MISTAKES IN RELIGION by Hannah More

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Dec 18, 1860

MISTAKES IN RELIGION.

By Hannah More

(Concluded.)

In some who make further advances towards religion, we continue to see it in that same low degree which we have always observed. It is dwarfish and stunted, it makes no shoots. Though it gives some signs of life, it does not grow. By a tame and spiritless round, or rather by this fixed and immovable position, we rob ourselves of that fair reward of peace and joy which attends on an humble consciousness of progress; on the feeling of difficulties conquered; on a sense of the divine favor. That religion which is profitable is commonly perceptible. Nothing supports a traveller in his Christian course, like the conviction that he is getting on; like looking back on the country he has passed; and, above all, like the sense of that protection which has hitherto carried him on, and of that grace which has promised to support him to the end.

The proper motion of the renewed heart is still directed upward. True religion is of an aspiring nature, continually tending towards that heaven from whence it was transplanted. Its top is high because its root is deep. It is watered by a perennial fountain; in its most flourishing state it is always capable of further growth. Real goodness proves itself to be such by a continual desire to be better. No virtue on earth is ever in a complete state. Whatever stage of religion any man has attained, if he be satisfied to rest in that stage, we would not call that man religious. The Gospel seems to consider the highest degree of goodness as the lowest with which a Christian ought to sit down satisfied. We cannot be said to be finished in any Christian grace because there is not one which may not be carried further than we have carried it. This promotes the double purpose of keeping us humble as to our present stage, and of stimulating us to something higher which we may hope to attain.

That superficial thing which by mere people of the world is dignified by the appellation of religion, though it brings just that degree of credit which makes part of the system of worldly Christians, neither brings comfort for this world, nor security for the next. Outward observances, indispensable as they are, are not religion. They are the accessory, but not the principle; they are important aids and adjuncts, but not the thing itself; they are its aliment but not its life, the fuel but not the flame, the scaffolding but not the edifice. Religion can no more subsist merely by them than it can subsist without them. They are divinely appointed and must be conscientiously observed, but observed as a means to promote an end, and not as an end in themselves.

The heartless homage of formal worship, where the living power does not give life to the form, the cold compliment of ceremonial attendance, without the animating principle, as it will not bring peace to our own mind, so neither will it satisfy a jealous God. That God whose eye is on the heart, "who trieth the reins and searcheth the spirits" will not be satisfied that we make him little more than a nominal deity, while the world is the real object of our worship. Such persons seem to have almost the whole body of performance; all they want is the soul. They are constant in their devotions, but the heart, which even the heathen esteemed the best part of the sacrifice, they keep away. They read the Scriptures, but rest in the letter instead of trying themselves by its spirit. They consider it as an enjoined task, but not as the quick and powerful instrument put into their hands for the critical dissection of "piercing and dividing asunder the soul and spirit;" not as the penetrating "discernment of the thoughts and intents of the heart." These well-intentioned persons seem to spend no inconsiderable portion of time in religious exercises, and yet complain that they make little progress. They almost seem to insinuate, as if the Almighty did not keep his word to them, and manifest that religion to them is not "pleasantness," nor her "paths peace."

Of such may we not ask, "Would you not do better to examine than to complain? to enquire whether you do indeed possess a heart which, notwithstanding its imperfections, is sincerely devoted to God? He who does not desire to be perfect is not sincere. Would you not do well to convince yourselves that God is not unfaithful? that his promises do not fail? that his goodness is not slackened? May you not be entertaining some secret infidelity, practising some latent disobedience, withholding some part of your heart, neglecting to exercise that faith, subtracting something from that devotedness to which a Christian should engage himself, and to which the promises of God are annexed? Do you indulge no propensities contrary to his will? Do you never resist the dictates of his Spirit, never shut your eyes to its illumination, nor your heart to its influences? Do you not indulge some cherished sin which obscures the light of grace, some practice which obstructs the growth of virtue, some distrust which chills the warmth of love? the discovery will repay the search, and if you succeed in this scrutiny, let not the detection discourage but stimulate.

