Let us sum up all in this,—whatsoever grace or gift is in Christ Jesus, whatsoever pre-eminence he hath above angels and men, whatsoever he purchased, he purchased by his obedient life and patience in death. There is nothing of all that but the soul may be admitted to fellowship in it, by its union with him by faith. Have him, and have all that he hath. Faith makes him yours, and all that he hath is a consequential appendix to himself. The word of the gospel offers him freely to you, with all his benefits, interests, and advantages. O that our hearts may be induced to open to him!

Now being thus united to Jesus Christ, that which I would persuade next to is a personal communion, that is, a suitable entertainment of him, a conjunction of your soul to him by love, and a conspiracy of all your endeavours henceforth to please him. It is certain, that true friendship is founded on a conjunction and harmony of souls by affection, by which they cease to be two, and become in a manner one; for love makes a kind of transport of the soul into another, and then all particular and proper interests are drowned in oblivion,—no more mine and thine, but he makes an interchange, mine thine, and thine mine, my heart thine, and thy honour mine. Now, certain it is, that in this God hath given us a rare pattern, and leads the way; for he declares his love to the world in the rarest effects of it, which give the clearest demonstrations possible,—"God so loved the world that he sent his Son." And you have the most infallible argument of the Son's love,—"Greater love hath no man than this, to lay down his life for his friends,"—but he for his enemies. Now, then, you see how the heart of God and his Son Jesus Christ is fixed from everlasting on the sons of men, so unalterably, and so fully set towards them, that it hath transported the Son out of his own glory, and brought him down in the state of a servant. But it is not yet known what particular persons are thus fixed upon, until that everlasting love break out from underground, in the engagement of thy soul's love to him, and till he have fastened this chain, and set this seal on thy heart, which makes thee impatient to want him. Thou knowest not the seal that was on his heart from eternity. But now the love of a believer being the result of his love,—this is it that is the source and spring of constant communion, and it vents itself in converse with God, and daily entertainment of him in our spirits and ways. There is a keeping of company with him in prayer and meditation, and all the ordinances. There is a communication and familiar conference of the heart with him, either in thinking on him or pouring out our requests to him. There is a mutual and daily intercourse and correspondence of that soul with God, in answering his word by obedience, in praying to him, and receiving answers from him, and then returning answer again with a letter of thanks and praise, as it were. These are the ways to increase that love of God, and kindle it up to a higher flame, and it being thus increased, it gathers in all the endeavours and abilities of the soul, and sets all on fire, as a sweet smelling sacrifice to please him. It is henceforth the great study of the soul to remove all things that are offensive to him, for the entertaining of sin, his enemy, is most inconsistent with this true fellowship and friendship. "If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me," Psal. lxvi. 18. This will mar that sweet correspondence in prayer and praise, for it is a breach of peace and covenant to regard and maintain his enemies. Therefore the soul that loves God will study to compose itself in all things to his good pleasure, as well as his love, that is strong as death, puts him upon a careful watching, to do all things for our profit, and so this takes in our whole carriage and walking, in religious approaches, or in common businesses, to have this as our great design—conversing with God and walking to all well pleasing.

Now, if we were once enrolled in this blessed fellowship with the Father and the Son then it follows, as a fruit and result of this, that we should have fellowship one with another. And truly the more unity with God, the more unity among ourselves: for he is the uniting, cementing principle, he is the centre of all Christians, and as lines, the farther they are from the centre, the farther distant they are from one another, so the distance and elongation of souls from God sets them at further distance amongst themselves. The nearer we come every one to Jesus Christ, the nearer we join in affection one to another, and this is imported in that of Christ's prayer, "That they may be one in us," John xvii. 21, 22. No unity but in that one Lord, and no perfect unity but in a perfect union with him. I would exhort to study this more,—to have fellowship one with another, as members of the same body, by sympathy, by mutual helping one another in spiritual and temporal things. Even amongst Christians that live obscurely in a city, or in a village, there is not that harmonious agreement and consent of hearts, that contention and plea of love, of gentleness and forbearance, who shall exercise most of that, but there are many jealousies, heart burnings, grudgings, strifes, evil speakings, &c., to the stumbling of others, and the weakening of yourselves, which certainly argue that ye are much carnal, and walk as men, and that the love of God and fellowship with him is waxed cold, and is languished and dead, &c.



Sermon VIII.

1 John i. 4.—"And these things write we unto you, that your joy may be full."

All motions tend to rest and quietness. We see it daily in the motions below, and we believe it also of the circular revolutions of the heavens above, that there is a day coming in which they shall cease, as having performed all they were appointed for. And as it is in things natural, so it is in things rational in a more eminent way. Their desires, affections, and actions, which are the motions and stretches of the soul towards that it desires and apprehends as good, tend of their own nature, and are directed by the very intention of the soul to some rest and tranquillity, some joy and contentation of spirit. If other things that have no knowledge have their centre of rest, how much more must man, who is an understanding creature, have it by the ordination and appointment of God! But there is this wide difference in the point of capacity of happiness between man and other creatures, that they, whatsoever excellent virtues or properties they have, yet know them not themselves, and so can neither enjoy what excellency themselves have, nor have use of what is in others. For to what purpose is it to shine forth, if there be no eye to see? What advantage hath the rose in its fragrancy, if it cannot smell itself? That which is not perceived, is as if it were not. And therefore it is an evident testimony, that all these visible things were created, not for themselves, but for man's sake, who knows them, can use them, and enjoy them. Here is, then, the peculiar capacity that God hath given to man,—to discern and know what he seeks, what he hath, and possesses, that so he may be able to enjoy it, or use it, according to the nature of it. This is a great point of God's image and conformity with him, whose infinite blessedness and joy riseth from that perfect comprehension and intuitive beholding of himself, and his own incomprehensible riches. So then, man's happiness or misery must depend upon this,—both what the soul fixeth upon, and what it apprehendeth to be in it. For if that eternal and universal good, the all-fulness of God, be the centre of the soul's desires and endeavours, and there be apprehended and discovered in God that infinite excellency and variety of delights which nothing else can afford so much as a shadow of, then there cannot but result from such a conjunction of the soul's apprehension, suitable to the fulness of God, and of the excellency and goodness of God, suitable to the desires of the soul, such a rest and tranquillity, such joy and satisfaction, as cannot choose but make the soul infinitely happier than the enjoyment of any other thing could do.

This being the thing, then, which all men's desires naturally tend unto, this tranquillity and perfect satisfaction of the heart being that which carries all men's hearts after it, and that which men seek for itself, and which they seek in all other things, the great misery of man is, that he mistakes the way to it, and seeks it where it is not to be found. The generality of men are so far degenerated, both from the impression of a divine majesty, and the sense of an immortal being within themselves, that they imagine to content and ease their own hearts in these outward, inconstant, perishing things, and so their life is spent in catching at shadows, in feeding on the wind, in labouring in the fire. There is nothing so plentifully satisfies our expectations as can quit the cost, and recompense the expense of our labour, toil, grief, and travail about it. There is nothing therefore but a continual, restless agitation of the heart from one thing to another, and that in a round, circling about, from one thing that now displeases or disappoints to things that were formerly loathed, as a sick man turns him from one side to another, or changes beds often, and at length returns, expecting to find some ease where he lay at first. And it may be judged that all circular motions are eternal, and so they can never be supposed to attain their end,—that is, rest and tranquillity. Therefore a soul thus carried in a round, by the vain imaginations of his heart, is likely never to settle and find solid rest and peace. Nay, how is it possible that they can give that tranquillity and contentation to the heart and soul of man, that are so utterly in their natures disproportioned to it, both because they are only suited to the senses, and likewise for that they are changeable? Now the soul is framed with a higher capacity, and can no more be satiated with visible things, than a man that is hungry can be satisfied with gold; and besides, it is immortal, and must have something to survive all the changes of time, and therefore is likely to rest nowhere but in that which hath eternal stability. Now, though these things cannot truly fill the heart, yet they swell the belly, like the east wind, or like the prodigal's husks, fill it with wind, which causeth many torments and distempers in the soul; and though they cannot give ease, yet they may be as thorns to prick and pierce a man through with many sorrows, as our Saviour speaks. So that there is no more wisdom or gain in this, than in gathering an armful of thorns, and enclosing and pressing hard unto them,—the more hardly and strongly we grip them, the more grievously they pierce us; or as if a man would flee into a hedge of thorns in a tempest,—the further he thrusts into it, he is the worse pricked: and that which he is fallen into is worse than that he fleeth from. I am sure all your experiences give a harmonious testimony to this, that there is no solid, permanent, constant, and equable heart-joy and contentation in all the fancied and imaginary felicities that this world adores. There is nothing of these things, that is not lesser, and lower in actual possession, nor in the first apprehension of them afar off. Nothing in them answers either our desires or expectations; and therefore, instead of peace and tranquillity, they breed more inward torment and disquiet, because of that necessary and inevitable disappointment that attends them. Therefore the apostle passeth all these things in silence, when he is to write of purpose, to give a fulness of joy; for he knows that in them there is neither that joy, nor that fulness of joy he would wish for from them; but it is other things he writes for this end.

