sail
through the same sea. You must walk the same way of grace, if you
would come to the same kingdom of glory. It is a conceit that
harboreth in the hearts of many men, nay, of most men in general,
especially your great wise men and your great rich men, that have
better places and estates in the world than ordinary. What, think
they, may not a man be saved without all this ado? What needs all
this? Is there not another way besides this? Surely, my brethren, you
must teach our Savior Christ and the apostle Paul another way. I am
sure they never knew another; and he that dreameth of another way must
be content to go beside. There is no such matter as the devil would
persuade you; it is but his delusion to keep you under infidelity, and
so shut you up to destruction under false and vain conceits. The truth
is, here is the way, and the only way, and you must walk here if ever
you come to life and happiness. Therefore, be not deceived, suffer not
your eyes to be blinded; but know, what Abraham did, you must do the
same, if not in action, yet in affection. If God say, forsake all,
thou must do it, at least in affection. Thou must still wait upon His
power and providence; yield obedience to Him in all things; be content
to submit thyself to His will. This is the way you must walk in, if
you ever come to heaven.

The last use shall be a use of comfort to all the saints and people of
God, whose consciences can witness that they have labored to walk in
the uprightness of their heart as Abraham did. I have two or three
words to speak to these.

Be persuaded out of the Word of God, that your course is good, and go
on with comfort, and the God of heaven be with you; and be sure of it,
that you that walk with Abraham shall be at rest with Abraham; and it
shall never repent you of all the pains that you have taken. Haply it
may seem painful and tedious to you; yet, what Abigail said to David,
let me say to you: "Oh," saith she, "let not my lord do this: when the
Lord shall have done to my lord according to all the good that he
hath spoken concerning thee, and shall have appointed thee ruler over
Israel, this shall be no grief unto thee, nor offense of heart, that
thou hast shed blood causeless, or that my lord hath avenged
himself." My brethren, let me say to you, you will find trouble and
inconveniences and hard measure at the hands of the wicked in this
world. Many Nabals and Cains will set themselves against you; but go
on, and bear it patiently. Know it is a troublesome way, but a true
way; it is grievous but yet good; and the end will be happy. It will
never repent you, when the Lord hath performed all the good that He
hath spoken concerning you.

Oh! to see a man drawing his breath low and short, after he hath
spent many hours and days in prayer to the Lord, grappling with his
corruptions, and striving to pull down his base lusts, after he hath
waited upon the Lord in a constant course of obedience. Take but such
a man, and ask him, now his conscience is opened, whether the ways
of holiness and sincerity be not irksome to him, whether he be not
grieved with himself for undergoing so much needless trouble (as the
world thinks it); and his soul will then clear this matter. It is true
he hath a tedious course of it, but now his death will be blest. He
hath striven for a crown, and now beholds a crown. Now he is beyond
the waves. All the contempts, and imprisonments, and outrages
of wicked men are now too short to reach him. He is so far from
repenting, that he rejoiceth and triumpheth in reflecting back upon
all the pains, and care, and labor of love, whereby he hath loved the
Lord Jesus, in submitting his heart unto Him.

Take me another man, that hath lived here in pomp and jollity,
hath had many livings, great preferments, much honor, abundance of
pleasure, yet hath been ever careless of God and of His Word, profane
in his course, loose in his conversation, and ask him upon his
deathbed, how it standeth with him. Oh! woe the time, that ever he
spent it as he hath done. Now the soul begins to hate the man, and
the very sight of him that hath been, the instrument with it in the
committing of sin. Now nothing but gall and wormwood remaineth. Now
the sweetness of the adulterer's lust is gone, and nothing but the
sting of conscience remaineth. Now the covetous man must part with
his goods, and the gall of asps must stick behind. Now the soul sinks
within, and the heart is overwhelmed with sorrow. Take but these two
men, I say, and judge by their ends, whether it will ever repent you
that you have done well, that you have walked in the steps of the
faith of Abraham.

My brethren, howsoever you have had many miseries, yet the Lord hath
many mercies for you. God dealeth with His servants, as a father doth
with his son, after he hath sent him on a journey to do some business;
and the weather falleth foul, and the way proveth dangerous, and many
a storm, and great difficulties are to be gone through. Oh, how the
heart of that father pitieth his son! How doth he resolve to requite
him, if he ever live to come home again! What preparation doth he make
to entertain, and welcome him; and how doth he study to do good unto
him! My brethren, so it is here; I beseech you, think of it, you that
are the saints and people of God. You must find in your way many
troubles and griefs (and we ought to find them), but be not
discouraged. The more misery, the greater mercy. God the Father seeth
His servants: and if they suffer and endure for a good conscience, as
His eye seeth them, so His soul pitieth them. His heart bleeds within
Him for them; that is, He hath a tender compassion of them, and He
saith within Himself, Well, I will requite them if ever they come into
My kingdom; all their patience, and care, and conscience in walking My
ways, I will requite; and they shall receive a double reward from Me,
even a crown of eternal glory. Think of these things that are not
seen; they are eternal. The things that are seen are temporal, and
they will deceive us. Let our hearts be carried after the other, and
rest in them forever!




Jeremy Taylor, born in Cambridge, England, in 1613, was the son of a
barber. By his talents he obtained an entrance into Caius College,
where his exceptional progress obtained for him admission to the
ministry in his twenty-first year, two years before the canonical age.
He was appointed in succession fellow of All Souls, Oxford, through
the influence of Laud, chaplain to the King, and rector of Uppingham.
During the Commonwealth he was expelled from his living and opened a
school in Wales, employing his seclusion in writing his memorable work
"The Liberty of Prophesying."

At the Restoration, Charles II raised him to the bishopric of Down and
Connor (1660), in which post he remained until his death in 1667. His
"_Ductor Dubitantium_," dedicated to Charles II, is a work of subtilty
and ingenuity; his "Holy Living" and "Holy Dying" (1652), are unique
monuments of learning and devotion. His sermons form, however, his
most brilliant and most voluminous productions, and fully establish
his claims to the first place among the learned, witty, fanciful,
ornate and devotional prose writers of his time.




_For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that every
one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath
done, whether it be good or bad_.--II Cor., v., 10.

If we consider the person of the Judge, we first perceive that He is
interested in the injury of the crimes He is to sentence: "They shall
look on Him whom they have pierced." It was for thy sins that the
Judge did suffer such unspeakable pains as were enough to reconcile
all the world to God; the sum and spirit of which pains could not be
better understood than by the consequence of His own words, "My
God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" meaning, that He felt such
horrible, pure, unmingled sorrows, that, altho His human nature was
personally united to the Godhead, yet at that instant he felt no
comfortable emanations by sensible perception from the Divinity, but
He was so drenched in sorrow that the Godhead seemed to have forsaken
Him. Beyond this, nothing can be added: but then, that thou hast for
thy own particular made all this sin in vain and ineffective, that
Christ thy Lord and Judge should be tormented for nothing, that thou
wouldst not accept felicity and pardon when he purchased them at so
dear a price, must needs be an infinite condemnation to such persons.
How shalt thou look upon Him that fainted and died for love of thee,
and thou didst scorn His miraculous mercies? How shall we dare to
behold that holy face that brought salvation to us, and we turned away
and fell in love with death, and kissed deformity and sins? And yet in
the beholding that face consists much of the glories of eternity. All
the pains and passions, the sorrows and the groans, the humility and
poverty, the labors and watchings, the prayers and the sermons, the
miracles and the prophecies, the whip and the nails, the death and the
burial, the shame and the smart, the cross and the grave of Jesus,
shall be laid upon thy score, if thou hast refused the mercies and
design of all their holy ends and purposes. And if we remember what a
calamity that was which broke the Jewish nation in pieces, when Christ
came to judge them for their murdering Him who was their King and the
Prince of Life, and consider that this was but a dark image of the
terrors of the day of judgment, we may then apprehend that there is
some strange unspeakable evil that attends them that are guilty of
this death, and of so much evil to their Lord. Now it is certain if
thou wilt not be saved by His death, you are guilty of His death; if
thou wilt not suffer Him to have thee, thou art guilty of destroying
Him; and then let it be considered what is to be expected from that
Judge before whom you stand as His murderer and betrayer. But this is
but half of this consideration.

