Present State of Religion.
By Dr. Bonar
“Clouds without water, carried about of winds.” “Alas! we are a company of worn-out Christians; our moon is on the wane; we are much more black than white; more dark than light; we shine but little; grace, in the most of us, is sore decayed.”—Bunyan. You ask me what I think of the religion of the present day—its character as well as its progress. I answer, I can hardly tell. Nor am I willing to enter upon a very full or explicit answer to such a question. I am not qualified to judge. Instead, therefore, of attempting any lengthened answer to such a question, I would merely point out a few things which lie upon the surface, which may help your own judgment upon this point, and may tend to establish you in the midst of so much instability and conflict. As to the religion of our day, it has a very mixed sort of complexion. Its nature is rather of an indefinite kind, and its progress is not easily ascertained. Our present state is not a healthy or a natural one. It is doubtful and unsatisfactory. There is much to rejoice in, but much to grieve over. There is bustle, activity, zeal, and liberality; yet all these may exist, and still spiritual life may be low. There may be much blossom and little fruit; and even that little not of the rich, mellow kind that, in other days, drew our Beloved into his garden “to eat his pleasant fruits.” Religion among us lacks the intense vitality of other days. It intermits, fluctuates, and then, not seldom, evaporates. It lacks depth and strength. It lacks natural warmth, and too often seems to make up for the want of it by friction and excitement. Hence it is often wan and pale, relieved by hectic glows which soon depart. It has not the healthy complexion of more primitive times. It bears about it many marks of man’s handiwork. The finger of Jehovah is not visibly impressed upon it, so that one looking at it would be constrained to say, This is the doing of the Lord. There is much that is hollow and superficial. It is too hasty, too easy, too light and frivolous. It is wanting in the freshness, the calmness, the simplicity of primitive times. We desire something more solid and more solemn; peaceful, but not stagnant; earnest, but not feverish; energetic, but not unstable. We have men, in their zeal for a free gospel, reducing it to a mere form of words—a current set of phrases, talking of it with flippancy and irreverence, as if the process of receiving it were a mere mechanical one, like the learning of the alphabet. On the one hand, we have those who think assurance nothing else than presumption, and the inlet to Antinomian licentiousness; who speak of it only as a thing attainable at the close of a saint’s career—as the result of a summing up of evidences; who make doubts a proof of faith, and a mark of humility; and who look suspiciously upon any who are rejoicing in the Lord. On the other, there are men who make a God of their assurance, and a Saviour of their faith, and an idol of their peace; who will hear of no struggle with an evil heart of unbelief; no warfare between the flesh and spirit; no deep self-loathing and mourning over indwelling corruption, as if all these were but the symptoms of the weakness or the non-existence of faith, instead of their being certain indications of its presence and power. For it is where faith is in its strength, that the conflict is often most desperate. We see men ridding themselves of the Spirit’s work almost entirely, and, in professing to make the gospel simple and faith easy, explaining away the office and operation of that very Spirit, without whom, “gospel” and “faith” are, to the sinner, but empty and unmeaning names. As for the “sure word of prophecy,” they turn away from it. None of them seem to know aught about it. The second coming of the Lord is little thought of, little preached upon, as the church’s BLESSED HOPE. To the millenarian views they have a very strong hostility; for their idea is, that they will ere long be able to convert the world, and thus the thought of Christ’s speedy coming, and of the world’s waxing worse and worse until he comes, are sad interruptions to their magnificent plans. Hence their antipathy to the subject. They sit in judgment upon what they hear, not so much caring to be fed, as to criticise and discuss the subject afterwards—to be able to say whether the minister knows the gospel or not—whether he be a converted man or not. They would not scruple to rise and leave the church, if any part of the discourse was not exactly to their taste. “They will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears.” With these things before me, may I not be permitted to question the reality and solidity of much that is called religion in the present day? I see careless men taking an easy way of getting to Heaven by saying that they believe; and making their own confidence their Saviour. No wrestling with flesh and blood, or with principalities and powers, with the rulers of the darkness of this world, with spiritual wickedness in high places. I see troubled souls saying peace to themselves when there is no peace, by resolving to be quite sure that all is well with them, though their hurt be not healed, but only skinned over, and their conscience remains unpurged by the blood of sprinkling. I see men intent upon widening the straight gate and the narrow way, making what they call faith a substitute for everything, superseding conviction, repentance, self-abasement, by their own acts of faith. I see men, instead of trembling at the word, taking it in their lips as they would do a song or a proverb, with all the easy flippancy of men who were above being solemnized and overawed with the majesty of the voice of Jehovah. I see men turning the grace of God into lasciviousness, boastful of their conversion, forward to speak of it, yet living much as others live, and holding it bondage or legality to be strict in Sabbath-observance, or days of fasting, or similar forms and duties;—nay, some are already denying the authority of the Sabbath. I find men holding the doctrine of “perfection,” (some having attained it, and some not), yet still censorious, proud, uncharitable, sectarian. I see men mistaking indifference to sin and ignorance of their own deceitful hearts for holiness—making a merit of not mourning for sin, as if that were unsuitable to one who is forgiven—not seeking for pardon, nor confessing sin in their prayers—thus combining the vileness of Antinomianism with the mock-sanctity of perfectionism. I see some, even, whom I believe to be at heart Christians, running from doctrine to doctrine, from book to book, from church to church, attracted by every novelty in the man or the message. Having lost the glow of their first love, they are seeking it in change and excitement, or the bold assertion of their assurance. Miserable exchange, indeed, for the loss of their first love! Vain device to recover the fresh life and glow of other days by having recourse to something else than the living Christ himself! Sad delusion of the false spirit, to which some seem to be given over, in righteous recompense for having rejected the unction of the Holy One! But I shall not prolong the description. I have already said enough to give you some idea of the state of religion among many in our day. Those to whom it may apply may take offense at what I have written. They may deem me uncharitable and harsh. But I have written strongly because I felt that the evil was great, and that smooth words would have but concealed its magnitude. The words may seem sharp and severe, but no hostile feelings towards any individual whatever mingle with my exposition of their doctrines.—Dr. Bonar.