If then, you resolve to take up religion in earnest, especially if you have actually adopted its customary forms, rest not in such low attainments as will afford neither present peace nor future happiness. To know Christianity only in its external forms, and its internal dissatisfactions, its superficial appearances without, and its disquieting apprehensions within, to be desirous of standing well with the world as a Christian, yet to be unsupported by a well-founded Christian hope, to depend for happiness on the opinion of men instead of the favor of God, to go on dragging through the mere exercises of piety without deriving from them real strength or solid peace; to live in the dread of being called an enthusiast; by outwardly exceeding in religion, and in secret consciousness of falling short of it, to be conformed to the world's view of Christianity, rather than to aspire to be transformed by the renewing of your mind, is a state not of pleasure, but of penalty, not of conquest, but of hopeless conflict, not of ingenuous love, but of tormenting fear. It is knowing religion only as the captive in a foreign land knows the country in which he is a prisoner. He hears from the cheerful natives of its beauties, but is himself ignorant of everything beyond his own gloomy limits. He hears of others as free and happy, but feels nothing himself but the rigors of incarceration.

The Christian character is little understood by the votaries of the world; if it were, they would be struck with its grandeur. It is the very reverse of that meanness and pusillanimity, that abject spirit and those narrow views, which those who know it not ascribe to it.

A Christian lives at the height of his being, not only at the top of his spiritual, but of his intellectual life. He alone lives in the full exercise of his rational powers. Religion ennobles his reason while it enlarges it.

Let then, your soul act up to its high destination, let not that which was made to soar to heaven grovel in the dust. Let it not live so much below itself. You wonder it is not more fixed when it is perpetually resting on things which are not fixed themselves. In the rest of a Christian there is stability. Nothing can shake his confidence but sin. Outward attacks and troubles rather fix than unsettle him, as tempests from without only serve to root the oak faster, while an inward canker will gradually rot and decay it.

These are only a few of the mistakes among the multitude which might have been pointed out, but these are noticed as being of common and every-day occurrence. The ineffectiveness of such a religion will be obvious.

That religion which sinks Christianity into a mere conformity to religious usages must always fail of substantial effects. If sin be seated in the heart, if that be its home, that is the place in which it must be combated. It is in vain to attack it in the suburbs when it is lodged in the center. Mere forms can never expel that enemy which they can never reach. By a religion of decencies, our corruptions may perhaps be driven out of sight, but they will never be driven out of possession. If they are expelled from their outworks, they will retreat to their citadel. If they do not appear in the grosser forms prohibited by the decalogue, still they will exist. The shape may be altered but the principle will remain. They will exist in the spiritual modification of the same sins equally forbidden by the divine Expositor. He who dares not to be revengeful, will be unforgiving. He who ventures not to break the letter of the seventh commandment in act, will violate it in the spirit. He who has not courage to forfeit heaven by profligacy will scale it by pride or forfeit it by unprofitableness.

It is not any vain hope built on some external privilege or performance on the one hand, nor a presumptuous confidence that our names are written in the book of life on the other, which can afford a reasonable ground of safety, but it is endeavoring to keep all the commandments of God—it is living to him who died for us—it is being conformed to his image as well as redeemed by his blood. This is Christian virtue, this is the holiness of a believer. A lower motive will produce a lower morality, but such an unsanctified morality God will not accept.

For it will little avail us that Christ has died for us, that he has conquered sin, triumphed over the powers of darkness, and overcome the world, while any sin retains its unresisted dominion in our hearts, while the world is our idol, while our fostered corruptions cause us to prefer darkness to light. We must not persuade ourselves that we are reconciled to God while our rebellious hearts are not reconciled to goodness.

It is not casting a set of opinions into a mould, and a set of duties into a system, which constitutes the Christian religion. The circumference must have a center, the performance must have a principle. Outward observances were wisely constituted to rouse our forgetfulness, to awaken our secular spirits, to call back our negligent hearts; but it was never intended that we should stop short in the use of them. They were designed to excite holy thoughts, to quicken us to holy deeds, but not to be used as equivalents for either. But we find it cheaper to serve God in a multitude of exterior acts, than to starve one interior corruption.

Nothing short of that uniform stable principle, that fixedness in religion which directs a man in all his actions, aims and pursuits to God as his ultimate end, can give consistency to his conduct or tranquility to his soul. This state once attained he will not waste all his thoughts and designs upon the world; he will not lavish all his affections on so poor a thing as his own advancement. He will desire to devote all to the only object worthy of them to, God. Our Saviour has taken care to provide that our ideas of glorifying him, may not run out into fanciful chimeras or subtle inventions by simply stating—"herein is my Father glorified that ye bear much fruit." This, he goes on to inform us, is the true evidence of our being of the number of his people by adding—"So shall ye be my disciples."—Hannah More.