Christ may be crucified again, and upon a new account, put to an open
shame. For after that Christ has done all this by the direct actions
of His priestly office, of sacrificing himself for us, He hath also
done very many things for us which are also the fruits of His first
love and prosecutions of our redemption. I will not instance the
strange arts of mercy that our Lord uses to bring us to live holy
lives; but I consider, that things are so ordered, and so great
a value set upon our souls since they are the images of God, and
redeemed by the blood of the Holy Lamb, that the salvation of our
souls is reckoned as a part of Christ's reward, a part of the
glorification of His humanity. Every sinner that repents causes joy to
Christ, and the joy is so great that it runs over and wets the fair
brows and beauteous looks of cherubim and seraphim, and all the angels
have a part of that banquet; then it is that our blest Lord feels the
fruits of His holy death; the acceptation of His holy sacrifice, the
graciousness of His person, the return of His prayers. For all that
Christ did or suffered, and all that He now does as a priest in
heaven, is to glorify His Father by bringing souls to God. For this it
was that He was born and died, that He descended from heaven to earth,
from life to death, from the cross to the grave; this was the purpose
of His resurrection and ascension, of the end and design of all the
miracles and graces of God manifested to all the world by Him; and now
what man is so vile, such a malicious fool, that will refuse to bring
joy to his Lord by doing himself the greatest good in the world? They
who refuse to do this, are said to crucify the Lord of Life again,
and put him to an open shame--that is, they, as much as in them lies,
bring Christ from His glorious joys to the labors of His life and the
shame of His death; they advance His enemies, and refuse to advance
the kingdom of their Lord; they put themselves in that state in which
they were when Christ came to die for them; and now that He is in a
state that He may rejoice over them (for He hath done all His share
towards it), every wicked man takes his head from the blessing, and
rather chooses that the devils should rejoice in his destruction,
than that his Lord should triumph in his felicity. And now upon the
supposition of these premises, we may imagine that it will be an
infinite amazement to meet that Lord to be our Judge whose person we
have murdered, whose honor we have disparaged, whose purposes we have
destroyed, whose joys we have lessened, whose passion we have made
ineffectual, and whose love we have trampled under our profane and
impious feet.

But there is yet a third part of this consideration. As it will be
inquired at the day of judgment concerning the dishonors to the person
of Christ, so also concerning the profession and institution of
Christ, and concerning His poor members; for by these also we make sad
reflections upon our Lord. Every man that lives wickedly disgraces
the religion and institution of Jesus, he discourages strangers from
entering into it, he weakens the hands of them that are in already,
and makes that the adversaries speak reproachfully of the name of
Christ; but altho it is certain our Lord and Judge will deeply resent
all these things, yet there is one thing which He takes more tenderly,
and that is, the uncharitableness of men towards His poor. It shall
then be upbraided to them by the Judge, that Himself was hungry
and they refused to give meat to Him that gave them His body and
heart-blood to feed them and quench their thirst; that they denied a
robe to cover His nakedness, and yet He would have clothed their souls
with the robe of His righteousness, lest their souls should be found
naked on the day of the Lord's visitation; and all this unkindness is
nothing but that evil men were uncharitable to their brethren, they
would not feed the hungry, nor give drink to the thirsty nor clothe
the naked, nor relieve their brothers' needs, nor forgive their
follies, nor cover their shame, nor turn their eyes from delighting in
their affronts and evil accidents; this is it which our Lord will take
so tenderly, that His brethren for whom He died, who sucked the paps
of His mother, that fed on His body and are nourished with His blood,
whom He hath lodged in His heart and entertains in His bosom, the
partners of His spirit and co-heirs of His inheritance, that these
should be denied relief and suffered to go away ashamed, and unpitied;
this our blest Lord will take so ill, that all those who are guilty of
this unkindness, have no reason to expect the favor of the Court.

To this if we add the almightiness of the Judge, His infinite wisdom
and knowledge of all causes, and all persons, and all circumstances,
that He is infinitely just, inflexibly angry, and impartial in His
sentence, there can be nothing added either to the greatness or the
requisites of a terrible and an almighty Judge. For who can resist Him
who is almighty? Who can evade His scrutiny that knows all things?
Who can hope for pity of Him that is inflexible? Who can think to be
exempted when the Judge is righteous and impartial? But in all these
annexes of the Great Judge, that which I shall now remark, is that
indeed which hath terror in it, and that is, the severity of our Lord.
For then is the day of vengeance and recompenses, and no mercy at
all shall be showed, but to them that are the sons of mercy; for the
other, their portion is such as can be expected from these premises.

If we remember the instances of God's severity in this life, in the
days of mercy and repentance, in those days when judgment waits upon
mercy, and receives laws by the rules and measures of pardon, and that
for all the rare streams of loving; kindness issuing out of paradise
and refreshing all our fields with a moisture more fruitful than the
floods of Nilus, still there are mingled some storms and violences,
some fearful instances of the divine justice, we may more readily
expect it will be worse, infinitely worse, at that day, when judgment
shall ride in triumph, and mercy shall be the accuser of the wicked.
But so we read, and are commanded to remember, because they are
written for our example, that God destroyed at once five cities of the
plain, and all the country, and Sodom and her sisters are set forth
for an example, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire. Fearful it
was when God destroyed at once twenty-three thousand for fornication,
and an exterminating angel in one night killed one hundred and
eighty-five thousand of the Assyrians, and the first-born of all the
families of Egypt, and for the sin of David in numbering the people,
three score and ten thousand of the people died, and God sent ten
tribes into captivity and eternal oblivion and indistinction from a
common people for their idolatry. Did not God strike Korah and his
company with fire from heaven? and the earth opened and swallowed up
the congregation of Abiram? And is not evil come upon all the world
for one sin of Adam? Did not the anger of God break the nation of
the Jews all in pieces with judgments so great, that no nation ever
suffered the like, because none ever sinned so? And at once it was
done, that God in anger destroyed all the world, and eight persons
only escaped the angry baptism of water, and yet this world is the
time of mercy; God hath opened here His magazines, and sent His Holy
Son as the great channel and fountain of it, too: here He delights in
mercy, and in judgment loves to remember it, and it triumphs over all
His works, and God contrives instruments and accidents, chances and
designs, occasions and opportunities for mercy. If, therefore, now the
anger of God makes such terrible eruptions upon the wicked people that
delight in sin, how great may we suppose that anger to be, how severe
that judgment, how terrible that vengeance, how intolerable those
inflictions which God reserves for the full effusion of indignation on
the great day of vengeance!

We may also guess at it by this: if God upon all single instances,
and in the midst of our sins, before they are come to the full, and
sometimes in the beginning of an evil habit, be so fierce in His
anger, what can we imagine it to be in that day when the wicked are
to drink the dregs of that horrid potion, and count over all the
particulars of their whole treasure of wrath? "This is the day of
wrath, and God shall reveal, or bring forth, His righteous judgments."
The expression is taken from Deut. xxxii., 34: "Is not this laid up in
store with me, and sealed up among my treasures? I will restore it in
the day of vengeance, for the Lord shall judge His people, and repent
Himself for His servants." For so did the Lybian lion that was brought
up under discipline, and taught to endure blows, and eat the meat
of order and regular provision, and to suffer gentle usages and
the familiarities of societies; but once He brake out into His own
wildness, and killed two Roman boys; but those that forage in the
Lybian mountains tread down and devour all that they meet or master;
and when they have fasted two days, lay up an anger great as is their
appetite, and bring certain death to all that can be overcome. God is
pleased to compare himself to a lion; and though in this life He hath
confined Himself with promises and gracious emanations of an infinite
goodness, and limits himself by conditions and covenants, and suffers
Himself to be overcome by prayers, and Himself hath invented ways of
atonement and expiation; yet when He is provoked by our unhandsome and
unworthy actions, He makes sudden breaches, and tears some of us in
pieces, and of others He breaks their bones or affrights their hopes
and secular gaieties, and fills their house with mourning and cypress,
and groans and death. But when this Lion of the tribe of Judah shall
appear upon His own mountain, the mountain of the Lord, in His natural
dress of majesty, and that justice shall have her chain and golden
fetters taken off, then justice shall strike, and mercy shall hold her
hands; she shall strike sore strokes, and pity shall not break the
blow; and God shall account with us by minutes, and for words, and for
thoughts, and then He shall be severe to mark what is done amiss;
and that justice may reign entirely, God shall open the wicked man's
treasure, and tell the sums, and weigh grains and scruples. Said Philo
upon the place of Deuteronomy before quoted: As there are treasures of
good things, and God has crowns and scepters in store for His saints
and servants, and coronets for martyrs, and rosaries for virgins, and
vials full of prayers, and bottles full of tears, and a register of
sighs and penitential groans, so God hath a treasure of wrath and
fury, of scourges and scorpions, and then shall be produced the shame
of lust, and the malice of envy, and the groans of the opprest, and
the persecutions of the saints, and the cares of covetousness, and
the troubles of ambition, and the insolencies of traitors, and the
violence of rebels, and the rage of anger, and the uneasiness of
impatience, and the restlessness of unlawful desires; and by this time
the monsters and diseases will be numerous and intolerable, when God's
heavy hand shall press the _sanies_ and the intolerableness, the
obliquity and the unreasonableness, the amazement and the disorder,
the smart and the sorrow, the guilt and the punishment, out from all
our sins, and pour them into one chalice, and mingle them with an
infinite wrath, and make the wicked drink of all the vengeance, and
force it down their unwilling throats with the violence of devils and
accurst spirits.

