Reflections of One Entered into the Pastoral Office
Ponder, my soul, with solemn awe! Am I without that God, that Christ, a stranger to that covenant of promise, which I preach to others? While I com-LIFE AND REMAINS OF
mend Jesus from the pulpit, am I a despiser of him in my heart? While I, in the name of God, require others to receive him as the unspeakable gift of God, am I rejecting him myself? Am I daily occupied in preparing the delicious gospel entertainment for others, while I refuse to taste it myself? If my ends are selfish, or if I am not hearty in my work, how can God be expected to bless my endeavours? If in heart I am Satan’s servant, how can I be true to Christ, or earnest for his honour? If I have not drunk deep of the terrors of the Lord, the bitterness of sin, the vanity of this world, the importance of eternity, and of the consciencequieting and heart-captivating virtue of Christ, how can I be serious and hearty in preaching the gospel? If I am not influenced by a predominant love to Christ — if I live not to him — if my heart is not fixed upon eternal things — if it pant not after fellowship with Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; and follow not eagerly holiness and peace, and prefer not the welfare of the church to my chiefest joy in this world — how can I, without the most abominable treachery and dissimulation, declare to men their chief happiness, and the proper methods to obtain it?
If I am a graceless preacher, how terrible is my condition! If I open my bible, the sentence of my double damnation flashes into my conscience from every page. If I compose my sermon, I but draw up an awful indictment against myself. If I argue against men’s sins, I but aggravate my own. If I
THE REV. JOHN BROtVN. mention hell with its insupportable and everlasting torments, I but enfeoff myself therein, as the just portion of my cup, and my inheritance appointed me by the Almighty. If I speak of Jesus and his excellencies, it is but to tread him under my feet. If I take his new covenant and the fulness, the blessings therein contained, into my mouth, it is but to profane them, to cast them out to be trodden under foot of men. If I commend Jesus, and his Father, and blessed Spirit, it is but to stab them under the fifth rib, to betray them with a kiss! While I hold up the glass of God’s law, and of his gospel, to others, I turn its back to myself. My gospel is hid to me who am lost, in whom the god of this world hath blinded the mind of me who believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ should shine into my heart.
If I know not the Alpha and Omega — the truth — what is all my knowledge but an accursed puffer up! a murderer of my soul! Ah! how my table, my reading, my meditations, my sermons, my principles, my prayers, as a trap and snare, take and bind me hand and foot, to cast me, the unprofitable servant, into outer darkness; with all my bible, all my books, all my gifts, as it were, inlaid in my conscience, like fuel, like oil, for ever, to enrage the flames of infinite wrath against my soul! Ah! am I set here, at the gate of heaven, as a candle to waste myself in showing others the way, in lighting up the Bridegroom’s friends; and must my lamp at the end go out in g 2
obscure darkness! If I die unfaithful to Christ, in what a tremendous manner shall I for ever sink into the bottomless pit, under the weight of the blood of the Son of God, the Saviour of men, — under the weight of murdered truths, murdered convictions, murdered gifts, a murdered ministry, and murdered souls! How for ever curse myself, that I did not rather choose to be a tinker, a chimney-sweeper, an executioner, than a pretended, a treacherous, minister of Christ! Vile, vile, accursed hypocrite, how shalt thou abide with devouring fire! how shalt thou dwell with everlasting burnings!
Suppose I should know the grace of God in truth; yet, if my graces are not kept lively — if my loins are not girt, and my lamp burning, all inflamed with Jesus’ love constraining my heart — how careless, how carnal, how blasted, how accursed, must my ministrations be! Ponder, my soul, the nature of thy work, as a dealing between the infinite God and the immortal, the perishing souls of men! Ponder the extent of my duties, and the solemnity of my engagements! Think how the honours and privileges of my office, and my relation to Christ therein, ought to instigate me to faithfulness! What self-denial, what pure regard to the honour of God, what prudence, what diligence, what humility, what zeal, what spirituality of heart and life, what noted dependence on Jesus by faith; what order, what plainness, what just temperature of mildness and severity, is necessary in thus dealing with the souls of men!