Now, indeed, there hath been some wiser than others, that have their apprehension far above the rest of mankind, and have laboured to frame some rules and precepts to lead man into this true rest and tranquillity. And truly, in this they have done much to discover the vanity and madness of the common practice of men, and to draw man from sensible and outward things, to things invisible and spiritual. Yet there is a defectiveness in all the rules that natural reason can reach unto. There is some crookedness withal adheres to them, which shows our departure from our original. There are many excellent discourses of morality in heathen writings, which may be very subservient to a Christian, and useful to the composing and settling of his mind, amidst all the fluctuations and uncertainties of this world. They may come well in as subsidies and guards to a Christian's heart, to preserve that peace and joy it hath from God, and keep out the ordinary tumultuous passions that disturb the most part of men. But here is the lamentable failing, that while they call a man off things without, as adventitious, they lead him but into his own spirit within, as if he could there find that rest in the very enjoyment of his poor, miserable, wretched self. But Christ Jesus calls us into our own spirits, not to dwell there. For O what a loathsome and irksome habitation is a defiled heart and a guilty conscience! But rather, that finding nothing of that joy and refreshment within, we may then freely and fully forsake ourselves, as well as the world without, and transport into God in Christ, the only habitation of joy and delight, that being filled with anguish from the world, and from ourselves, we may more willingly divorce from both, and agree to join unto Jesus Christ, and to embrace him in our hearts, who is the only Fountain of life and joy, who had no other errand and business from heaven, but to repair man's joy,—as grievous a breach as any in the creation,—a thing as much missed and sought after as any thing, yea, sought after in all things that are sought. John xv. 11. "These things I have spoken to you, that your joy may be full." Therefore the apostle propounds this as the end of his writing on this subject,—the word of life; these things write I "that your joy may be full;" and the way to attain this fulness of joy, he expressed in the former verse,—by fellowship with the Father and the Son.

That which makes all other things disproportioned to the soul of man, to give it this joy, is the extreme unsuitableness between them. The soul hath an infinite capacity, and besides, an immortality of endurance, but they are condemned under impotency to supply that infinite void and inconstancy, by which they must needs perish, and leave the soul without all comfort, and with more anxiety. But in those things written here we find all things suited and proportioned to the very great exigence of the soul. There is a suitableness in them, because of their spiritual nature, whereby they may close immediately with thy spirit. Other things are material and corporeal, and what union, what fellowship can a spirit be supposed to have with them? They are extrinsic, advenient things, that never come to a nearer union with thy soul; and though they could, they would debase thy soul, and not exalt it, because of a baser inferior nature. But these things, Jesus Christ, eternal life in him, these precious promises of the gospel, these spiritual privileges of Son-ship, &c., these are of a more divine nature, and by meditation and faith souls come to close with them. These are inward things more near the soul that believes, than himself is to himself; and so he may always carry them about in his heart, which may be a spring of everlasting joy. This no man can take from him. John xvi. 22. For the ground and fountain is inward, seated without the reach of all these vicissitudes and changes. Then, as they have a suitableness, so they have a fulness in them, to create fulness of joy. They are cordials to the heart, things that are in their own nature refreshing to the soul, and apt to beget heart-joy. Other things are not suitable to this, to produce any such inward soul-complacency. The things that are from without reach not so deep as the heart; they make their impressions rather on the outward senses, to tickle and please them, or the countenance, to put some pleasing shape upon it. But the wise man pronounceth all those joys that arise from external things to be superficial, only skin-deep. "In the midst of laughter the heart is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth is heaviness," Prov. xiv. 13. Extrema gaudii luctus occupat.(235) There is no solid recreation to the soul in its retired thoughts, from all the delights of the senses; it is but like the pleasure of the itch, which no man esteems pleasure. But besides, as the things of the gospel affect the heart and soul by bringing soul-mercies and treasures, as forgiveness of sin, hope of heaven, &c., so there is a fulness in them, which may answerably fill all the corners of the heart with joy. There is an unexhaustedness in these things, an universality in Christ;—all in all, all the treasures of wisdom are in him; and may not this cause surely an high spring-tide of joy? The heart is eased upon the lowest clear apprehension of Christ and the gospel. It gives a heart-serenity and calmness to a troubled soul, that nothing else could do. Yet to make up the fulness of joy, as well as the solidity of it, to extend the measure of it, as well as to beget the true quality of it, it is requisite that not only there be a fulness in the object,—that is, full, superabundant, ample matter of rejoicing; but there must be a kind of fulness in the apprehension. It must be represented fully as it is, and the clouds of unbelief scattered; and then indeed, upon the full aspect of the gospel, and Christ in it, there is a fulness of joy that flows into the soul, as the sea is filled upon the full aspect of the moon. O that we could believe this, that there is a fulness of joy here, and nowhere else! Certainly, this alone being pondered and sunk into our hearts, would be a powerful reformer in us, and among us. How would it carry men's hearts to a disgracing and despising all the things that are held in admiration by men! How would it turn the channel of men's judgments, opinions, affections, and conversations! For certainly, whithersoever the tide of joy flows, thither the heart is carried, and this it is that all men are seeking, though they take many contrary and divers ways, as their own fancy leads them. Now, if once this were established in thy soul, that here is that truth and fulness of joy, which elsewhere is ignorantly and vainly sought, would it not divert thy desires, and turn the current of thy affections and endeavours, to fall into this ocean of gladness and delight? Elsewhere there is neither true joy nor full joy,—nec verum nec plenum gaudium. There is no verity in it; it is but an external garb and shadow, and there is no plenty or fulness in it. It fills not the hand of the reaper, it satisfieth not his very hunger. But here, when a soul is possessed with Christ by faith, and dwelleth in God by love, there is both reality and plenty. All the dimensions of the heart may be filled up. Some allegorize upon the triangular composition of man's heart, that no orbicular thing such as this world can fill it exactly without vacuity, but only the blessed and holy Trinity.(236) Truly we may conceive, this fulness of joy, excluding all the latent griefs of the heart and filling up all the vacant corners doth flow from that blessed fellowship of the Father and the Son. Now, though these two be only mentioned yet the Holy Ghost must not be excluded, for the apostolic prayer doth attribute chiefly our fellowship with God to the Spirit, so that it is the Spirit unites our hearts, and associates them to God, and that seems to correspond between him and us. So then there is such a fellowship with the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, that leaves no vacuity in the heart, that fills all the dimensions and corners of it with peace and joy.

