The Fruit of the Holy Spirit.
By Cuyler
THE most neglected patch of ground will produce a bountiful crop of weeds. They grow spontaneously. But wheat must be sown, and orchards must be planted. In like manner, sin is spontaneous in the carnal heart. This is the condition, this the curse, of native depravity. The “works of the flesh,” i. e., the natural outworkings of every one’s corrupt heart, are unholy, impure, selfish, and exceeding sinful. Paul calls the roll of this ugly brood of “works of the flesh,” in the fifth chapter of his letter to the Galatians; it begins with “adultery,” and ends with “drunkenness, and revellings,” and such like. But, in vivid contrast with these spontaneous products of the unconverted heart, he specifies the “fruits of the spirit.” Graces, such as the Bible commends, are fruit. They are not the product of native depravity; they are the product of a supernatural influence on the human soul. Holy acts grow out of something; they need a root, and have a root that inspires their life. Let some of our popular pulpits preach Pelagianism, and ignore the supernatural in religion as much as they like, they find no warrant in the word of God. That word assures us that the root of all pure, holy thought and action is the Holy Spirit. That root is implanted by regeneration. Before the divine Spirit enters the heart, there is no root to yield a single Bible grace, or ripen into the smallest genuine fruit of holiness. Are you surprised, therefore, that, when men have tried to be Christians without Christ, and tried to reach a pure spiritual life without the aid of God’s Spirit, they have lamentably failed? Just as soon might a farmer drive his harvest wagon out into a barren moor and expect to load it up with wheat-sheaves; just as soon might he arrange his fruit-barrels under a thicket of New Jersey pines, and expect to shake them full of golden pippins and ripe Spitzenbergs. True religion is a growth, a development; but it requires a root. There can be but one such root. It is divine in its origin. The root of all true Christianity is a spiritual principle implanted by the Holy Ghost. This root is as invisible as that of an oak or an apple tree; but the tree is visible, with its beautiful efflorescence in the May, and its bountiful fruitage in October. The inward life of the apple tree overhangs the boughs with innumerable apples, which the October sun crimsons with its warm blush, and then the “good tree” presents to its owner its “good fruit” as its consummate season’s work. There is a precise analogy between the orchard and the true church—who are “the faithful in Christ Jesus.” Christians are converted sinners. They have turned to God under the drawings of divine love. The Holy Spirit is the author of their regeneration. To take the supernatural out of our religion is like emptying the noonday of the sun. God’s word is emphatic in teaching the divine origin of Christianity in every converted heart. The believer is “created anew in Christ Jesus.” He is said to experience the workings of the “exceeding greatness of the power of God.” Men sin, and bring forth the “works of the flesh,” as naturally as they breathe; but the “FRUIT of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance.” What a glorious catalogue! What an inventory of the beautiful excellences of a true Christian character! What a proof of the need of God’s Spirit in changing men radically, and in producing the only genuine graces that adorn humanity! What an argument for perpetual prayer for the presence of the Holy Spirit! I would like to go over this tree of Christian character, and say a word about each one of these exquisite fruits of the Spirit. The first specified is Love. It well deserves the pre-eminence. The very essence of Bible religion is to “love the Lord our God with all the heart and soul, and to love our neighbor as ourself.” Our religion ought to be saturated with love; it ought to breathe out in our every-day talk as freely as in our prayers; it ought to ennoble a Christian’s business transactions; it ought to write his vote; it ought to own his purse, and be felt in the very grasp of his hand. He that loveth is born of God. The next grace is Joy; and this is as different a thing from mere pleasure as the steady sunlight is from the brief lurid flash of the lightning. And I have never seen this grace gleam out more brightly than when carried at the prow through a midnight tempest of roaring adversities. A true child of God can “rejoice in tribulation;” can a worldling do that? Peace is the third in the catalogue of the Spirit’s fruits. This is the calm serenity of a pardoned soul that is at rest in God. I saw a beautiful emblem of spiritual peace lately in Lake George, as it lay in hushed repose, when not a ripple vexed its stillness, when the mountains held it in their arms, and the stars of heaven were reflected in its azure depths. Such is the peace of God that passeth understanding. Long-suffering and Gentleness are mentioned as twin graces. The literal meaning of the first word is, the power of holding still for a long time under provocation. It is the rare and beautiful grace of forbearance. Christ Jesus was its loftiest embodiment when he breathed out that divinest prayer of magnanimity, “Father! forgive them; for they know not what they do!” Goodness is philanthropy—the sincere love of man, whatever his caste, his color, or his condition. It is Christianity on foot, with a Bible in its pocket, and a loaf of bread in its open hand. It is not the religion that suns itself on the warm side of a fashionable church; but the practical Christ-likeness that seeks out the lost on the Sabbath, going down in the diving-bell of a mission-school, to bring up rare pearls for Christ’s crown, out of the slimy depths of ignorance and sin. But my sheet is too brief to enumerate the various fruits of the Holy Spirit in a Christian’s life. There is Faith, vital and transforming; and there is Meekness, that loves a low seat before the cross of Jesus. Last, but by no means least, comes Temperance. This is a grace much discussed, but too little practiced. It means self-control for our own sake, and self-denial for the good of others. When our nation is cursed and humiliated with such spectacles of drunkenness in high places, is it not time for the church of Christ to dash down that wine that “is a mocker,” and to exalt that temperance that is a fruit of the divine Spirit?—Cuyler.