We may guess at the severity of the Judge by the lesser strokes of
that judgment which He is pleased to send upon sinners in this world,
to make them afraid of the horrible pains of doomsday--I mean the
torments of an unquiet conscience, the amazement and confusions
of some sins and some persons. For I have sometimes seen persons
surprised in a base action, and taken in the circumstances of crafty
theft and secret injustices, before their excuse was ready. They
have changed their color, their speech hath faltered, their tongue
stammered, their eyes did wander and fix nowhere, till shame made
them sink into their hollow eye-pits to retreat from the images and
circumstances of discovery; their wits are lost, their reason useless,
the whole order of their soul is decomposed, and they neither see, nor
feel, nor think, as they used to do, but they are broken into disorder
by a stroke of damnation and a lesser stripe of hell; but then if you
come to observe a guilty and a base murderer, a condemned traitor,
and see him harassed first by an evil conscience, and then pulled in
pieces by the hangman's hooks, or broken upon sorrows and the wheel,
we may then guess (as well as we can in this life) what the pains
of that day shall be to accurst souls. But those we shall consider
afterward in their proper scene; now only we are to estimate the
severity of our Judge by the intolerableness of an evil conscience;
if guilt will make a man despair--and despair will make a man mad,
confounded, and dissolved in all the regions of his senses and more
noble faculties, that he shall neither feel, nor hear, nor see
anything but specters and illusions, devils and frightful dreams, and
hear noises, and shriek fearfully, and look pale and distracted, like
a hopeless man from the horrors and confusions of a lost battle, upon
which all his hopes did stand--then the wicked must at the day of
judgment expect strange things and fearful, and such which now no
language can express, and then no patience can endure. Then only it
can truly be said that he is inflexible and inexorable. No prayers
then can move Him, no groans can cause Him to pity thee; therefore
pity thyself in time, that when the Judge comes thou mayest be one of
the sons of everlasting mercy, to whom pity belongs as part of thine
inheritance, for all else shall without any remorse (except His own)
be condemned by the horrible sentence.

That all may think themselves concerned in this consideration, let us
remember that even the righteous and most innocent shall pass through
a severe trial. Many of the ancients explicated this severity by the
fire of conflagration, which say they shall purify those souls at the
day of judgment, which in this life have built upon the foundation
(hay and stubble) works of folly and false opinions, states of
imperfection. So St. Augustine's doctrine was: "The great fire at
doomsday shall throw some into the portion of the left hand, and
others shall be purified and represented on the right." And the
same is affirmed by Origen and Lactantius; and St. Hilary thus
expostulates: "Since we are to give account for every idle word, shall
we long for the day of judgment, wherein we must, every one of us,
pass that unwearied fire in which those grievous punishments for
expiating the soul from sins must be endured; for to such as have been
baptized with the Holy Ghost it remaineth that they be consummated
with the fire of judgment." And St. Ambrose adds: "That if any be as
Peter or as John, they are baptized with this fire, and he that is
purged here had need to be purged there again. Let him also purify us,
that every one of us being burned with that flaming sword, not burned
up or consumed, we may enter into Paradise, and give thanks unto the
Lord who hath brought us into a place of refreshment." This opinion of
theirs is, in the main of it, very uncertain; relying upon the sense
of some obscure place of Scripture is only apt to represent the
great severity of the Judge at that day, and it hath in it this only
certainty, that even the most innocent person hath great need of
mercy, and he that hath the greatest cause of confidence, altho he
runs to no rocks to hide him, yet he runs to the protection of the
cross, and hides himself under the shadow of the divine mercies: and
he that shall receive the absolution of the blest sentence shall
also suffer the terrors of the day, and the fearful circumstances of
Christ's coming. The effect of this consideration is this: That if the
righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the wicked and the sinner
appear? And if St. Paul, whose conscience accused him not, yet durst
not be too confident, because he was not hereby justified, but might
be found faulty by the severer judgment of his Lord, how shall we
appear, with all our crimes and evil habits round about us? If there
be need of much mercy to the servants and friends of the Judge, then
His enemies shall not be able to stand upright in judgment.

Let us next consider the circumstances of our appearing and his
sentence; and first I consider that men at the day of judgment that
belong not to the portion of life, shall have three sorts of accusers:
1. Christ Himself, who is their judge; 2. Their own conscience, whom
they have injured and blotted with characters of death and foul
dishonor; 3. The devil, their enemy, whom they served.

Christ shall be their accuser, not only upon the stock of those direct
injuries (which I before reckoned) of crucifying the Lord of
Life, once and again, etc., but upon the titles of contempt and
unworthiness, of unkindness and ingratitude; and the accusation will
be nothing else but a plain representation of those artifices and
assistances, those bonds and invitations, those constrainings and
importunities, which our dear Lord used to us to make it almost
impossible to lie in sin, and necessary to be saved. For it will, it
must needs be, a fearful exprobration of our unworthiness, when the
Judge Himself shall bear witness against us that the wisdom of God
Himself was strangely employed in bringing us safely to felicity. I
shall draw a short scheme which, altho it must needs be infinitely
short, of what God hath done for us, yet it will be enough to shame
us. God did not only give His Son for an example, and the Son gave
Himself for a price for us, but both gave the Holy Spirit to assist
us in mighty graces, for the verifications of faith, and the
entertainments of hope, and the increase and perseverance of charity.
God gave to us a new nature, He put another principle into us, a third
part of a perfective constitution; we have the spirit put into us, to
be a part of us, as properly to produce actions of a holy life, as the
soul of man in the body does produce the natural. God hath exalted
human nature, and made it in the person of Jesus Christ, to sit above
the highest seat of angels, and the angels are made ministering
spirits, ever since their Lord became our brother. Christ hath by a
miraculous sacrament given us His body to eat and His blood to drink;
He made ways that we may become all one with Him. He hath given us an
easy religion, and hath established our future felicity upon natural
and pleasant conditions, and we are to be happy hereafter if we suffer
God to make us happy here; and things are so ordered that a man must
take more pains to perish than to be happy. God hath found out rare
ways to make our prayers acceptable, our weak petitions, the desires
of our imperfect souls, to prevail mightily with God, and to lay a
holy violence and an undeniable necessity upon Himself; and God will
deny us nothing but when we ask of Him to do us ill offices, to give
us poisons and dangers, and evil nourishment, and temptations; and He
that hath given such mighty power to the prayers of His servants, yet
will not be moved by those potent and mighty prayers to do any good
man an evil turn, or to grant him one mischief--in that only God can
deny us. But in all things else God hath made all the excellent things
in heaven and earth to join toward the holy and fortunate effects;
for He that appointed an angel to present the prayers of saints,
and Christ makes intercession for us, and the Holy Spirit makes
intercession for us with groans unutterable, and all the holy men in
the world pray for all and for every one, and God hath instructed us
with scriptures, and precedents, and collateral and direct assistances
to pray, and He encouraged us with divers excellent promises, and
parables, and examples, and teaches us what to pray, and how, and
gives one promise to public prayer, and another to private prayer, and
to both the blessing of being heard.

Add to this account that God did heap blessings upon us without order,
infinitely, perpetually, and in all instances, when we needed and when
we needed not. He heard us when we prayed, giving us all, and giving
us more, than we desired. He desired that we should ask, and yet He
hath also prevented our desires. He watched for us, and at His own
charge sent a whole order of men whose employment is to minister to
our souls; and if all this had not been enough, He had given us more
also. He promised heaven to our obedience, a province for a dish of
water, a kingdom for a prayer, satisfaction for desiring it, grace
for receiving, and more grace for accepting and using the first.
He invited us with gracious words and perfect entertainments; He
threatened horrible things to us if we would not be happy; He hath
made strange necessities for us, making our very repentance to be a
conjugation of holy actions, and holy times, and a long succession;
He hath taken away all excuses from us; He hath called us from
temptation; He bears our charges; He is always beforehand with us in
every act of favor, and perpetually slow in striking, and His arrows
are unfeathered; and He is so long, first, in drawing His sword, and
another long while in whetting it, and yet longer in lifting His hand
to strike, that before the blow comes the man hath repented long,
unless he be a fool and impudent; and then God is so glad of an excuse
to lay His anger aside, that certainly, if after all this, we refuse
life and glory, there is no more to be said; this plain story will
condemn us; but the story is very much longer; and, as our conscience
will represent all our sins to us, so the Judge will represent all His
Father's kindnesses, as Nathan did to David, when he was to make the
justice of the divine sentence appear against him. Then it shall
be remembered that the joys of every day's piety would have been a
greater pleasure every night than the remembrance of every night's sin
could have been in the morning; that every night the trouble and labor
of the day's virtue would have been as much passed and turned to as
the pleasure of that day's sin, but that they would be infinitely
distinguished by the effects. The offering ourselves to God every
morning, and the thanksgiving to God every night, hope and fear, shame
and desire, the honor of leaving a fair name behind us, and the shame
of dying like a fool,--everything indeed in the world is made to be an
argument and an inducement to us to invite us to come to God and be
saved; and therefore when this, and infinitely more shall by the Judge
be exhibited in sad remembrances, there needs no other sentence; we
shall condemn ourselves with a hasty shame and a fearful confusion,
to see how good God hath been to us, and how base we have been to
ourselves. Thus Moses is said to accuse the Jews; and thus also He
that does accuse, is said to condemn, as Verres was by Cicero, and
Claudia by Domitius her accuser, and the world of impenitent persons
by the men of Nineveh, and all by Christ, their Judge. I represent
the horror of this circumstance to consist in this, besides the
reasonableness of the judgment, and the certainty of the condemnation,
it can not but be an argument of an intolerable despair to perishing
souls, when He that was our advocate all our life, shall, in the day
of that appearing, be our Accuser and our Judge, a party against us,
an injured person in the day of His power and of His wrath, doing
execution upon all His own foolish and malicious enemies.

