ner, let both the judgment and the will be for Christ, yet the tumult of the affections will carry it; and when they cannot out-reason the conscience, they will out-cry it.

(3.) The third cause, inducing men to relinquish Christ contrary to the judgment of their conscience, is the force and tyranny of the custom of the world. It is natural for all men to live more by example than precept; and it is the most efficacious enforcement of duty, to clothe it in a precedent. As a physician by his receipts, persuasions, and discourses cannot win a froward patient to take a bitter potion; but by drinking of it himself, he presently overcomes and shames him into an imitation.

It is the world, and the fashion of it, that ruins souls. It is the shame of men, and the vogue of the times, that frights men out of their consciences: and could we see the secret movings and reasonings of men's hearts, when Christ, by the convictions of his Spirit debates the case between himself and the soul, we should see the non-conversion of most men chargeable upon this very cause, and that they miss of salvation upon no other account in the world, than that it is the fashion to be damned.

Christ easily runs down the swearer, the drunkard, and the epicure, and convinces them of the wretched destructive consequences of their riots but then, this whispers them another lesson; what would the world say of me, should I renounce my garb and jollity, and sneak into a course of severe and religious living? How would my companions despise and post me for a base, pusillanimous spirit, as void of the generosity and air of courtship, and a stranger to the genius of true nobility! And this temptation is so much the stronger, because it is founded upon the most unyielding corruption of our nature, which is pride; a quality, which will put a man upon doing any thing to keep up the post of his station and reputation in the world: hereupon, if it comes to a justle and competition, gentility must go before Christianity, and fashion take the wall of religion.

It was this that made the Jews suppress their convictions, (John, xii. 42, 43,) "Many believed in Christ, but they did not profess him openly, because they feared being put out of the synagogue;" for it is added, "they loved the praise of men." This sent Nicodemus to Christ by night; the struggles of his conscience between conviction and shame made him, upon the former of these, venture to do what the latter of these would not let him own.

And amongst other dissuasives from following of Christ, the young man could not but be assaulted with such as these: What! part with all for a new notion of another world? sell land to buy hope? be preached out of my

estate, and worded out of such fair farms and rich possessions? And all this to follow a despised person, hungry and naked, and perhaps come at length to beg an alms at my own door? to be the talk of every table, to be scorned of my enemies, and not pitied by my friends; to be counted a fool, an idiot, and fit to be begged, did I not beg myself? No, I cannot bear it; this is intolerable.

Now observe, here was the eye of the needle that could not be passed; here Christ and he broke; the power of custom, and the quick apprehensions of shame, staved him off from salvation. He would do like the world, though he perished with it; swim with the stream, though he was drowned in it; rather go sociably to hell, than in the uncomfortable solitude of precise singularity to heaven; the jollity of the company made him overlook the broadness and danger of the way.

Precedency is not only alluring, but authentic for can a man have any greater warrant for the reasonableness of an action, than the practice of the universe? But certainly, there will be a time one day, when a man shall curse himself for not having had the courage to outbrave and trample upon the common apprehensions and censures of the world, when Christ and that stood rivals for his soul; and for having been so stupidly a coward, as to be baffled of his salvation by words and opinion.

Now, the inferences and deductions from the words thus discussed are these:

1. We gather hence the great criterion and art of trying our sincerity; which is, by the test of such precepts as directly reach our peculiar corruptions. Observe the excellent method that Christ took to convince this person. Had he tried him by a precept of temperance, chastity, or just dealing, he had never sounded the bottom of his heart; for the civility of his life would have afforded a fair and satisfying reply to all these but when he came close to him, and touched upon his heart-string, his beloved possessions, the man quickly shews himself, and discovers the temper of his spirit more by the love of one particular, endeared sin, than by his forbearance of twenty, to which he stood indifferent.

Every man's sincerity is not to be tried the same way. He that should conclude a man pious, because not covetous, would bring but a short argument; for perhaps he may be lustful or ambitious, and the stream be altogether as strong and violent, though it runs in a different channel.