But add unto this in the third place that these things have not only a fulness, but, withal a durableness, not only plenty, but besides, eternity and perpetuity, to correspond to the immortality of the soul. And this, certainly, is a great congruity, and so makes up much beauty and harmony, for what more incongruous and unsuitable than for an immortal spirit to spend itself, and give up itself to that which is not which must leave it, which is mortal, and fading in its own nature, without which it must continue infinitely longer than it can enjoy it? And what more comely than for an immortal thing to associate with eternal things, and to derive its joy from an eternal spring? For, when all things visible are done away, and things mortal abolished, then its joy none can take from it, because it takes its joy from that which must survive all these changes. Suppose any thing could for the present give a fulness of joy, and absolute content to the heart, yet, if we imagine that that thing may be separated and disjoined from the heart, and cease to be, certainly the very expectation of such an eternal separation would almost extinguish all the joy, and make it dry up of the fulness, for, may a soul think, what shall I do for ever when this well dries? Whence shall I draw water of joy? Out of what well? But now, that fear is removed, and the soul needs not lose its sweetness of the present enjoyment of God through anxious foresight of the future, because he may know that the perfect fulness that shall never ebb is but coming, and the sun is but ascending yet towards the meridian, from whence he shall never go down, but stand fixed, to be the eternal wonder and delight of angels and men.

Now, though it be true that Christians here have neither that plenty nor that perpetuity of this joy that the object of it gives ground for, though their hearts be often filled with griefs and sorrows—partly from outward, partly from inward evils and afflictions,—yet, certainly, this ariseth but from the dark apprehension, dim belief, and slight consideration of those things that Christ spoke, and his apostles wrote unto us. We might, no question, keep our hearts in more peace and tranquillity, in all the commotions of the times or alterations in ourselves, if we did more steadfastly believe the gospel and keep more constant fellowship with God. But, however it be, there is radically a fulness of joy in every believer's heart. That seed is sown that shall one day be ripe of fulness of joy, it is always lying at the root, and reserved for them. O let us lay these things to heart, which, being laid to heart, and laid up in the heart, will fill it with this sweet fragrant perfume of peace and joy. They are written for this end, let us hear them for this end too, that our joy may be full. It is true, indeed, that this fulness of joy suits only the life to come, when the vessel is both enlarged and strengthened to contain it. Things that have strong spirits in them must have strong new bottles such as our crazy mortal bodies are not, therefore the Lord hath reserved the just fulness, the overflowings of this joy, for the time that the soul shall be purified from all sin, and the body delivered from all corruption. Because that sin lurks in many corners of the heart now, therefore this joy cannot fill up the heart and all the vacuities of it, for it is of so pure and heavenly a nature that it will not compound and intermingle with sin or sinful lusts. But when nothing of that remains in the heart then it flows in apace, and leaves no corner of the heart unsatisfied and unsupplied. I would have you, who get some tastes of this joy and peace by the way, not disquieted and troubled, because it abides not to be ordinary food. If you be set down again to your ordinary spare diet of manna in the wilderness and have not these first fruits and grapes of Canaan sent to you, think it not strange, for the fulness which you seek you are not capable of here, but you shall be capable of it hereafter. You ought, with patience, to wait for that day when your joy shall be full. As Christ is full, full measure heaped up and running over, will he mete out unto you then, and this shall be without the fear of any ebb or diminution of it for all eternity. Neither shall this fulness, and constant fulness, cloy the soul, or breed any satiety in it. There is fulness of joy without surfeit, without satiety, that which they have they shall always desire, and that which they desire they shall always have, everlasting desire and everlasting delight being married together in their fulness. But yet so much is attainable here as may truly be called fulness in regard of the world. The fulness of joy that all the pleasures of this earth can afford is but scarcity and want to the inward fulness of joy and contentation the poorest believers may have in God, reconciled in Christ. That which the wise man gives as the character of all earthly joy suits well, "I said of laughter, It is mad, and of mirth, what doeth it?" Eccl. ii. 2. Truly it cannot be supposed to be more real than that which is the ground and spring of it. It must be a perfunctorious,(237) superficial, and empty joy that is derived and distilled from such vanities. Nay, there is a madness in it besides, for men's apprehensions to swell so excessively towards poor, narrow, and limited things. It is a monster in reason to put such a value upon nothing, and make ourselves glad upon our own dreams and fancies. There is such a manifest abuse and violation of reason in it, that it can be supposed to proceed from nothing but a distemper in men's hearts. But, besides this, there are two other characters of it given (Prov. xiv. 13.), "Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth is heaviness." There is no pure earthly joy, for it hath always a mixture of grief and sadness in the inward retired closet of the heart. It is of such deadness and inefficacy that it drives not out of the heart all discontentments and anxieties, but if the most jovial man, that seems to be transported with his delights would but retire within and examine his own conscience, he would find those delights have but little power to affect his heart. He would find terrible and dreadful representations there, that his joys may well for a time darken them, but cannot drive them away. And then it is the very natural law and fatal necessity that grief follows those joys at the heels, yea, is perpetually attending them, to come in their place. God hath so conjoined them together, and so disposed them, that men's joy shall be mingled with grief, but their grief is pure and unmixed, and that he who draws up joy to him from the creatures, must draw grief and vexation in that same chain, inseparably annexed to it by the wise ordination of God.

But there are joys of the Holy Ghost arising from the intimation and apprehension of the gospel, from the consideration of the grace and goodness of God manifested in it and the experience of that in the soul, which are of another stamp and nature. These, indeed, affect the heart, and give the answer of a good conscience, in the blood of Christ, which is a continual feast. These drive out the bitter and dreadful apprehensions of sin and wrath. These sweeten and refresh the soul in all worldly afflictions and griefs. The heart of man knoweth his own bitterness, and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy, Prov. xiv. 10. Indeed, the torments and perplexities of a troubled soul are better felt by itself than known by others, and so are the joys of that heart that apprehends Jesus Christ and peace purchased in him. They are such as no man that is a stranger to such things in his experience can apprehend. It is a joy unspeakable. O what unspeakable content gives it to the heart! And truly if you did not interpose the clouds of unbelief and sin between you and his shining countenance, there needed not be so often an eclipse in the joys of believers. Yet the day is coming that ye shall see him fully as he is, and nothing be interposed between you and him, and then your joy shall be full &c.



Sermon IX.

1 John i. 5.—"This then is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light," &c.

The great design of the gospel is to make up the breach of man's joy, and open up the way to the fulness of it, and therefore it is the good news and glad tidings of great joy, the only best message that ever came to the world. Now it shows unto us the channel that this river of gladness and joy runs into, it discovers what is the way of the conveyance of it to the soul, and what are the banks it runs between, and that is fellowship with the Father and with the Son. In this channel that river of delight runs,—between the banks of the love of God to us, and our love to him. Herein a soul is happy, and accounts itself happy, and truly, in so much do we profit by the word, and answer the design of the gospel, by how much we estimate our happiness from this alone from the communication of God to us. Whensoever the gospel takes hold of your hearts, it will undoubtedly frame them to this,—to a measuring of all blessedness from God alone. And this will carry the heart to an undervaluing of all other things, as being too low and unworthy for this end, and so to a forsaking of every thing for the closer enjoyment of God. I fear many believers are little acquainted with this joy, because they draw not their joy singly out of the pure fountain of delight, but turn aside to other external comforts, and drown their souls in them. Now, indeed, these two cannot well consist together. If we take in any thing else to make up our happiness and comfort, so much we lose of God, and that which is truly spiritual, and therefore our hearts would be more purified from carnal delights, if we would have experience of this joy, we must hang only upon his countenance and company, else we lose the sweetness of it.