Our conscience shall be our accuser. But this signifies but these two
things: First, That we shall be condemned for the evils that we have
done and shall then remember, God by His power wiping away the dust
from the tables of our memory, and taking off the consideration and
the voluntary neglect and rude shufflings of our cases of conscience.
For then we shall see things as they are, the evil circumstances and
the crooked intentions, the adherent unhandsomeness and the direct
crimes; for all things are laid up safely, and tho we draw a curtain
of cobweb over them, and a few fig-leaves before our shame, yet God
shall draw away the curtain, and forgetfulness shall be no more,
because, with a taper in the hand of God, all the corners of our
nastiness shall be discovered. And, secondly, it signifies this also,
that not only the justice of God shall be confest by us in our own
shame and condemnation, but the evil of the sentence shall be received
into us, to melt our bowels and to break our heart in pieces within
us, because we are the authors of our own death, and our own inhuman
hands have torn our souls in pieces. Thus far the horrors are great,
and when evil men consider it, it is certain they must be afraid to
die. Even they that have lived well, have some sad considerations, and
the tremblings of humility, and suspicion of themselves. I remember
St. Cyprian tells of a good man who in his agony of death saw a
fantasm of a noble and angelical shape, who, frowning and angry, said
to him: "Ye can not endure sickness, ye are troubled at the evils of
the world, and yet you are loath to die and to be quit of them;
what shall I do to you?" Altho this is apt to represent every man's
condition more or less, yet, concerning persons of wicked lives,
it hath in it too many sad degrees of truth; they are impatient of
sorrow, and justly fearful of death, because they know not how to
comfort themselves in the evil accidents of their lives; and their
conscience is too polluted to take death for sanctuary, and to hope
to have amends made to their condition by the sentence of the day of
judgment. Evil and sad is their condition who can not be contented
here nor blest hereafter, whose life is their misery and their
conscience is their enemy, whose grave is their prison and death their
undoing, and the sentence of doomsday the beginning of an intolerable

The third sort of accusers are the devils, and they will do it with
malicious and evil purposes. The prince of the devils hath Diabolus
for one of his chiefest appellatives. The accuser of the brethren
he is by his profest malice and employment; and therefore God, who
delights that His mercy should triumph and His goodness prevail over
all the malice of men and devils, hath appointed one whose office is
to reprove the accuser and to resist the enemy, and to be a defender
of their cause who belong to God. The Holy Spirit is a defender; the
evil spirit is the accuser; and they that in this life belong to one
or the other, shall in the same proportion be treated at the day of
judgment. The devil shall accuse the brethren, that is, the saints
and servants of God, and shall tell concerning their follies and
infirmities, the sins of their youth and weakness of their age, the
imperfect grace and the long schedule of omissions of duty, their
scruples and their fears, their diffidences and pusillanimity, and all
those things which themselves by strict examination find themselves
guilty of and have confest all their shame and the matter of their
sorrows, their evil intentions and their little plots, their carnal
confidences and too fond adherences of the things of this world, their
indulgence and easiness of government, their wilder joys and freer
meals, their loss of time and their too forward and apt compliances,
their trifling arrests and little peevishnesses, the mixtures of the
world with the thing of the Spirit, and all the incidences of
humanity he will bring forth and aggravate them by circumstances of
ingratitude, and the breach of promise, and the evacuating all their
holy purposes, and breaking their resolutions, and rifling their vows,
and all these things, being drawn into an entire representment, and
the bills clogged by numbers, will make the best man in the world seem
foul and unhandsome, and stained with the characters of death and evil
dishonor. But for these there is appointed a defender. The Holy Spirit
that maketh intercession for us shall then also interpose, and against
all these things shall oppose the passion of our blest Lord, and upon
all their defects shall cast the robe of righteousness; and the sins
of their youth shall not prevail so much as the repentance of their
age, and their omissions be excused by probable intervening causes,
and their little escapes shall appear single and in disunion, because
they were always kept asunder by penitential prayers and sighings, and
their seldom returns of sin by their daily watchfulness, and their
often infirmities by the sincerity of their souls, and their scruples
by their zeal, and their passions by their love, and all by the
mercies of God and the sacrifice which their Judge offered and the
Holy Spirit made effective by daily graces and assistances. These,
therefore, infallibly go to the portion of the right hand, because the
Lord our God shall answer for them. But as for the wicked, it is not
so with them; for altho the plain story of their life be to them a
sad condemnation, yet what will be answered when it shall be told
concerning them, that they despised God's mercies, and feared not His
angry judgments; that they regarded not His Word, and loved not
His excellences; that they were not persuaded by the promises nor
affrighted by His threatenings; that they neither would accept His
government nor His blessings; that all the sad stories that ever
happened in both the worlds (in all which Himself did escape till the
day of His death, and was not concerned in them save only that He was
called upon by every one of them, which He ever heard or saw or was
told of, to repentance), that all these were sent to Him in vain? But
can not the accuser truly say to the Judge concerning such persons,
"They were Thine by creation, but mine by their own choice; Thou didst
redeem them indeed, but they sold themselves to me for a trifle, or
for an unsatisfying interest; Thou diedst for them, but they obeyed
my commandments; I gave them nothing, I promised them nothing but the
filthy pleasures of a night, or the joys of madness, or the delights
of a disease; I never hanged upon the cross three long hours for them,
nor endured the labors of a poor life thirty-three years together for
their interest; only when they were Thine by the merit of Thy death,
they quickly became mine by the demerit of their ingratitude; and when
Thou hadst clothed their soul with Thy robe, and adorned them by Thy
graces, we stript them naked as their shame, and only put on a robe of
darkness, and they thought themselves secure and went dancing to
their grave like a drunkard to a fight, or a fly unto a candle; and
therefore they that did partake with us in our faults must divide with
us in our portion and fearful interest." This is a sad story because
it ends in death, and there is nothing to abate or lessen the
calamity. It concerns us therefore to consider in time that he that
tempts us will accuse us, and what he calls pleasant now he shall then
say was nothing, and all the gains that now invite earthly souls and
mean persons to vanity, was nothing but the seeds of folly, and the
harvest in pain and sorrow and shame eternal. But then, since this
horror proceeds upon the account of so many accusers, God hath put it
in our power by a timely accusation of ourselves in the tribunal of
the court Christian, to prevent all the arts of aggravation which at
doomsday shall load foolish and undiscerning souls. He that accuses
himself of his crimes here, means to forsake them, and looks upon them
on all sides, and spies out his deformity, and is taught to hate them,
he is instructed and prayed for, he prevents the anger of God and
defeats the devil's malice, and, by making shame the instrument of
repentance, he takes away the sting, and makes that to be his medicine
which otherwise would be his death: and, concerning this exercise, I
shall only add what the patriarch of Alexandria told an old religious
person in his hermitage. Having asked him what he found in that
desert, he was answered, "Only this, to judge and condemn myself
perpetually; that is the employment of my solitude." The patriarch
answered, "There is no other way." By accusing ourselves we shall make
the devil's malice useless, and our own consciences clear, and be
reconciled to the Judge by the severities of an early repentance, and
then we need to fear no accusers.




Richard Baxter, was born in 1615, at Rowton, near Shrewsbury, in
England. After surmounting great difficulties in securing an education
for the ministry he was ordained in 1638, in the Church of England,
his first important charge being that of Kidderminster, where he
established his reputation as a powerful evangelical and controversial
preacher. Altho opposed to Cromwell's extreme acts, he became a
chaplain in the army of the Rebellion. His influence was all on the
side of peace, however, and at the Restoration he was appointed
chaplain to Charles II.

Baxter left the Church of England on the promulgation of the Act of
Uniformity, and in 1662 retired to Acton in Middlesex, where he wrote
most of his works. The Acts of Indulgence enabled him to return to
London, where he remained until Judge Jeffreys imprisoned and fined
him on a charge of sedition. He was the most prolific writer and
controversialist of his day among nonconformists. Baxter left only two
works which seem likely to be of ever fresh interest, "The Saint's
Rest" and "Calls to the Unconverted." He died in London in 1691.




_But they made light of it_.--Matt, xxii., 5.