The reason of this assertion is, because no man bears an equal propensity to all sins. There is not only a contrariety between vice and virtue, but also between one vice and another. Nay, perhaps, the distance between the two latter is far the greater; forasmuch as there is a longer passage from extreme

to extreme, than from an extreme to the middle, which we know is the situation of virtue. No wonder, therefore, since a man's corrupt appetite bears not an equal inclination to all sins, that it is not equally to be tried by all precepts. Things peculiar and specific are those that must distinguish and discover.

Now as in a tree, it is the same sap and juice that spreads itself into all that variety of branches; some straight, some crooked, some of this figure, some of that: so it is the same stock and furniture of natural corruption, that shoots forth into that great diversity of vices, that exert such different operations in different tempers. And as it is the grand office of udgment to separate and distinguish, and so to proportion its applications; so herein is the great spiritual art of a prudent ministry, first to learn a man's proper distemper, and then to encounter it by a peculiar and suitable address. Reprehensions that are promiscuous are always ineffectual.

But much more ineffectual, if not also absurd, is a reprehension misplaced. He that should preach damnation to prodigality and intemperance before a company of usurers, what did he else but administer indirectly an occasion to them, to measure their piety by their distance from that vice; while, in the mean time, they stood chargeable with a worse. A man may, with as much propriety, and success of action, angle for birds, or lay lime-twigs to catch fish, as think to convince a man of the sin of prodigality, by loud and sharp declamations against covetousness.

Both, indeed, are sins; but their particular quality makes their agreement, in the general nature of sin, scarce considerable. Was a minister to deal with a luxurious, debauched congregation, how toothless and insipid would it be to make harangues against faction; a sin wholly of another nature, and dwelling in another disposition.

When Paul preached before Felix, he might have directed his sermon against idolatry and superstition, against heresy, or against rebellion; but he chose rather to discourse of "justice, temperance, and of judgment to come." Why? but because he determined his subject by the temper of his auditor, whose injustice in taking bribes, and whose lust in keeping another man's wife, made him fit to be charged home with a severe and searching discourse of the contrary virtues? Which we know so struck his conscience, like lightning, both for its force and insinuation, that it sent him away trembling: as Christ before him, by the like methods of discourse, sent this young man away sorrowful.

Now it concerns every man to get the best assurance he can of his sincerity; to attain which, he must follow the method that Christ

used towards this young candidate for eternal life. He must arraign his corruption before that precept that particularly strikes at it; otherwise he will find, that he puts a fallacy upon his conscience, if he misapplies the rule; and if his sin being theft, he tries himself by a law made against murder.

2. The issue of the whole action, in the young man's not closing with Christ's proposals about eternal life, and his sorrowful departure thereupon, lays before us a full account of that misery which attends a final dereliction of Christ. Now the happiness that man is capable of being twofold, temporal and eternal, and misery being properly a privation of happiness, the greatness of this misery consists in this, that it adequately deprives a man of both these.

(1.) Of that which is eternal. I mention this first, because it is the greatest, and the best. Unbelief eternises nothing but our miseries. The terms are short and absolute. No leaving possessions, no eternal life; no casting away our goods, no escaping the shipwreck.

Our dearest corruptions are to be mortified, our fairest enjoyments relinquished; this world to be left, or no admission into a better. Yet though the proposal be so evident, and the arguments enforcing it so strong and rational; men, for all this, will not be brought to bend under the power and necessity of this truth: but the heart is still apt to relieve itself with a secret persuasion, that Christ and possessions, future happiness and present ease, are consistent; and that all assertions to the contrary are but the brain-sick notions of melancholy spirits, that would impose unnecessary penance upon the world; and therefore they must have their pleasures, their humours, their profits, and their garb, and that in the most eager and slavish pursuit of them; though truth itself has expressly said, that we cannot serve God and Mammon. And I am sure, that if they cannot be served, they cannot be so enjoyed together.