Now the apostle prosecutes this further, to discover what conformity must be between them that should keep this fellowship, and what likeness of nature and qualities is necessary for them who would be happy in God's society. "This is the message we have heard," saith he, "and which we declare unto you, that God is light," &c. Take this jointly with that which went before, "this we declare, that ye may have fellowship with the Father and the Son." And to the end this fellowship may hold and yield you fulness of joy, it is necessary that the nature of God be laid down as the pattern to which ye must be conformed,—"God is light," and therefore you must be light too, if ye would have fellowship with that pure light. Now this, I say, is the full message of the gospel, that which was sent down from heaven with the Son of God, the messenger of the covenant, and which the apostles heard from him. Indeed the very manner of the proposal of these things stirs up our hearts to attention, and makes us more serious than commonly we are. That there is one, and such an one sent from heaven, with such an embassage as this is, to invite us to society with God again, one whose interest lies in this, to make us happy, and this he declares unto us, that he hath no other design but to fulfil our joy. O how powerful might this be on our hearts to conquer them, to make them willingly hearken to him! Any message that comes from heaven should be received with great reverence and respect of mortal men, because it comes from the court and palace of the great King. But when this is the substance of it, to make us happy in himself, to advance us to this incomparable dignity of society with himself, in which society there is a fulness of joy,—then how should we receive it with open hearts, and entertain it gladly! If we could take it always thus as a message from heaven, and look upon it and hear it in that notion, I think the fruit would be incomparably greater, for what is it that makes it dead and ineffectual in men's hearts, but that the apprehension of it degenerates and falls down from God to creatures, because it is not taken so as his word, carrying the stamp of his divine authority? We bring it forth, not as a message from him, but as from ourselves, and you receive it, not as from him, but from us, and thus it is adulterated and corrupted on both hands. My beloved, let us jointly mind this, that whatsoever we have to declare is a message from God to mortal men; and, therefore, let us so compose ourselves in his sight as if he were speaking to us. The conscience of a very heathen was awaked when Ehud told him he had a message from God to him. Eglon arose out of his seat, that he might hear it reverently, (Judg. iii. 20.) though it was a bloody message, as it proved in the event. Yet so much the common dictates of reason might teach you, that ye should arise and compose yourselves to reverend and awful attention to what the Lord God will speak. But when, moreover, we know that the sum of the message is to make us blessed, and raise us up to communion with him in his joy and happiness we are not only called to reverence, as to God, but to ardent affection and desire, as to him who by all means seeks our happiness. O how happy were he that could first hear and receive this message from him, and then declare it to others! But, however, though we should fail in that, this doth not change either the authority or nature of the message itself; and therefore, if men should be so far destitute of God as not to bring it from him immediately, yet do not you forsake your own mercy too, but receive it as that which is come forth from God, receive it for itself, as carrying in its bosom a fulness of joy to you, and receive it for his sake who moved this embassage first after sinners, and his sake who carried it to sinners, that is, for the Father and the Son, to whose fellowship you are here invited. Let us then hear the message.

"This then is the message, that God is light," &c. The ground of communion of persons is their union in nature, or likeness one to another. There is some general society between all mankind, as being conjoined in one common nature; but the contracting of that in narrower bounds of affinity and consanguinity doth enlarge the affection the more. You see it is natural for those who are joined by such relations of blood one to another, to love one another more than others out of these bonds. But true friendship draws the circle yet narrower, and contracts the love that is scattered abroad to mankind in a strange channel, to run towards one, or a few, and the foundation of this is some peculiar and particular similitude and likeness in manners and sympathy of disposition, which makes the souls of men to melt one into another, after some converse and acquaintance together. This is the bond that knits this near society, some conformity necessarily presupposed to communion and fellowship. Now, that which holds so in the communion of man with man, must be much more needful in man's communion with God, for all the societies, combinations, and conjunctions of the creatures, are but shadows of this higher communication of the spirit of man with God the Father of spirits. And, indeed, we may find some rude draughts and resemblances of this divine society, and of the rule according to which it must he modelled, in all the friendly or near conjunctions of creatures; for every thing is best preserved and agreeth best with things of its own nature. See the disposition of the parts of the world. Things contiguous and nearest other are also likest in nature one to another. So it is among men. The several agreements and symbolizings of men's spirits in different qualities and tempers, make several sorts of men, and part them into so many companies: Pares paribus congregantur. Simile simili gaudet.(238)

Now, my beloved, this same supernatural and divine society that we speak of must be constituted according to this fundamental rule, that is, it is necessary, to the end that God and man may have fellowship together, that they come nearer in likeness one to another. Now for God, you know he cannot be liker us, for he is unchangeably holy and good. That were most absurd to bring down his Majesty to partake of our wretched infirmities of sin and darkness. Indeed in this he hath come as far as his own nature and our good would permit, to communicate in our nature, and all the sinless infirmities of it. It is impossible, then, that he should make up the distance by any change of himself, but we must be changed, and some way raised up to partake of the purity of his nature, and be transformed into some likeness to him, and then is the foundation of society and fellowship laid down. This is the apostle's meaning, in declaring to us what God is that according to that pattern, and in that glass we may see what to conform ourselves to, and may have a particular determination of the great qualification of those who pretend to fellowship with God. "God is light and in him is no darkness." Now, take the just opposition—man is darkness and in him is no light. Now, what communion then can light have with darkness? Either the light must become darkness, or the darkness become light. Either the light must leave its glorious purity and forsake its nature—which cannot be admitted—or else the darkness of men's souls must be wiped off, and abolished by the brightness of God's light. And then there may be a communion between the primitive light and the derivative light, between the original light and that which flows out from the original. But take darkness remaining darkness, and light remaining light, and they cannot compone(239) together, for the first great separation that was made in the world was between light and darkness. "And God saw the light that it was good, and God divided the light from the darkness," Gen. i. 4. And so it is impossible for men that live in the darkness of their minds, in ignorance, and in the darkness of sinful lusts, that they can have any fellowship with God, who is a fountain of pure light and undefiled sanctity. "What hast thou to do to take my covenant in thy mouth," &c, and this God saith to the wicked. It is an incongruous and unsuitable thing, for man to pretend nearness and interest in this God and yet be buried in darkness and hatred of the light of personal reformation as a gold ring in a swine's nose, that rather deforms the jewel than beautifies the beast, so are the pretensions of ignorant and wicked men, to this divine society, &c.



Sermon X.

1 John i. 5.—"This then is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light," &c.

Who is a fit messenger to declare this message? Can darkness comprehend the light, or apprehend it? Or can those that are blind form any lively notion of light, to the instruction and persuasion of others? Truly, no more can we conceive or speak of God, who is that pure light, than a blind man can discourse on colours, or a deaf man on sounds. "Who is blind as the Lord's servant?" And therefore who are more unmeet to declare this message of light? What reverence and godly fear ought this to be declared withal, when mortal man speaks of the eternal God unto mortal men? What composure of spirit should be in us? What trembling and adoration? For, at our best, we can but declare our own ignorance, and the furthest attainment in this knowledge is but a further discovery of man's darkness. We have three ways of creeping towards that glorious light of God. First, his own works are like some visible appearances of that invisible and incomprehensible God, and in these we know him, but not what he is in himself. Consider how dark and dull we are in piercing into the hidden natures of things, even below us, as beasts and plants. We behold some effects flow from them, but from what principle these do flow, that we know not. How much less can we apprehend any thing suitable of the divine Majesty, that is infinitely above us, from these wonderful and glorious works of his power and wisdom! Man is endowed with wisdom to do some excellent works of art, as planting, grafting, building, painting, weaving, and such like. But the beasts that are below us cannot apprehend from these works what the nature of man is. Now is there not a more infinite distance, a greater disproportion between us and the divine nature, so that we cannot rise up to an understanding notion of it, in itself? Nay, besides, one man will do many things which another cannot understand—he beholds the art of it, he sees the matter, but yet he cannot pierce into the mind of the workman, and look upon that wisdom and idea of his mind. Therefore all that we can conclude from these wonderful works of God, is some silent admiration of him. If these be such, then what must he be? How infinitely distant from them, and transcendent over them? But what he is, these cannot declare, and we cannot apprehend. Then we use to climb up to the knowledge of God, by attributing to him all the perfections, excellencies, and eminences of the creatures. Whatsoever commends them we apprehend that originally and infinitely in him, and thus we spell out that name that is most simply one, in many letters and characters, according to our mean capacity, as children when they begin to learn. So we ascribe to him wisdom, goodness, power, justice, holiness, mercy, truth, &c. All which names being taken from the creatures, and so having significations suited to our imperfections, they must needs come infinitely short of him, and so our apprehensions of them. These are scattered among the creatures, therefore they cause divers conceptions in us, but all these are united in him. He is a most simple, pure being, that eminently and virtually is all things, and properly is none of all.