Beloved hearers; the office that God hath called us to is, by
declaring the glory of His grace, to help under Christ to the saving
of men's souls. I hope you think not that I come hither to-day on
another errand. The Lord knows I had not set a foot out-of-doors but
in hope to succeed in this work for your souls. I have considered, and
often considered, what is the matter that so many thousands should
perish when God hath done so much for their salvation; and I find this
that is mentioned in my text is the cause. It is one of the wonders of
the world, that when God hath so loved the world as to send His Son,
and Christ hath made a satisfaction by His death sufficient for them
all, and offereth the benefits of it so freely to them, even without
money or price, that yet the most of the world should perish; yea,
the most of those that are thus called by His Word! Why, here is the
reason--when Christ hath done all this, men make light of it. God hath
showed that He is not unwilling; and Christ hath showed that He is not
unwilling that men should be restored to God's favor and be saved; but
men are actually unwilling themselves. God takes not pleasure in the
death of sinners, but rather that they return and live. But men take
such pleasure in sin that they will die before they will return. The
Lord Jesus was content to be their physician, and hath provided them a
sufficient plaster of His own blood: but if men make light of it,
and will not apply it, what wonder if they perish after all? This
Scripture giveth us the reason of their perdition. This, sad
experience tells us, the most of the world is guilty of. It is a most
lamentable thing to see how most men do spend their care, their time,
their pains, for known vanities, while God and glory are cast aside;
that He who is all should seem to them as nothing, and that which
is nothing should seem to them as good as all; that God should set
mankind in such a race where heaven or hell is their certain end, and
that they should sit down, and loiter, or run after the childish toys
of the world, and so much forget the prize that they should run for.
Were it but possible for one of us to see the whole of this business
as the all-seeing God doth; to see at one view both heaven and hell,
which men are so near; and see what most men in the world are minding,
and what they are doing every day, it would be the saddest sight that
could be imagined. Oh, how should we marvel at their madness, and
lament their self-delusion! O poor distracted world! what is it you
run after? and what is it that you neglect? If God had never told them
what they were sent into the world to do, or whither they were
going, or what was before them in another world, then they had been
excusable; but He hath told them over and over, till they were weary
of it. Had He left it doubtful, there had been some excuse; but it is
His sealed word, and they profess to believe it, and would take it ill
of us if we should question whether they do believe it or not.

Beloved, I come not to accuse any of you particularly of this crime;
but seeing it is the commonest cause of men's destruction, I suppose
you will judge it the fittest matter for our inquiry, and deserving
our greatest care for the cure. To which end I shall, (1) endeavor the
conviction of the guilty; (2) shall give them such considerations as
may tend to humble and reform them; (3) I shall conclude with such
direction as may help them that are willing to escape the destroying
power of this sin.

And for the first, consider: It is the case of most sinners to think
themselves freest from those sins that they are most enslaved to; and
one reason why we can not reform them is because we can not convince
them of their guilt. It is the nature of sin so far to blind and
befool the sinner, that he knoweth not what he doth, but thinketh he
is free from it when it reigneth in him, or when he is committing it:
it bringeth men to be so much unacquainted with themselves that they
know not what they think, or what they mean and intend, nor what they
love or hate, much less what they are habituated and disposed to.
They are alive to sin, and dead to all the reason, consideration,
and resolution that should recover them, as if it were only by their
sinning that we must know that they are alive. May I hope that you
that hear me to-day are but willing to know the truth of your case,
and then I shall be encouraged to proceed to an inquiry. God will
judge impartially; why should not we do so? Let me, therefore, by
these following questions, try whether none of you are slighters
of Christ and your own salvation. And follow me, I beseech you, by
putting them close to your own hearts, and faithfully answering them.

Things that men highly value will be remembered; they will be matter
of their freest and sweetest thoughts. This is a known case.

Do not those then make light of Christ and salvation that think of
them so seldom and coldly in comparison of other things? Follow thy
own heart, man, and observe what it daily runneth after; and then
judge whether it make not light of Christ.

We can not persuade men to one hour's sober consideration what they
should do for an interest in Christ, or in thankfulness for His love,
and yet they will not believe that they make light of Him.

Things that we highly value will be matter of our discourse; the
judgment and heart will command the tongue. Freely and delightfully
will our speech run after them. This also is a known case.

Do not those men make light of Christ and salvation that shun the
mention of His name, unless it be in a vain or sinful use? Those that
love not the company where Christ and salvation is much talked of, but
think it troublesome, precise discourse: that had rather hear some
merry jests, or idle tales, or talk of their riches or business in the
world; when you may follow them from morning to night, and scarce have
a savory word of Christ; but perhaps some slight and weary mention
of Him sometimes; judge whether these make not light of Christ and
salvation. How seriously do they talk of the world and speak of
vanity! but how heartlessly do they make mention of Christ and

The things that we highly value we would secure the possession of,
and therefore would take any convenient course to have all doubts and
fears about them well resolved. Do not those men then make light
of Christ and salvation that have lived twenty or thirty years in
uncertainty whether they have any part in these or not, and yet never
seek out for the right resolution of their doubts? Are all that hear
me this day certain they shall be saved? Oh, that they were! Oh, had
you not made light of salvation, you could not so easily bear such
doubting of it; you could not rest till you had made it sure, or done
your best to make it sure. Have you nobody to inquire of, that might
help you in such a work? Why, you have ministers that are purposely
appointed to that office. Have you gone to them, and told them the
doubtfulness of your case, and asked their help in the judging of your
condition? Alas! ministers may sit in their studies from one year to
another, before ten persons among a thousand will come to them on such
an errand! Do not these make light of Christ and salvation? When the
gospel pierceth the heart indeed, they cry out, "Men and brethren,
what shall we do to be saved?" Trembling and astonished, Paul cries
out, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?" And so did the convinced
Jews to Peter. But when hear we such questions?

The things that we value do deeply affect us, and some motions will be
in the heart according to our estimation of them. O sirs, if men made
not light of these things, what working would there be in the hearts
of all our hearers! What strange affections would it raise in them to
hear of the matters of the world to come! How would their hearts melt
before the power of the gospel! What sorrow would be wrought in the
discovery of their sins! What astonishment at the consideration of
their misery! What unspeakable joy at the glad tidings of salvation by
the blood of Christ! What resolution would be raised in them upon the
discovery of their duty! Oh, what hearers should we have, if it were
not for this sin! Whereas now we are liker to weary them, or preach
them asleep with matters of this unspeakable moment. We talk to them
of Christ and salvation till we make their heads ache: little would
one think by their careless carriage that they heard and regarded what
we said, or tho we spoke at all to them.

Our estimation of things will be seen in the diligence of our
endeavors. That which we highliest value, we shall think no pains
too great to obtain. Do not those men then make light of Christ and
salvation that think all too much that they do for them; that murmur
at His service, and think it too grievous for them to endure? that ask
His service as Judas of the ointment. What need this waste? Can not
men be saved without so much ado? This is more ado than needs. For the
world they will labor all the day, and all their lives; but for Christ
and salvation they are afraid of doing too much. Let us preach to them
as long as we will, we can not bring them to relish or resolve upon a
life of holiness. Follow them to their houses, and you shall not hear
them read a chapter, nor call upon God with their families once a day;
nor will they allow Him that one day in seven which He hath separated
to His service. But pleasure, or worldly business, or idleness, must
have a part And many of them are so far hardened as to reproach them
that will not be as mad as themselves. And is not Christ worth the
seeking? Is not everlasting salvation worth more than all this? Doth
not that soul make light of all these that thinks his ease more worth
than they? Let but common sense judge.

That which we most highly value, we think we can not buy too dear.
Christ and salvation are freely given, and yet the most of men go
without them because they can not enjoy the world and them together.
They are called but to part with that which would hinder them Christ,
and they will not do it. They are called but to give God His own, and
to resign all to His will, and let go the profits and pleasures of
this world, when they must let go either Christ or them, and they will
not. They think this too dear a bargain, and say they can not spare
these things: they must hold their credit with men; they must look
to their estates: how shall they live else? They must have their
pleasure, whatsoever becomes of Christ and salvation: as if they could
live without Christ better than without these; as if they were afraid
of being losers by Christ, or could make a saving match by losing
their souls to gain the world. Christ hath told us over and over that
if we will not forsake all for Him we can not be His disciples. Far
are these men from forsaking all, and yet will needs think that they
are His disciples indeed.

That which men highly esteem, they would help their friends to as well
as themselves. Do not those men make light of Christ and salvation
that can take so much care to leave their children portions in the
world, and do so little to help them to heaven? that provide outward
necessaries so carefully for their families, but do so little to the
saving of their souls? Their neglected children and friends will
witness that either Christ, or their children's souls, or both, were
made light of.

That which men highly esteem, they will so diligently seek after that
you may see it in the success, if it be a matter within their reach.
You may see how many make light of Christ, by the little knowledge
they have of Him, and the little communion with Him, and the
communication from Him; and the little, yea, none, of His special
grace in them. Alas! how many ministers can speak it to the sorrow of
their hearts, that many of their people know almost nothing of Christ,
tho they hear of Him daily! Nor know they what they must do to be
saved: if we ask them an account of these things, they answer as if
they understood not what we say to them, and tell us they are no
scholars, and therefore think they are excusable for their ignorance.
Oh, if these men had not made light of Christ and their salvation, but
had bestowed but half as much pains to know and enjoy Him as they have
done to understand the matters of their trades and callings in the
world, they would not have been so ignorant as they are: they make
light of these things, and therefore will not be at the pains to study
or learn them. When men that can learn the hardest trade in a few
years have not learned a catechism, nor how to understand their
creed, under twenty or thirty years' preaching, nor can abide to
be questioned about such things, doth not this show that they have
slighted them in their hearts? How will these despisers of Christ and
salvation be able one day to look Him in the face, and to give an
account of these neglects?

