p. 197 | THE CONTRITE HEART by George C. Tenney

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jan 29, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 13.

THE CONTRITE HEART.

By George C. Tenney

BY ELDER G. C. TENNEY.

"The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise." David, who wrote these words, knew whereof he spoke. The primary meaning of our word "contrition" is act of grinding or reducing to a powder. In its ordinary use it means deep humiliation, sorrow, and grief for sin. It is brokenness and poverty of spirit. The idea conveyed is certainly not one which the natural heart greets with pleasure, but God has made it an essential part of genuine religious experience.

It used to be so regarded; but is it so now? The carnal heart answers: It is not now necessary. Judging by what we see, nominal Christianity is quite inclined to ignore it. There appears to be but little in modern religious experience or teaching to lead one to think that deep, genuine contrition is any necessary part of such experience. The Christian world has turned its back on this and other truths of God's word which in their practice involve the humbling of self and the crucifixion of the flesh. Religion is now dressed in gayer colors. The sackcloth of repentance and confession are laid away. The cross is obscured with roses. The pathway is turned upon an easy grade and planted with the pleasing flowers of earth. The conditions are made so easy that no one can object to them; rough places are smoothed over, and obstructions reduced, so that there is but little jar to the natural feelings, nothing to disturb the comfort of the worldling. Under these circumstances it may be expected that the work will be superficial rather than thorough and deep.

What, then, should be our experience in relation to the cross of Christ? Ought Christians still to deny self daily, still to take up the cross? Is it still necessary to be meek and lowly in heart? Must the heart still break for sins? Must we still "agonize" to enter in at the strait gate? Or may we cast away these somber features of old-time religion as being well enough for superstitious ages, but wholly inappropriate to our joyous age?

In undertaking to answer these questions we ask not to be considered as opposed to cheerfulness and joy in God's service. We do not sympathize with that lugubrious and downcast demeanor with which some are wont to disfigure their countenances and dishonor God. At the same time we would urge that a clear distinction be made between the joy and peace which are the fruits of the Spirit and that self-complacency and frothy feeling which are engendered of self-deception and presumption. An individual who has never made his peace with God may work himself into an ecstasy of joy and then take this as an undoubted evidence of divine blessing. Of the genuineness of these demonstrations in others it is not always safe to enter into judgment; nor is it our purpose to lead anyone to sit in judgment upon what he sees in others; rather let us by self-examination test the reliability of our own hope.

Sin debars us from God, and will do so as long as it is cherished. "If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me." In order to come to God, sin must be put away. The sinner who in the Mosaic dispensation came to God brought a sacrifice. No less must be done now. The broken, contrite heart must still be presented to God in pledge of the sincerity of repentance. Whence shall we obtain it? What will produce it?—A sense of the sinfulness of sin. Look to Gethsemane. What causes those sweat drops of blood?—Your sins. What causes that agonizing prayer?—Your sins. What causes the mortal groaning cry, "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death"?—Oh, it was your sins and mine! How may I see myself as such a sinner?—Look at the sinless One. Behold the Lamb of God. Consider Christ Jesus in his matchless life, and then see where you stand.

The poor publican presented an acceptable sacrifice, for he had seen Jesus, and, with humble contrition, he abhorred himself, and longed for the cleansing touch of divine compassion. "God be merciful to me, a sinner." He could do no more, but it was a precious offering, acceptable to God. Oppressed with a sense of his lost condition, he cast himself upon divine mercy and was justified. But we see too little of such deep conviction to-day; we hear too little preaching that is calculated to awaken it.

Acceptable confession does not always consist in saying, on general principles, "I have been a great sinner, and I want to do better." Contrition comes from an acute and definite sense of sin. And it is not enough that the Christian life should be inaugurated by a season of contrition. Sin becomes even more sinful as we proceed in our experiences. There is less excuse for it in those who know a Saviour's love. Shall we daily grieve our Saviour and have no grief ourselves? Our thoughtlessness and indifference cause the wound of Christ to flow afresh; and shall we feel no pang of regret? In that depth of compassion which suffers anew in our every transgression, and fills heaven with sorrow at our waywardness, shall we have no share? Daniel was a man "greatly beloved," but his petitions were presented with tears of contrition. Such experiences are not incompatible with true joy and peace. Thus the joy of salvation is restored to us. The heart that is purged from sin will be filled with the peace of God. To walk with God, we must walk humbly. And when we truly deplore sin, he will help us to get rid of it.

As we examine our hearts, it will not bring us self-satisfaction, but deep repentance and bitter pain. But—God can heal the broken heart; the humble spirit he can exalt; the thirsty soul he can satisfy.