Another way we have of apprehending him, by way of negation, denying all the imperfections of the creatures, and removing them at an infinite distance from him. And truly, though this be an imperfection in knowledge, yet it is the greatest knowledge we can attain to, to know rather what he is not, than what he is. He is not limited to any place, nor bounded with any measures and degrees of perfection, as creatures are, therefore we call him infinite. He is not comprehended within the limits of time, but comprehends all within himself, therefore he is eternal. He is not subject to changes and alterations, therefore called immutable. He is not compounded, as a result of divers parts, therefore he is most purely simple, and one. He is not like those things we see and hear, that fall under our senses, therefore we call him a Spirit, or a spiritual Being. Now, in all these weak endeavours of man, to detain and fix his own spirit in the contemplation of God, if he cannot reach the understanding of what God is, yet certainly he will attain this great point of wisdom,—not to be ignorant of his own ignorance. And truly, my beloved, this is the thing I would have us to learn to know, that the admiration of God in silence is the best expression of him. We would not search into these mysteries, to satisfy our curiosity, but rather compose our hearts to a continual silent wondering before him for where our understandings are confounded, and our minds overwhelmed with the infiniteness of that glory, so that we can see nothing but our ignorance of all this should certainly compose all to quiet admiration, for silence and wonder is the proper and natural posture of a soul that is at a stand, and can neither get forward for inaccessible light, nor will retire backward, for that it apprehends already.

"This then is the message, that God is light." Because we cannot conceive in our poor narrow minds what God is in himself, therefore he expresseth to us often in similitudes to the creatures, and condescends to our capacity. As he stands in manifold relations to us, so he takes the most familiar names, that may hold out to our dull senses what we may expect of him. Therefore he calls himself a Father, a King, a Husband, a Rock, a Buckler, and Strong Tower, a Mountain, and whatsoever else they may represent to our hearts, that which may strengthen them in believing. But there is no creature so directly attributed to God, as light, none used to express his very nature and being, as abstracted from these relations, but this,—"God is light," and Christ takes it to himself—"the light of the world, and the life of men." The truth is, it hath some excellency in it above all other visible creatures, that it may fitly carry some resemblance to him. The scripture calls light his garment, Psal. civ. 2. And truly it is a more glorious robe of Majesty than all the royal and imperial robes and garments of state that either angels or men could contrive. The light is, as it were, a visible appearance of the invisible God. He hath covered his invisible nature with this glorious garment to make himself in a manner visible to man. It is true, that light is but, as it were, a shadow of that inaccessible light, umbra Dei. It is the dark shadow of God, who is himself infinitely more beautiful and glorious. But yet, as to us, it hath greater glory and majesty in it than any creature besides. It is the chief of the works of God, without which the world would be without form, and void. It is the very beauty of the creation, that which gives lustre and amiableness to all that is in it, without which the pleasantest paradise would become a wilderness, and this beautiful structure, and adorned palace of the world, a loathsome dungeon. Besides the admirable beauty of it, it hath a wonderful swift conveyance, throughout the whole world, the upper and lower, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye. It is carried from the one end of heaven to the other in a moment, and who can say by what way the light is parted? Job xxxviii. 24. Moreover it carries alongst with it a beautiful influence, and a refreshing heat and warmness, which is the very life and subsistence of all the creatures below. And so, as there is nothing so beautiful, so, nothing so universally and highly profitable. And to all this, add that singular property of it, that it is not capable of infection, it is of such absolute purity, that it can communicate itself to the dunghill, as well as to the garden, without receiving any mixture from it. In all the impurities it meets withal, it remains unmixed and untainted, and preserves its own nature entire. Now you may perceive, that there is nothing visible that is fitter to resemble the invisible God, than this glorious, beautiful, pure, and universally communicable creature, light.

Hereby you may have shadowed out unto you the nature of God, that he is an all knowing, intelligent Being. As light is the first and principal visible thing yea, that which gives visibility to all things, and so is in its own nature a manifestation of all things material and bodily, so God is the first object of the understanding—primum intelligibile, et primum intelligens. Nothing so fit an emblem of knowledge as light, and truly in that respect God is the original light, a pure intellectual light that hath in himself the perfect idea and comprehension of all things. He hath anticipated in himself the knowledge of all, because all things were formed in his infinite understanding, and lay, as it were, first hid in the bowels of his infinite power. Therefore he is a globe or mass of light and knowledge, like the sun, from whom nothing is hid. Hell and destruction are not covered to him. There is no opacity, no darkness or thickness in the creation, that can terminate or bound this light, or hinder his understanding to pierce into it. Now as all things, by the irradiation of the light, become visible so the participation of this glorious Sun of righteousness, and the shining of his beams into the souls of men, makes them to partake of that heavenly intellectual nature, and reflects a wonderful beauty upon them, which is not in the rest of the world.

Besides, here is represented to us the absolute purity and perfection of God's nature,—"God is light, and in him is no darkness." Besides the purity of the light of knowledge, there is a purity of the beauty of holiness. The glorious light of God's virtue, and power, and wisdom, is communicated to all the creatures. There is an universal extent of his influence towards the good and bad, as the sun shines on both and yet there is no spot nor stain upon his holiness or righteousness, from all his intermingling with the creatures, the worst and basest creatures. All his works are holy and righteous, even his works in unholy and unrighteous men. He draws no defilement from the basest of the creatures, nor yet from the sinfulness of it. He can be intimately present and conjoined in working, in virtue and power, in care and providence with the dirt and mire of the streets, with the beasts of the field, and yet that is no stain upon his honour or credit, as men would suppose it to be, no more than it is a dishonour to the sun to shine on the dunghill. In a word, there is no mixture of ignorance, darkness, impunity, or iniquity in him not the least shadow of change or turning not the least seed of imperfection. In regard of him, the moon is not clean, and the sun is spotted. In respect of his holiness, angels may be charged with folly.

Then add unto this to make up the resemblance fuller, the bounty and benignity of his influence upon the world, the flowings forth of his infinite goodness, that enrich the whole earth. Look as the sun is the greatest and most universal benefactor—his influence and heat is the very renovation of the world of the world. It makes all new, and green and flourishing, it puts a youth upon the world, and so is the very spring and fountain of life to all sublunary things. How much is that true of the true light, of the substantial, of whom this sun is but a shadow? He is the life of the world, and the light of men. Every good gift, and every perfect donation descends from him, James i. 17. His influence is more universal to the being, to the moving, to the living of all things. And then Jesus Christ, the Sun of righteousness, is carried about in the orb of the gospel, and in his beams there is a healing virtue. These are the refreshments of poor wearied souls, that are scorched with the anger of God. There is an admirable heat and warmness of love and affection that this glorious light carries embosomed in it, and that is it that pierces into souls, and warms hearts, and quickens dead spirits, and puts a new face upon all again. This is the spring of all the life that is truly spiritual, and it hath as sweet and comfortable effects upon the souls of men who receive the truth in love, the light in love, that is, the light with heat, as ever the sun approaching near the earth hath had upon plants and living creatures.