Thus much I have spoken in order to your conviction. Do not some of
your consciences by this time smite you, and say, I am the man that
have made light of my salvation? If they do not, it is because you
make light of it still, for all that is said to you. But because, if
it be the will of the Lord, I would fain have this damning distemper
cured, and am loath to leave you in such a desperate condition, if I
knew how to remedy it, I will give you some considerations, which may
move you, if you be men of reason and understanding, to look better
about you; and I beseech you to weigh them, and make use of them as we
go, and lay open your hearts to the work of grace, and sadly bethink
you what a case you are in, if you prove such as make light of Christ.

Consider, 1. Thou makest light of Him that made not light of thee who
deserve it. Thou wast worthy of nothing but contempt. As a man, what
art thou but a worm to God? As a sinner, thou art far viler than
a toad: yet Christ was so far from making light of thee and thy
happiness, that He came down into the flesh, and lived a life of
suffering, and offered Himself a sacrifice to the justice which thou
hadst provoked, that thy miserable soul might have a remedy. It is no
less than miracles of love and mercy that He hath showed to us; and
yet shall we slight them after all?

Angels admire them, whom they less concern, and shall redeemed sinners
make light of them? What barbarous, yea, devilish--yea, worse than
devilish--ingratitude is this! The devils never had a savior offered
to them; but thou hast, and dost thou yet make light of Him?

2. Consider, the work of man's salvation by Jesus Christ is the
masterpiece of all the works of God, wherein He would have His love
and mercy to be magnified. As the creation declareth. His goodness and
power, so doth redemption His goodness and mercy; He hath contrived
the very frame of His worship so that it shall much consist in the
magnifying of this work; and, after all this, will you make light of
it? "His name is wonderful." "He did the work that none could do."
"Greater love could none show than His." How great was the evil and
misery that He delivered us from! the good procured from us! All are
wonders, from His birth to His ascension; from our new birth to our
glorification, all are wonders of matchless mercy--and yet do you make
light of them?

3. You make light of matters of greatest excellency and moment in the
world: you know not what it is that you slight: had you well known,
you would not have done it. As Christ said to the woman of Samaria,
"Hadst thou known who it is that speaketh to thee, thou wouldst have
asked of Him the waters of life"; had they known they would not have
crucified the Lord of Glory. So, had you known what Christ is, you
would not have made light of Him; had you been one day in heaven, and
but seen what they possess, and seen also what miserable souls must
endure that are shut out, you would never sure have made so light of

O sirs, it is no trifles or jesting matters that the gospel speaks of.
I must needs profess to you that when I have the most serious thoughts
of these things myself, I am ready to marvel that such amazing matters
do not overwhelm the souls of men; that the greatness of the subject
doth not so overmatch our understandings and affections as even to
drive men besides themselves, but that God hath always somewhat
allayed it by the distance; much more that men should be so blockish
as to make light of them. O Lord, that men did but know what
everlasting glory and everlasting torments are: would they then hear
us as they do? would they read and think of these things as they do?
I profess I have been ready to wonder, when I have heard such
weighty things delivered, how people can forbear crying out in the
congregation; much more how they can rest till they have gone to their
ministers, and learned what they should do to be saved, that this
great business might be put out of doubt. Oh, that heaven and hell
should work no more on men! Oh, that everlastingness work no more! Oh,
how can you forbear when you are alone to think with yourselves what
it is to be everlastingly in joy or in torment! I wonder that such
thoughts do not break your sleep, and that they come not in your mind
when you are about your labor! I wonder how you can almost do anything
else! how you can have any quietness in your minds! How you can eat,
or drink, or rest, till you have got some ground of everlasting
consolations! Is that a man or a corpse that is not affected with
matters of this moment? that can be readier to sleep than to tremble
when he heareth how he must stand at the bar of God? Is that a man or
a clod of clay that can rise or lie down without being deeply affected
with his everlasting estate? that can follow his worldly business and
make nothing of the great business of salvation or damnation; and that
when they know it is hard at hand? Truly, sirs, when I think of the
weight of the matter, I wonder at the very best of God's saints upon
the earth that they are no better, and do no more in so weighty a
case. I wonder at those whom the world accounteth more holy than
needs, and scorns for making too much ado, that they can put off
Christ and their souls with so little; that they pour not out their
souls in every supplication; that they are not more taken up with God;
that their thoughts be more serious in preparation for their account.
I wonder that they be not a hundred times more strict in their lives,
and more laborious and unwearied in striving for the crown, than they
are. And for myself, as I am ashamed of my dull and careless heart,
and of my slow and unprofitable course of life, so the Lord knows I am
ashamed of every sermon that I preach: when I think what I have been
speaking of, and who sent me, and that men's salvation or damnation is
so much concerned in it, I am ready to tremble lest God should judge
me as a slighter of His truth and the souls of men, and lest in the
best sermon I should be guilty of their blood. Methinks we should not
speak a word to men in matters of such consequence without tears, or
the greatest earnestness that possibly we can: were not we too much
guilty of the sin which we reprove, it would be so. Whether we are
alone, or in company, methinks our end, and such an end, should still
be in our mind, and before our eyes; and we should sooner forget
anything, and set light by anything, or by all things, than by this.

Consider, 4. Who is it that sends this weighty message to you? Is it
not God Himself? Shall the God of heaven speak and men make light of
it? You would not slight the voice of an angel or a prince.

5. Whose salvation is it that you make light of? Is it not your own?
Are you no more near or dear to yourselves than to make light of your
own happiness or misery? Why, sirs, do you not care whether you be
saved or damned? Is self-love lost? are you turned your own enemies?
As he that slighteth his meat doth slight his life, so if you slight
Christ, whatsoever you may think, you will find it was your own
salvation that you slighted. Hear what He saith, "All they that hate
me love death."

6. Your sin is greater, in that you profess to believe the gospel
which you make so light of. For a profest infidel to do it that
believes not that ever Christ died, or rose again, or doth not believe
that there is a heaven or hell, this were no such marvel--but for you,
that make it your creed, and your very religion, and call yourselves
Christians, and have been baptized into this faith, and seemed to
stand to it, this is the wonder, and hath no excuse. What! believe
that you shall live in endless joy or torment, and yet make no more of
it to escape torment, and obtain that joy! What! believe that God will
shortly judge you, and yet make no preparation for it! Either say
plainly, I am no Christian, I do not believe these wonderful things,
I will believe nothing but what I see, or else let your hearts be
affected with your belief, and live as you say you do believe. What do
you think when you repeat the creed, and mention Christ's judgment and
everlasting life?

7. What are these things you set so much by as to prefer them before
Christ and the saving of your soul? Have you found a better friend, a
greater and a surer happiness than this? Good Lord! what dung is it
that men make so much of, while they set so light by everlasting
glory? What toys are they that are daily taken up with, while matters
of life and death are neglected? Why, sirs, if you had every one a
kingdom in your hopes, what were it in comparison of the everlasting
kingdom? I can not but look upon all the glory and dignity of this
world, lands and lordships, crowns and kingdoms, even as on some
brain-sick, beggarly fellow, that borroweth fine clothes, and plays
the part of a king or a lord for an hour on a stage, and then comes
down, and the sport is ended, and they are beggars again. Were it not
for God's interest in the authority of magistrates, or for the service
they might do Him, I should judge no better of them. For, as to their
own glory, it is but a smoke: what matter is it whether you live poor
or rich, unless it were a greater matter to die rich than it is? You
know well enough that death levels all. What matter is it at judgment,
whether you be to answer for the life of a rich man or a poor man? Is
Dives, then, any better than Lazarus? Oh, that men knew what poor,
deceiving shadow they grasp at while they let go the everlasting
substance! The strongest, and richest, and most voluptuous sinners do
but lay in fuel for their sorrows, while they think they are gathering
together a treasure. Alas! they are asleep, and dream that they are
happy; but when they awake, what a change will they find! Their crown
is made of thorns; their pleasure hath such a sting as will stick in
the heart through all eternity, except unfeigned repentance do prevent
it. Oh, how sadly will these wretches be convinced ere long, what a
foolish bargain they made in selling Christ and their salvation for
these trifles! Let your farms and merchandise, then, save you, if they
can, and do that for you that Christ would have done. Cry then to
Baal, to save thee! Oh, what thoughts have drunkards and adulterers,
etc., of Christ, that will not part with the basest lust for Him? "For
a piece of bread," saith Solomon, "such men do transgress."

8. To set so light by Christ and salvation is a certain mark that thou
hast no part in them, and if thou so continue, that Christ will set
as light by thee: "Those that honor him he will honor, and those that
despise him shall be lightly esteemed." Thou wilt feel one day that
thou canst not live without Him; thou wilt confess then thy need of
Him; and then thou mayest go look for a savior where thou wilt; for He
will be no Savior for thee hereafter, that wouldst not value Him, and
submit to Him here. Then who will prove the loser by thy contempt? Oh,
what a thing will it be for a poor miserable soul to cry to Christ for
help in the day of extremity, and to hear so sad an answer as this!
Thou didst set lightly by Me and My law in the day of thy prosperity,
and I will now set as light by thee in the day of thy adversity.
Read Prov. i., 24, to the end. Thou that, as Esau, didst sell thy
birthright for a mess of pottage, shalt then find no place for
repentance, tho thou seek it with tears. Do you think that Christ shed
His blood to save them that continue to make light of it? and to save
them, that value a cup of drink or a lust before His salvation? I tell
you, sirs, tho you set so light by Christ and salvation, God doth not
so: He will not give them on such terms as these: He valueth the blood
of His Son, and the everlasting glory, and He will make you value them
if ever you have them. Nay, this will be thy condemnation, and leaveth
no remedy. All the world can not save him that sets lightly by Christ.
None of them shall taste of His supper. Nor can you blame Him to deny
you what you made light of yourselves. Can you find fault if you miss
of the salvation which you slighted?