But certainly we shall one day find, that the strait gate is too narrow for any man to come bustling in, thracked with great possessions, and greater corruptions.

These are interests that can never be joined: continual pleasure here and hereafter are incompatible.

Heaven and earth are at too great a distance to be united. And, if so, then we see where our unbelief leaves us, even in the regions of horror and despair, in that place of torment and separation from God; where, who knows but this unhappy young heir, with the other rich ones of the world, is now weeping and wailing over his present estate, cursing and crying out of his soul-ruining possessions.

The sorrow he felt before was only an earnest of this damnation, a taste and preliba

miserable.

(2.) But, secondly, it bereaves even of temporal happiness also; even that which it promises, and which only it designs, and for the retaining of which it brings a man to part with his hopes of that which is future and eternal. That it does so is evident; for what delight, what taste or relish is there in the greatest affluence of all a man's worldly possessions, when a grim, offended conscience shall stand by him, and protest against all his pleasures? And however men may put the best face upon things, yet certainly there is no such pain or torment, as an aching, angry conscience, under a merry aspect.

When a man shall look upon his rich farms and fair houses, and his conscience in the meantime whisper him, that this is all that he must expect for ever; when he shall eat and drink the price of his soul, and pay down eternity for every morsel; so that he never sits down to his full table, but, like Esau, he sees his birthright served up to him in a mess : when, by whatsoever he looks upon, whatsoever he wears, upon whatsoever he treads, the remembrance of the sad price is still revived upon his conscience: this takes away the heart and life of the comfort; and the mirth of the feast is checked by the consideration of the reckoning.

Now this certainly is the sum of all miseries; and since we can go no farther, we may conIclude that unbelief is entertained upon very hard terms, when it robs the unbeliever of his last modicum; even of that little slender remain of happiness, that he promised himself in this world and not only condemns him to die, but also, as it were, feeds him with bread and water till his execution; and so leaves him wretched and destitute, even in that place, where the wicked themselves have an inheritance.

Now to Him who is able to make us wise in our choice here, and happy in our enjoyment hereafter, the great consequent of a wise choice here; even to Him be rendered and ascribed, as is most due, all praise, might, majesty, and dominion, both now, and for

evermore. Amen.

If we run over the whole train and catalogue of duties that are incumbent upon a Christian, we shall find that they are fully comprised under these two heads; his active and his passive obedience. Concerning which, it may be doubted whether of the two, as to the worth and value of the thing itself, ought to have the pre-eminence. For though all duties expressly enjoined, are by virtue of such injunction equally necessary, yet it follows not that they are in themselves equally excellent. If we here measure the greatness of the virtue by the difficulty of its exercise, passive obedience will certainly gain the precedency: for that this is the most difficult appears undeniably from this reason, that there is much in human nature that inclines a man to action, so that without it there would be no enjoyment; but, on the contrary, there is no proneness or inclination in nature to suffer, but a great abhorrence and aversion from it. So that every instance of voluntary passive obedience must commence entirely upon a dereliction of our own will, and a compliance with a superior.

The Spirit of God in this portion of Scripture reads us a lecture of patience from the living command of Christ's example; who, by enduring the wrath of his Father, and the affronts and contumelies of men, made it evident to the world, that he was able, not only to do, but also to suffer miracles. that never provoked God's justice, could yet submit himself to the stroke of his anger: and he that never dispensed any thing but blessings amongst men, could yet endure cursings and revilings from them.

He

Before I enter upon the words, it may be questioned, whether or no this particular instance of Christ's patience may be a sufficient ground for our general imitation. For as in matters of argument we cannot from a particular infer an universal conclusion; so there seems to be the same reason in matters of action, that the particular example of one should not oblige the practice of all.