And to complete the resemblance more, there may be something of the infallibility and incomprehensibility of the divine Majesty here represented. For though nothing be clearer than the light yet there is nothing in its own nature darker than light that which is so manifest to the eyes, how obscure is it to the understanding! Many debates and inquiries have been about it, but yet it is not known what that is, by which we know all things. Certainly such is the divine light. It is inconceivable and inexpressible, therefore is he said to dwell in light inaccessible and full of glory, 1 Tim. vi. 16. There is a twofold darkness that hinders us to see God, a darkness of ignorance in us, and a darkness of inaccessible light in him. The one is a vail upon our hearts, which blinds and darkens the souls of men, that they do not see that which is manifest of God, even in his works. O that cloud of unbelief that is spread over our souls, which hinders the glorious rays of that divine light to shine into them! This darkness Satan contributes much to, who is the prince of darkness, 2 Cor. iv. 4. This makes the most part of souls like dungeons within, when the glorious light of the gospel surrounds them without. This earthliness and carnality of our hearts makes them like the earth, receive only the light in the upper and outward superfice, and not suffer it to be transmitted into our hearts to change them. But when it pleaseth him, who at the first, by a word of power, "commanded light to shine out of darkness," he can scatter that cloud of ignorance, and draw away the vail of unbelief, and can by his power and art, so transform the soul, as to remove its earthly quality, and make it transparent and pure, and then the light will shine into the heart, and get free access into the soul. But though this darkness were wholly removed, there is another darkness, that ariseth not from the want of light, but from the excessive superabundance of light—caligo lucis nimiae,(240) that is, a divine darkness, a darkness of glory, such an infinite excess and superplus of light and glory, above all created capacities, that it dazzles and confounds all mortal or created understandings. We see some shadows of this, if we look up to the clear sun. We are able to see nothing for too much light. There is such an infinite disproportion here between the eye of our mind, and this divine light of glory, that if we curiously pry into it, it is rather confounding and astonishing, and therefore it fills the souls of saints with continual silent admiration and adoration.



Sermon XI.

1 John i. 5.—"This then is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all."

True religion consists not only in the knowledge of God, but especially in conformity to him, and communion with him. Communion and fellowship with God is the great end and design of the gospel, and it is the great result of all a Christian's pains and progress. It is not only the greatest part of religion, but the very reward of religion too, for piety hath its reward of happiness in the bosom of it, without borrowing from external things. Now, that which this sweet and fragrant fruit, which perfumes all the soul with delight, and fills it with joy, springs out of, is conformity to God. Assimilation of nature and disposition, some likeness to God imprinted on the soul again in holy affections and dispositions, a coincidency of our will with the will of God, drowning of it in the sea of his good pleasure, his law in the inward parts. Now what is the root of this conformity, but the knowledge of God? This is that which hath a virtue to transform the soul into his similitude. You see then where true religion begins lowest, and by what means it grows up to the sweet fruit of that eternal joy that shall be pressed out of the grapes of fellowship with God. So then, whatsoever is declared of God unto us in his word, whatsoever is holden forth of him, is not only set forth to be the subject of our knowledge, but especially to be a pattern for imitation, and to be an inflaming motive to our affection. This is the very substance of the verse.

"This then is the message" I declare, "that God is light," and this I heard not from Christ only, for the satisfaction of my curiosity, nor do I declare it to you only, that you may know it, as if you had no more to do with it, but especially that ye may know what ye ought to be in conformity to that light. The end of your knowing God, is to become liker God, if so be ye would have communion with him.

Let us take this rule, then, to measure all our searchings after God, and inquirings into him. Certainly there ought to be more meditation and inquiry of heart upon this subject, because it is the spring of all life to the soul. It is that which enricheth it most, and fills it with peace, joy, and delight, and brings in a treasure into a man's heart, such as Christ speaks of—"A good man out of the good treasure of his heart," &c. Meditation, much meditation on God, a stayedness and fixedness of spirit upon him, lays up a treasure in the heart. This is it that makes such a difference between the heart and mouth of a righteous man, and a wicked man. The heart of the wicked is little worth, for the total want of this, and therefore, their lips and tongues are void of edification, full of corruption. But where this spring floweth within, it maketh the mouth of a man like a well of life, it maketh his lips like choice silver. O the scantiness and neglect of this amongst Christians makes all to wither and decay! There is little searching after the Almighty, little employing and entertaining our spirits about him, how slender and single thoughts and apprehensions of him, which cannot but cause a deliqium(241) and decay in all the parts of Christianity, when the very sun is eclipsed from us by our ignorance and inconsideration of him and that so long it must have dreadful effects upon us. Therefore, let us be exhorted to this study to give our spirits to this employment—to think more on God. But, as I was saying, there is need of a rule to measure us in it, and of some caution about it, that is that we have our end rightly established, what we aim at in inquiring after, or meditating upon God. If it be only to give entertainment to the curiosity of our minds, as in the contemplation of natural things, if it be only to pry into secrets and mysteries, and to labour to comprehend that which is incomprehensible, then we lose our labour, and we are in danger to meet with a consuming fire, instead of instructing and refreshing light. I would therefore have this guarded against,—the insatiable desire and greediness of our minds after the knowledge of secret mysteries. We may set bounds here, and not overstretch or strain our understandings, to compass his infinite Being, as it is in itself. Let us rather take him up as he is revealed in the scriptures, and so meditate on him as manifested in his word and works, his grace, mercy, power, wisdom, &c. and read his name with delight in those large volumes spread before our eyes, &c.

Now the just measuring and regulating of all knowledge of God is to direct it to a further end to have nothing before us but this, that we may reverence, adore, fear, and love him so much the more. And this is the thing that maketh access to him most easy and sweet when the design a soul hath, in all its searchings about him, is for this purpose, to the end it may love him and worship him more suitably, and be more conformed to him, when he is looked upon as a pattern of our conformity, that is, the right apprehension and up taking of him to know that God is light, and so to know it, as in it to behold the necessity of what qualification should be in us, that is indeed to know God. My beloved, let us consider that so much we know of God, as we love him and fear him, and are conformed unto him, for that knowledge, which is not about this work and design, is for no other purpose but to be a witness against a man, and the most heinous aggravation of his sins.