9. The time is near when Christ and salvation will not be made light
of as now they are. When God hath shaken those careless souls out of
their bodies, and you must answer for all your sins in your own name,
oh, then, what would you not give for a Savior! When a thousand bills
shall be brought in against you, and none to relieve you, then you
will consider, Oh! Christ would now have stood between me and the
wrath of God; had I not despised Him, He would have answered all.
When you see the world hath left you, and your companions in sin have
deceived themselves and you, and all your merry days are gone, then
what would you not give for that Christ and salvation that now you
account not worth your labor! Do you think that when you see the
judgment seat, and you are doomed to everlasting perdition for your
wickedness, that you should then make as light of Christ as now? Why
will you not judge now as you know you shall judge then? Will He then
be worth ten thousand worlds? And is He not now worth your highest
estimation and dearest affection?

10. God will not only deny thee that salvation thou madest light of,
but He will take from thee all that which thou didst value before it:
he that most highly esteems Christ shall have Him, and the creatures,
so far as they are good here, and Him without the creature hereafter,
because the creature is not useful; and he that sets more by the
creature than by Christ, shall have some of the creature without
Christ here, and neither Christ nor it hereafter.

So much of these considerations, which may show the true face of this
heinous sin.

What think you now, friends, of this business? Do you not see by this
time what a case that soul is in that maketh light of Christ and
salvation? What need then is there that you should take heed lest this
should prove your own case! The Lord knows it is too common a case.
Whoever is found guilty at the last of this sin, it were better for
that man he had never been born. It were better for him he had been a
Turk or Indian, that never had heard the name of a Savior, and that
never had salvation offered to him: for such men "have no cloak for
their sin." Besides all the rest of their sins, they have this killing
sin to answer for, which will undo them. And this will aggravate their
misery, that Christ whom they set light by must be their Judge, and
for this sin will He judge them. Oh, that such would now consider how
they will answer that question that Christ put to their predecessors:
"How will ye escape the damnation of hell" or, "How shall we escape if
we neglect so great salvation?" Can you escape without a Christ? or
will a despised Christ save you then? If he be accurst that sets light
by father or mother, what then is he that sets light by Christ? It was
the heinous sin of the Jews, that among them were found such as set
light by father and mother. But among us, men slight the Father of
Spirits! In the name of God, brethren, I beseech you to consider how
you will then bear this anger which you now make light of! You that
can not make light of a little sickness or want, or of natural death,
no, not of a toothache, but groan as if you were undone; how will you
then make light of the fury of the Lord, which will burn against the
contemners of His grace! Doth it not behoove you beforehand to think
of these things?

Dearly beloved in the Lord, I have now done that work which I came
upon; what effect it hath, or will have, upon your hearts, I know not,
nor is it any further in my power to accomplish that which my soul
desireth for you. Were it the Lord's will that I might have my wish
herein, the words that you have this day heard should so stick by you
that the secure should be awakened by them, and none of you should
perish by the slighting of your salvation. I can not follow you
to your several habitations to apply this word to your particular
necessities; but oh, that I could make every man's conscience a
preacher to himself that it might do it, which is ever with you!
That the next time you go prayerless to bed, or about your business,
conscience might cry out, Dost thou set no more by Christ and thy
salvation? That the next time you are tempted to think hardly of a
holy and diligent life (I will not say to deride it as more ado than
needs), conscience might cry out to thee, Dost thou set so light by
Christ and thy salvation? That the next time you are ready to rush
upon unknown sin, and to please your fleshly desires against the
command of God, conscience might cry out, Is Christ and salvation no
more worth than to cast them away, or venture them for thy lust?
That when you are following the world with your most eager desires,
forgetting the world to come, and the change that is a little before
you, conscience might cry out to you, Is Christ and salvation no more
worth than so? That when you are next spending the Lord's day in
idleness or vain sports, conscience might tell you what you are doing.
In a word, that in all your neglects of duty, your sticking at the
supposed labor or cost of a godly life, yea, in all your cold and lazy
prayers and performances, conscience might tell you how unsuitable
such endeavors are to the reward; and that Christ and salvation should
not be so slighted. I will say no more but this at this time, it is a
thousand pities that when God hath provided a Savior for the world,
and when Christ hath suffered so much for their sins, and made so full
a satisfaction to justice, and purchased so glorious a kingdom for
His saints, and all this is offered so freely to sinners, to lost,
unworthy sinners, even for nothing, that yet so many millions should
everlastingly perish because they make light of their Savior and
salvation, and prefer the vain world and their lusts before them. I
have delivered my message, the Lord open your hearts to receive it.
I have persuaded you with the word of truth and soberness; the Lord
persuade you more effectually, or else all this is lost. Amen.




Jacque Benigne Bossuet was born at Dijon, in Burgundy, in 1627. In an
illustrious group of French Catholic preachers he occupied a foremost
place. In beginning his sermons he was reserved and dignified, but as
he moved forward and his passionate utterance captured his hearers,
"he watched their rising emotion, the rooted glances of a thousand
eyes filled him with a sort of divine frenzy, his notes became a
burden and a hindrance, and with impetuous ardor he abandoned himself
to the inspiration of the moment."

To ripe scholarship Bossuet added a voice that was deep and sonorous,
an imposing personality, and an animated and graceful style of
gesture. Lamartine says he had "a voice which, like that of the
thunder in the clouds, or the organ in the cathedral, had never been
anything but the medium of power and divine persuasion to the soul; a
voice which only spoke to kneeling auditors; a voice which spoke in
the name of God, an authority of language unequaled upon earth,
and against which the lowest murmur was impious and the smallest
opposition blasphemy." He died in 1704.

BOSSUET 1627-1704


In beginning this address, in which I purpose to celebrate the
immortal glory of Louis de Bourbon, Prince de Conde, I feel myself
overweighted both by the grandeur of the subject and, to be frank, by
the fruitlessness of the effort. What part of the inhabited world has
not heard of the victories of the Prince de Conde and the wonders of
his life? They are recounted everywhere; the Frenchman who boasts of
them in the presence of the foreigner tells him nothing which the
latter does not know; and in no matter how exalted a strain I might
sound his praises, I should still feel that in your hearts you were
convinced that I deserved the reproach of falling far short of doing
him justice. An orator, feeble as he is, can not do anything for the
perpetuation of the glory of extraordinary souls. Le Sage was right
when he said that "their deeds alone can praise them"; no other praise
is of any effect where great names are concerned; and it needs but the
simple story of his deeds faithfully recorded to sustain the glory of
the Prince de Conde.

But, while awaiting the appearance of the history which is to tell the
story of his life to coming ages, it is necessary to satisfy as best
we may the public recognition of his merit and bow to the order of the
greatest of all sovereigns. What does not the kingdom owe to a prince
who has honored the house of France, the French name, his century,
and, so to speak, all mankind? Louis the Great himself shares these
sentiments; after having mourned this great man, and by his tears,
shed in the presence of his entire court, rather than by words,
uttered the most glorious eulogy he could receive, he assembled
together in this celebrated temple all that is most august in his
realm, in order that the last rites to the memory of this prince might
there be celebrated; and he wishes that my feeble voice should animate
all this funeral equipage. Let us try, then, to forget our grief. Here
an object greater and worthier of this pulpit presents itself to my
mind: it is God, who makes warriors and conquerors. "It is Thou," said
David unto Him, "who hast trained my hand to battle, and my fingers to
hold the sword." If He inspires courage, no less is He the bestower of
other great qualities, both of heart and of mind. His mighty hand is
the source of everything; it is He who sends from heaven generous
sentiments, wise counsels and every worthy thought. But He wishes
us to know how to distinguish between the gifts He abandons to His
enemies and those He reserves for His servants. What distinguishes His
friends from all others is piety. Until this gift of heaven has been
received, all others not only are as naught, but even bring ruin on
those who are endowed with them; without this inestimable gift of
piety what would the Prince de Conde have been, even with his great
heart and great genius? No, my brethren, if piety had not, as it were,
consecrated his other virtues, these princes would have found no
consolation for their grief, nor this pontiff any confidence in his
prayers, nor would I myself utter with conviction the praises which I
owe so great a man.