But, ah! while I stand in the courts of the Lord, and minister holy things in his name, how polluted and abominable is my heart, my life! Ah, what lusts prevail! How dreadful the case of my hearers’ souls, if it is like mine! What if I have less of the reality of religion than the weakest, the most untender saint of my charge! Ah! how my evil heart of unbelief departs from the living God! Where, where is my faith in God? where is my burning of heart, while Jesus speaks to me and opens to me the scriptures? Where are my love-pantings, my languishing, my cries for the Lord? Where is my habitual fellowship with Father, Son, and Holy Ghost — my sitting under Jesus’ shadow with great delight, while his fruit is sweet to my taste? Where is my constant travailing in birth till Christ be formed in the souls of men? Where are the agonies which my heart hath undergone, both in the night and in the day, while the saving, the sanctifying presence of God was denied to me, or to my flock? Nay, how often hath pride been almost all in all to me! How often it hath chosen my companions, my dress, my victuals! — hath chosen my text, my subject, my language! how often indited my thoughts! and, to the reproach, the blasting of the gospel, hath decked my sermon with tawdry ornaments and fancies, as if it had been a stage-play! how often it hath blunted Jesus’ sharp arrow’s of truth with its swollen bombast, or silken smoothness! In the pulpit, how often pride hath formed my looks, my tone, my action, and kindled
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me into earnestness! How often it hath rendered me glad to hear my subsequent applause, and provoked with the news of my contempt! Ah, how much of my labour is owing to pride, spurred on by the fame of learning, diligence, or sanctity! No wonder my labours, so much influenced by satanical motives, do Satan’s kingdom so little hurt! Think, too, my soul, if my pride never made me envy or wound the characters of such as differed from me or outshined me; if it never made me reluctant to admit reproof, especially from those of inferior stations. Think if pride is less inconsistent with real Christianity than drunkenness or whoredom! How much a factious spirit prevails with me! Did I never take up a religious principle in the way of factious contention? Did I never undervalue the peace and unity of the church? Have I been afflicted with Zion in all her afflictions, as if they had been my own? By proving my opponents in a controversy deceivers and blasphemers, have I never, in respect of manner or end, pleaded the cause of the devil? Did I never incline to have any destitute of the ordinances or influences of heaven, rather than my party should be dishonoured? Ah, how slothful have I been in the work of the Lord — in studying the matter of divine truths, and their connexion with Christ and with one another! or in delivering them to my hearers! How slothful in sympathizing with and helping such as had no fixed gospel ministrations; or in devising and carrying on projects for the honour of Jesus, and the welfare of soals! How often carnal interest hath marred ray zeal for the interest of Christ! Hence what temporizing with the laws and customs of the world! What shrinking from duties that required much labour or expense! What uncheerfulness in giving large alms; and backwardness to improve whatever I have, for the honour of Christ, and the welfare of men!
Awake, my conscience! What meanest thou, O sleeper! Bestir thyself for thy God. Ah! I tremble to think how my parents, who piously devoted, who educated me to this work of the Lord; how the masters, the teachers, who prepared me for it; how the seminaries of learning in which I was instructed, the years I have spent in study, the gifts which God hath bestowed on me, my voluntary undertaking of the work; how all the thoughts, the words, the works, of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, to promote our redemption; how all the divine commandments, promises, and threatenings, which inculcate my duty; — all the examples of apostles, prophets, and faithful ministers; how all the leaves of my bible, all the books in my closet, all the sermons I preach, all the instructions and exhortations I tender; all the discipline I exercise; all the maintenance I receive: all the honours which I enjoy or expect; all the testimonies I have given against the negligence of parents, masters, ministers, or magistrates; all the vows, and resolutions I have made to reform; and all the prayers I have presented to God for assistance
or success; shall rise up against me in the clay of the Lord, if I do his work deceitfully: alas! who shall live when the Lord cloth this?
Think, my soul, as at the awful bar, did not the Holy Ghost — who is ready to furnish me with every thing necessary — did not God, put me into the ministry? Was it that I might waste devoted time, that I might tear his church, mangle his truths, betray his honour, and murder the souls of men! Is not my charge the flock of God, the flock of God purchased with his own blood? Shall I destroy God’s property — attempt to frustrate the end of his death? Hath Jesus died for souls! Shall I then think anything too hard to be done for their salvation? Shall I not part with all, put up with all, to win men to Christ? Was he crucified for them, for me! Shall I not crucify my selfishness, my pride, my sloth, my concupiscence, to save myself, and them that hear me? How hard my work! While my own salvation is at stake, how deeply connected with my diligence and faithfulness is the salvation of multitudes! How the powers of hell set themselves against me and my office, in order that they may triumph over Christ and his church in my fall! How many eyes of God, angels, and men, are upon me! Why then, conscience, do I speak of heaven or hell — of Jesus and his love — his blood — of the new covenant and its blessings, in so careless and sleepy a manner! — when before, and on every side of my pulpit, there are so many scores or hundreds of immortal souls suspended over hell by the frail thread of life, already in the hands of the devil, and gasping towards everlasting ruin — slain by the gospel of Christ! Why do not tears of deep concern mingle themselves with every sentence I utter, when multitudes, just plunging into damnation, and, perhaps hearing for the last time, are, in respect of need, crying, with an exceeding bitter cry, Help, minister, I perish, I perish! pluck the brand out of the burning; help to escape from the wrath to come! How should I spend a moment of my devoted time in idle chit-chat, in useless reading, in unnecessary sleep! What if, meanwhile, some one of my charge drop into hell-fire, and commence his everlasting curses of me for not doing more for his salvation! What shall I do if God riseth up to require their blood at my hand! How accursed that knowledge which I do not improve for the honour of Christ, the bestower! How accursed that ease which issues in the damnation of men! How accursed that conformity to the world which permits my hearers to sleep hellward in sin!