To come then to the particular in hand, "God is light," and that is holden out and declared for this end, that there may be a pattern of the qualification of all that intend to enter into that society, if ye would have fellowship with God, then consider what you engage into, what manner of person he is, for the intimate knowledge of one another is presupposed to all constant friendship. You must know then what God is if you would have communion with him, because there is no communion without some conformity, and no conformity without knowledge of him. Therefore, as he is light, so the soul must be made light in him, and enlightened by him, that would have his society. We must be transformed into that nature, and made children of light, who were children of darkness. Now, as there is a light of understanding and wisdom in God, and a light of holiness and purity, so there is in our souls, opposite to these, a darkness of ignorance and unbelief, and a darkness of sin, and impurity of affections. Now, "what communion can light have with darkness?" Let every man ask this at his own heart, if there be no happiness without this society, and no possibility of this society, while I remain in darkness, then is it not high time to come to the light? This then is the first change that is made in a soul, the darkness of ignorance and unbelief is driven out, by the approach of that glorious light of the gospel into the heart, then is discovered unto the soul that deformity of sin, that loathsomeness in itself that it never apprehended. Then there is a manifestation of the hidden works of darkness, of the desperate wickedness of the heart, which lay unobserved and unsuspected all the while. And now a man cannot in that view but abhor himself, for that which none else can see in him. And there is withal manifested that glorious holiness and purity in God, that inviolable righteousness, that omnipotent power, which formerly were never seriously thought upon, now these are represented to the life before a sinner. And to close up all, there is a manifestation of the grace and goodness of God in Christ, which discovers a way of salvation, and delivery from sin and wrath, and this perfumeth and refresheth all the faculties of the soul. Thus the soul is in a part conformed to that original light, when a beam is sent from it, and hath pierced into the heart, and scattered the darkness that did alienate the minds of men from God. But it is not only an illumination of the foreface, and outer side of the soul, not only a conviction of the judgment in these things, but by virtue of that divine heat that is transmitted with the light of the gospel, the soul is purified and cleansed from its grosser nature, and so is made transparent, that the light may shine into the very inwards of the heart. And this is the special point of conformity to God,—to have our souls purged from the darkness of sinful, earthly, and muddy affections,—to have them purified by the light of God, from all the works and lusts of darkness, and the shining beauty of holy affections and inclinations, to succeed and fill up the vacant room. If knowledge only reside in our brains, and send not down warm beams to quicken and inflame the heart, then it is barren and unfruitful, it is cold and unprofitable. If it hover only alone in our heads, and keep a motion there, but send down no refreshing showers to the affections, which may make us abound in good fruits, then it is like the windy clouds, clouds without rain, that pass away without any benefit to the thirsty ground. Let us then take this along with us, let the impression of this description of the divine Majesty abide in our hearts. "God is light," and if we often ruminate and ponder upon this, I think it will make us often to reflect upon ourselves, how we are darkness, and this will breed some carefulness and desire in the soul, how to have this darkness removed, that there may be a soul capable of divine illustration. This is it that advanceth the soul to the nearest conformity with God, the looking often upon God, till our souls be enlightened and our hearts purified, and this again puts the soul in the nearest capacity for that blessed communion with God. "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God," Matt. v. 8. Truly it is not profoundness of ingine,(242) it is not acuteness and sharpness of wit, it is not pregnancy in understanding, or eminency in parts, that will dispose the soul to this blessed vision of God, and frame it to a capacity of fellowship with him. No, there needs no extraordinary parts for this, nothing but that the heart be purified from corruptions, those inward earthly qualities, that are like so many vicious and gross humours, filling the organ of the sight, these, pride, conceit, self love, passion, anger, malice, envy, strife, covetousness, love of pleasures, ambition, these, I say, that possess the hearts of the most excellent natural spirits, cast a mist upon their eyes, and hinder them to see God, or enjoy that delight in him, that some poor, weak, and ignorant creatures, whose hearts the Lord had purged from sin, do find in God. Therefore if any of you have an aim at this, to have fellowship with God, know both for your direction and your encouragement, that "God is light." For your direction, because that must be your pattern, and if you have no study that way to be like him in holiness, you shall not see him. But take it likewise for an encouragement, for that style carries not only the necessity of what he must be, but it holds out likewise the fountain and storehouse of all our qualifications, for "God is light." The original, primitive light,—all must borrow of him, and that light is freely and impartially communicable to poor sinners "with thee is the fountain of light, and in thy light shall we see light." Let a soul that apprehends its own darkness and distance from him thus encourage itself. My light is but a beam derived from his light, and there is no want in him. He is a sun of righteousness. If I shut not up my heart through unwillingness and unbelief, if I desire not to keep my sins, but would be purged from them, then that glorious light may shine without stop and impediment into my heart. He is not only light in his own nature, but he is a light to us, and if he please to remove that which is interposed between him and us, it shall be day light in our hearts again. Thus a soul may strengthen itself to wait on him, and by looking thus up to him, and fixing on him, we shall be enlightened, and our faces not be ashamed.



Sermon XII.

1 John i. 6.—"If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie," &c.

There is nothing in which men suffer themselves to be so easily deceived as in this highest concernment of religion, in which the eternal interest of their souls lies. There is no delusion either so gross or so universal in any other thing, as in this thing, in regard of which all other things are nothing. This hath overspread the world, (to speak only of that part which pretends to Christianity,) a strong, pertinacious, and blind fancy of being in Jesus Christ and having interest in salvation. I call it a blind and ignorant fancy, for truly ignorance and darkness is the strongest foundation of such conceits. Papists call it the mother of devotion. It is true, in this sense it is the mother of a man's groundless devotion towards himself, that is, of delusion. This, together with self-love, which always hoodwinks the mind, and will not suffer a serious impartial examination of a man's self, these, I say, are the bottom of this vain persuasion, that possesseth the generality of men. Now, what it wants of knowledge, it hath of wilfulness. It is a conceit altogether void of reason, but it is so wilful and pertinacious, that it is almost utterly inconvincible, and so it puts souls in the most desperate forlorn estate that can be imagined. It makes them, as the apostle speaks, (Eph. v. 6) υιοις της απαθειας children of impersuasion,—it is rendered commonly, "children of disobedience." And, indeed, they are joined together. They are children of disobedience, carrying the manifest characters of wrath upon them, yet they are withal children of impersuasion, incapable of any persuasion contrary to these deluding insinuations of their own minds. Though they be manifest to all men to be sons of disobedience, living in rebellion against God, yet it is not possible to persuade them of it. They are as far from conviction of what they are, as reformation to what they should be. Notwithstanding, if men would but give an impartial and attentive ear to what the apostle says here, I suppose the very frame of his argument is so convincing, that he could not but leave some impression. If any thing will convince a child of impersuasion, the terms here propounded are finest, "God is light, and in him is no darkness." Hence it follows, by unavoidable consequence, as clear as the light, that no man can have fellowship with God that walks in darkness.

Those that delude themselves in this matter are of two kinds. They generally pretend to Christianity in general, and to an interest in salvation, but if we descend into the chief parts and members of Christianity, as holiness, fellowship with God, walking after the Spirit, and such like, these they do not so much as pretend to. And withal, they think they have a dispensation from such strictness, and make it a sufficient plea that they are not such, because they never professed to be such. Others again, though fewer, can pretend even to these higher points of Christianity, as communion with God, walking after the Spirit, and indeed in this they are more consonant to their profession of Christianity. But, as the apostle saith, there may be a practical lie in it too, if we consider and compare their practice with their profession.

I would speak a word, by way of preparation, to you who are of the first sort, that is, the very multitude of professing Christians, because you do not profess so much as others, and do not give out yourselves for the students of holiness, you think yourselves exempted from the stroke of all this soul piercing doctrine. You think readily it is not pertinent to apply this to you of walking contrary to your profession, and so committing this gross lie in not doing the truth. "If any man say I have fellowship with God," &c. And who will say that, say ye? Who will speak such a high word of himself as this? Therefore, since you do not presume so high, you think you have escaped the censure that follows.

But, I beseech you, consider what your professions import, and what you engage yourselves to even by the general profession of Christianity. I know you will all say you are Christians, and hope to be saved. Now, do ye understand what is included in that? If any man say that he is a Christian, he really says that he hath fellowship with God, if any man say he is a Christian, he says he hath fellowship with Christ, and is partaker of his Spirit, for, as the apostle (Rom. viii. 9) declares unto you, "If any have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of his, that is, he is no Christian. For what is it, I pray you, to be a Christian? Is it not to be a new creature, formed again by the Spirit of Christ?" 2 Cor. v. 17. Therefore, in as far as you pretend to be Christians, and yet are not professors of holiness, and think you have a dispensation from such a walking in God and after Christ, you fall under a twofold contradiction, and commit a twofold lie: first, between your profession and practice, then in your profession itself,—your practice is directly cross to the very general profession of Christianity. But besides that, there is a contradiction in the bosom of your profession. You affirm you are Christians, and yet refuse the profession of holiness. You say ye hope for heaven, and yet do not so much as pretend to godliness and walking spiritually. Nay, these you disjoin in your profession, which are really one, without which the name of Christianity is an empty, vain, and ridiculous appellation. There must be then a great darkness of misapprehension in your minds, that you take on the name of Christians, and will not know what it imports, and therefore in the mean time, you profess that which destroys and annuls your former profession. Now, certainly, this is a grosser lie, a flatter contradiction, than needs much inquiry into, to find it out. It is so palpable, that I wonder that these very common and received principles of truth do not use up within to testify against it, for if ye do not own the profession of holiness and communion with God, what advantage have you then of Christianity? Tell me, what will it serve you for? Can it save you? Can a bare, empty, contradicted, and blasphemed title save you? And if it do not save you, it will make your condemnation the greater. Let this then first be settled in our hearts, and laid down as a principle,—that the most general profession of Christianity lays an inviolable bond and obligation upon us, to all that is imported in the particular expressions of a Christian's nature, walk, and society. Whether we take it so or not, thus it is: to be a Christian infolds all that can be said, and if it do not import these, it is not true to its own signification nor conformed to Christ's meaning. You may deprave the world as you please, and deform that holy calling so, as it may suit to your carriage, but according to this word, in this acceptation of it, you shall be judged, and if your Judge shall in that great day lay all this great charge upon you, what will it avail you now to absolve yourselves in your imaginations, even from the very obligation itself?