Let us, by this example, then set human glory at naught; let us
destroy the idol of the ambitious, that it might fall to pieces before
this altar. Let us to-day join together (for with a subject so noble
we may do it) all the finest qualities of a superior nature; and, for
the glory of truth, let us demonstrate, in a prince admired of the
universe, that what makes heroes, that what carries to the highest
pitch worldly glory, worth, magnanimity, natural goodness--all
attributes of the heart; vivacity, penetration, grandeur and sublimity
of genius--attributes of the mind; would be but an illusion were piety
not a part of them--in a word, that piety is the essence of the man.
It is this, gentlemen, which you will see in the forever memorable
life of the most high and mighty Prince Louis de Bourbon, Prince de
Conde, first prince of the blood.

God has revealed to us that He alone creates conquerors, and that He
makes them serve His designs. What other created a Cyrus if it is
not God, who named him two hundred years before his birth in the
Prophecies of Isaiah? "Thou art as yet unborn," He said unto him, "but
I see thee, and I named thee by thy name; thou shalt be called Cyrus.
I will walk before thee in battle, at thy approach I will put kings to
flight; I will break down doors of brass. It is I that stretch out the
heavens, that support the earth, that name that which is not as that
which is," that is to say, it is I that create everything and I that
see, from eternity, all that I create. What other could fashion an
Alexander, if it is not this same God who caused the unquenchable
ardor of Daniel, His prophet, to see from so great a distance and by
means of foreshadowings so vivid. "Do you see him," he says, "this
conqueror; with what rapidity he rises from the west by bounds, as it
were, and touches not the earth?"

In the boldness of his leaps, and the lightness of his tread like unto
some powerful and frisking beast, he advances by quick and impetuous
bounds, and nor mountain nor precipice arrests his progress. Already
has the King of Persia fallen into his hands. "At his sight he was
exasperated; _efferatus est in eum_," says the prophet; "he strikes
him down, he tramples him under foot; none can save him from his blows
nor cheat him of his prey." But to hear these words of Daniel, whom
would you suppose you perceived, gentlemen, under that figure of
speech--Alexander or the Prince de Conde? God gave him that dauntless
valor that France might enjoy safety during the minority of a king but
four years old. Let him grow up, this king, cherished of Heaven, and
all will yield to his exploits; rising above his own followers, as
well as his enemies, he will know how sometimes to make use of, and
at others to dispense with, his most illustrious captains, and alone,
under the hand of God, who will be his constant aid, he will be seen
to be the stanch rampart of his dominions. But God chose the Duc
d'Enghien to defend him in his infancy. So, toward the first days of
his reign, at the age of twenty-two years, the duke conceived a plan
in the armor of which the seasoned veterans could find no vulnerable
point; but victory justified his course at Rocroi. The opposing force,
it is true, is stronger; it is composed of those old Walloon, Italian
and Spanish regiments that, up to that time, could not be broken; but
at what valuation should be placed the courage inspired in our troops
by the pressing necessities of the state, by past successes, and by
a young prince of the blood in whose eyes could be read victory? Don
Francisco de Mellos awaits the onset with a firm foot; and, without
being able to retreat, the two generals and the two armies seemed to
have wished to imprison themselves in the woods and the marshes in
order to decide the issue of combat like two champions in the lists.

Then what a sight is presented to the eye! the young prince appears
another man; touched by an object so worthy, his great soul displays
all its sublimity; his courage waxes with the dangers it has to
encounter, and his penetration becomes keener as his ardor increases.
That night, which had to be spent in the presence of the enemy, like
the vigilant commander that he was, he was the last to retire. But
never were his slumbers more peaceful. On the eve of so momentous
a day, when the first battle is to be fought, his mind is entirely
tranquil, so thoroughly is he in his element; and it is well known
that on the morrow, at the hour he had indicated, it was necessary to
awaken this second Alexander from a deep slumber. Do you see him as
he rushes on to victory or death? No sooner had he inspired the ranks
with the ardor with which his soul was animated than he was seen
almost at the same time to press the right wing of the enemy, support
our own shaken by the shock of the charge, rally the disheartened
and almost vanquished French forces, put to flight the victorious
Spaniards, carrying dismay everywhere, and terrifying by his lightning
glances those who escape his blows. There still remained that dreaded
infantry of the Spanish army, whose great battalions in close line of
battle like so many towers, but towers which knew how to repair their
breaches, were unshaken by the onset, and, tho the rest of the army
was put to rout, maintained a steady fire. Thrice the young conqueror
attempted to break the ranks of these intrepid warriors, thrice was
he repulsed by the valorous Comte de Fontaines, who was borne to
the scene of combat in his invalid's chair, by reason of his bodily
infirmities, thus demonstrating that the warrior's soul has the
ascendant over the body it animates.

But at last was he forced to yield. In vain does Beck, with a body of
fresh cavalry, hasten his march through the woods in order to attack
our exhausted soldiers; the prince has forestalled him; the defeated
battalions are asking quarter. But victory for the Duc d'Enghien was
destined to be more terrible than the combat. While with an air
of confidence he advances to receive the surrender of these brave
fellows, they, on their part, still on their guard, are in dread of
being surprized by a fresh attack. The frightful havoc wrought by the
discharge of their musketry infuriates our troops. Carnage is now
rampant; the bloodshed intoxicates the soldiers to a high degree. But
the prince, who could not bear to see these lions slaughtered like so
many lambs, calmed their overwrought feeling and enhanced the pleasure
of victory by that of pardoning the vanquished. What, then, was the
astonishment of these veteran troops and their brave officers when
they perceived that their only salvation was to give themselves up to
their conqueror! With what wonder did they regard the young prince,
whose victory had rendered still more impressive his customary proud
bearing, to which, however, his clemency had imparted a new grace.
How willingly would he have saved the life of the brave Comte de
Fontaines, but unhappily he lay stretched upon the field of battle
among the thousands of dead bodies, those whose loss is still kept by
Spain. Spain knew not that the prince who caused her the loss of so
many of her old regiments on the day of Rocroi was to finish the rest
on the plains of Lens.

Thus the first victory was the guarantee of many others. The prince
bent his knee and on the field of battle rendered to the Lord of Hosts
the glory He had sent him. There was celebrated the deliverance of
Rocroi, and thanksgivings were uttered that the threats of a once
dreaded enemy had resulted in his own shameful defeat; that the
regency was strengthened, France calmed, and a reign which was to
be so illustrious begun by an augury so auspicious. The army led
in thanksgiving; all France followed; the first venture of the Duc
d'Enghien was lauded to the skies. Praise sufficient to render others
forever illustrious; but for him it was but the first stage in his

As a result of this first campaign, and after the capture of
Thionville--a prize worthy of the victory gained at Rocroi--he was
regarded as an adversary equally to be feared in sieges and in
battles. But there is one trait in the character of the victorious
young prince no less admirable than that which was brought out by
victory. The court, which at his arrival was prepared to welcome him
with the plaudits he deserved, was surprized at the manner in which
he received them. The queen-regent assured him that the king was well
pleased with his services. This from the lips of his sovereign was
a fitting recompense for his labors. If others dared to praise him,
however, he treated their eulogies as insults, and, impatient of
flattery, he was in dread even of its semblance. Such was the
delicacy, or rather the solidity of character, of this prince.
Moreover his maxim was (listen, for it is a maxim which makes great
men), that, in the performance of great deeds, one's sole thought
should be to perform them well, and leave glory to follow in the train
of virtue. It is this which he has endeavored to instil into others,
and by this principle has he himself ever been guided. Thus false
glory had no temptation for him. It was with truth and greatness alone
that he was concerned.

Thus it came about that his glory was wrapt up in the service of his
kind and in the happiness and well-being of the state; They were the
objects nearest his heart; these were his first and most cherished
desires. The court had but little charm for him, or occupation suited
to his talents, tho he was there regarded as its greatest hero. It was
deemed needful to exhibit everywhere in Germany, as in Flanders, the
intrepid defender whom God had given us. Remark well what is about to
transpire: There is being formed against the prince an enterprise of a
more formidable nature than, that at Rocroi; and, in order to put his
talents to the test, warfare is about to drain all its resources, and
call to its aid every known invention. What is it that is presented
to my vision? I see not merely men to meet in combat but inaccessible
mountains: on one side are ravines and precipices; on the other
impenetrable forests in the heart of which are marshes, and in
proximity to streams are impregnable intrenchments; everywhere are
lofty fortresses and forests of felled trees lying across roads which
are frightful; and there arises Merci, with his worthy Bavarians
inflated by the large measure of success which has fallen to their
arms and by the capture of Fribourg; Merci, whom none has ever seen
retreat from the combat; Merci, whom the Prince de Conde and the
vigilant Turenne have never surprized in a movement that was not in
accord with the rales of warfare, and to whom they have conceded this
great mark of admiration--that never has he lost a single favorable
opportunity, nor failed to anticipate their designs as tho he had
taken part in their councils.

Here, then, in the course of eight days, and by four separate attacks,
is seen how much can be supported and undertaken in war. Our troops
seem as much dispirited by the frightful condition of the field of
battle as by the resistance of the enemy, and for a time the prince
sees himself, so to speak, abandoned. But like a second Maccabee,
"his right arm abandons him not, and his courage, inflamed by so many
perils, came to his aid." No sooner had he been seen on foot the first
to scale those inaccessible heights, than his ardor drew the whole
army after him. Merci sees himself lost beyond redemption; his best

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