Let us suppose, then, that you are convicted of this, that Christianity, in the most general and common acceptation, is inclusive of fellowship and communion with God, and that you profess and pretend to both, then let us apply this just rule of the apostles, to examine the truth and reality of such a profession. The rule is straight, and so may be a trial both of that which is straight and crooked. Rectum sui et obliqui index: And here the application being made, there is a discovery of the falsehood and crookedness of most men's hearts. This golden rule of examination is a rule of proportion, so to speak, or it is founded upon the harmony that should be between profession and practice, words and deeds, and upon that conformity should intercede between those that have communion one with another. Now apply these to the generality of Christians, and behold there is no harmony and consent between their speaking and walking. Their calling and profession, as Christians, imports communion with God, who is the pure unmixed light, and yet they declare otherwise, that themselves are in darkness of ignorance, and walk in the darkness of sin, and so that communion must be pretended, where there is no conformity and likeness to God intended. The result then of all is this, herein is the greatest lie, and most dangerous withal, committed,—it is the greatest lie, because it takes in all a man's conversation, which all alone makes up one great universal lie, a lie composed of infinite contrarieties, of innumerable particular lies, for every step, every word, and action, is in its own nature contrary to that holy profession, but all combined together, makes up a black constellation of lies—one powerful lie against the truth. And, besides, it is not against a particular truth, but against the whole complex of Christianity. And error is a lie against such a particular truth as it opposeth, but the tract and course of an ignorant ungodly conversation is one continued lie against the whole bulk and body of Christianity. It is a lie drawn the length of many weeks, months, and years against the whole frame of Christian profession. For there is nothing in the calling of a Christian, that is not retracted, contradicted, and reproached by it. Oh! that ye could unbowel your own ways, and see what a cluster of lies and incongruities is in them, what reproaches and calumnies these practical lies cast upon the honour of your Christian calling, how they tend of their own nature, to the disgracing of the truth, and the blaspheming of God's name! These things ye would find, if ye would rip up your own hearts and ways, and if you found how great that he is, you could not but fear the danger of it, for it being no less than a denying of Jesus Christ, and a real renunciation of him, it puts you without the refuge of sinners, and is most likely to keep you without the blessed city, for "there shall in no wise enter therein anything that defileth, or maketh a lie," Rev. xxi. 27. What shall then become of them whose life all along is but one continued lie?



Sermon XIII.

1 John i. 6.—"If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie," &c.

That which is the sum of religion, sincerity, and a correspondency between profession and practice, is confirmed by reason, and much strengthened by nature itself, so that religion, reason, and nature, conspire in one, to hold out the beauty and comeliness of sincerity, and to put a note and character of infamy and deformity upon all hypocrisy and deceit, especially in the matters of religion. There is nothing so contrary to religion, as a false appearance, a show of that which is not for religion is a most entire and equable thing, like itself, harmonious in all parts of it, the same within and without, in expression and action, all correspondent together. Now, to mar this harmony, and to make it up of unequal, dissimilar parts, and to make one part give the lie to the other, the course of a man's life, in ignorance, negligence, and sin, proclaiming contrary to the profession of Christianity, this is to make religion a monstrous thing, to deny the nature of it, and in our imaginations to contrive an impossible union of inconsistent things. It is a creature made up of contradictions, which can have no subsistence in the truth, but only in the fancies of deluded souls, one professing Christianity, and so by consequence fellowship with the original light, the Sun of righteousness and yet darkness of ignorance possessing the mind, and the heart carried away in the ways of the lusts of ignorance, and walking in that darkness. This is a monster in Christianity, one so far misshapen, that the very outward form and visage of it doth not remain. But I told you, reason confirms this. For what more suitable to the very natural frame and constitution of a reasonable being, than that the outward man should be the image and expression of the inward, and that they should answer one another as face answers face in the water, that the tongue should be the interpreter of the mind, and the actions of a man's life the interpreter of his tongue? Here is that beautiful proportion, and that pleasing harmony, when all these, though different in their own nature, yet conjoin together, and make up one sweet concord. Now truly, if we take upon us the profession of Christianity, and yet our ordinary and habitual speeches are carnal and earthly, never salted with grace, often poisoned with blasphemies, oaths, and cursings, and often defiled with filthy speeches, and often intermingled with reproaches of others, if our conversation be conformed to the course of the world, according to those lusts that hurry away multitudes of mankind to perdition, and look to the heart within, and behold never any labour about the purifying of it from corruption, never any mortification of evil affections, and little or no knowledge of the truth, not so much as may let Christ into the soul: this, I say, is as unreasonable and absurd, as it is irreligious: It wholly perverts that beautiful order, makes an irreconcilable discord between all the parts in man, that neither mind, nor mouth, nor hands, answer one another, nor all of them, nor any of them answer that holy calling a man pretends to. Such a one pretends ordinarily the goodness of his heart towards God, but now the tongue cannot interpret the heart. It is exauctorated out of that natural office, for the ordinary current is contrary to that pretended goodness of the heart, for "a good man, out of the good treasure of his heart, sendeth forth good things," but all these are either evil, or never seasoned with that spiritual goodness. Then the ways and actions of a man's life which ought to interpret and expound his professions, these are rendered altogether incapable of that. They give no confirmation to them, but rather a manifest contradiction, for what are your multiplied oaths, drunkennesses, fornications, railings, contentions, lyings, sabbath-profanations, your woful neglect of prayer in secret, and in your families, your continuing in these evils that ever you walked into? What are they, I say, but a manifest violation of both religion and reason, and a clear confirmation that ye are liars, and the truth is not in you?

There is something even in nature to declare the absurdity and unnaturalness of this general discordance between men's profession and practice. Look upon all the creatures, and do they not all with one voice proclaim sincerity? Hath not every beast and every bird its own outward shape, outward gesture, and voice, and external workings, which declare the inward nature of it? And is not this a staple, known rule in nature, that every thing is known by the effects of it, a lion by his roaring, a lark by its singing, a horse by his neighing, and an ox by his lowing? &c. All these speak forth nothing but sincerity, insomuch, that if these marks and signs should be confounded, and beasts use them indifferently, all human knowledge should suddenly fall to nothing, this would put such a confusion both in the world and mankind. O how doth this condemn those who pretend to this high calling of Christianity! And yet there is no way left to discern them by, nothing appearing in them, and ordinarily proceeding from them, which may give a signification of the inward truth of their fellowship with God, but rather that which gives a demonstration of the vanity of the pretension. There were no consent in nature, if that were not, neither is there any harmonious agreement in religion, where this proportion and correspondence is not kept in a man's life. The very heathens did not account them philosophers, but those that expressed their doctrines in works, as well as words, and truly, the liveliest image of truth is in practice. They commended them that were sparing in words, and abundant in deeds, who had short speeches, but long and large discourses in their life. And what is this, but that which our Saviour everywhere, from his own example inculcates upon us? These words are emphatic, to do the truth, to walk in the light, to do his words, to believe with the heart, and such like, all which declare, that in so far we have the truth and have fellowship with the Light as it is impressed in the affection, and expressed again in the conversation. For the infinite truth and the infinite life is one, and the original Light and primitive life and love is one too and whoever truly receives the truth and light as it is, cannot but receive him as the living truth and life giving Light and so be heated and warmed inwardly by his beams, which will certainly cause some stirring and working without. Forasmuch is in nature heat is always working so is the fire of love kindled in the heart, incessant that way "Faith worketh by love." For action is the very life of life, that which both shows it and preserves it.