But to this it may be answered, that divines usually reduce all Christ's actions to these three sorts:

1. His miraculous actions, such as issued from his divine nature. As, his raising the dead, stilling the sea and the winds with a word, and feeding thousands with a few loaves. In all these it is our duty to admire, not to imitate him; for by these he shews us not what we were to do after him, but only what we were to believe concerning him.

2. The second sort were his mediatorial actions; such as concerned his offices, to which he was advanced as mediator. As, his governing and disposing of all the world for the good of his church: his dispensing of the gifts and graces of the Spirit, which are acts of his kingly office: his satisfying for sin, and his continual intercession, which are acts of his priestly function. And lastly, his teaching of the saints outwardly by his word, and inwardly by his Spirit; which he did as the great prophet, sanctified, and sent into the world for that purpose. In all these, it is no more our duty to do as Christ did, than to be what Christ was.

3. The third and last sort were his moral actions, which he both did himself, and also commanded others to do. Such were his praying, his giving alms, and his gentle behaviour to all men; and to these we are all equally engaged. And the reason is, because Christ performed all these duties, under that relation in which we all stand obliged, as well as Christ.

He performed them as a man, as a rational creature subject to the law of his Creator; and so we are all. Now, under this rank comes his patient endurance of the injurious behaviour of men. And in this respect every Christian should be not only a disciple to his doctrine, but a representative of his person; he should transcribe him in his practice, and make his life a comment and illustration upon his master's.

Having thus answered this query, let us now enter upon the words themselves; the scope and design of which is to recommend to us one excellent branch of the great evangelical virtue of patience; the entire exercise of which adequately lies in these two things: First, In our behaviour towards God. Secondly, In our converse with men.

And this is that which is now to be discoursed of; that composedness of mind, that temper of spirit, that displays itself in a quiet, undisturbed endurance of scoffs, slanders, and all the lashes of contumelious tongues. For though the words speak negatively, yet this is a known rule in divinity, that there is no command that runs in the strain of negatives, but couches under it a positive duty.

Having thus shewn the design and purport of the words, I shall endeavour to give a full account of it in the ensuing discussion of these three particulars :

I. I shall shew what is implied in the extent of this duty, of "not reviling again." II. I shall shew how the observation of this duty comes to be so exceeding difficult.

III. I shall shew by what means a man may work himself to such a composure and temper of spirit, as to be able to observe this so difficult a duty. Of each of which in their order. And,

I. For the first of these; what is implied in the duty here expressed to us by "not reviling again.” We must here observe, that as every outward, sinful action is but the consummation of a sin long before conceived in the thoughts, fashioned in the desires, and then ripened in the affections; from whence it comes to birth, by issuing forth in actual commission: so there is no way to secure the soul from the danger of the commission, but by dashing it in the places of its conception and antecedent preparation; and so to keep it from seeing the world, by stifling it in the womb.

Accordingly this command implies two things:

(1.) The not entertaining the impression of injuries with acrimony of thought and internal resentment.

(2.) The not venting any such resentment in virulent, vindictive language. Or briefly thus:

1. A suppressing of our inward disgusts. 2. A restraint of our outward expressions. 1. Concerning the first of which; no sooner does the foul tongue give us the alarm, but straight all the powers of the mind are awakened, the concerns of reputation begin to rise, thoughts of defiance to take up arms, and the whole soul boils within itself, grows big with the injury, and would fain discharge and disburden itself in a full revenge.

This is the posture of the mind in this case; and it will quickly proclaim itself by a loquacity of countenance, and a significance of gesture; and though the tongue perhaps should forbear, yet a man will speak his mind with his very face; he will look satires, and rail with every glance of his eye.

If the mind be full and imbittered, it will assuredly have its vent, and, like unsettled liquors, work over into froth and foulness. But admit that it refrains, yet still the man shall find a civil war within himself, a great scuffle and disturbance, his thoughts divided between contrary principles, the clashings of prudence and revenge.

But now all these must be composed; for God hears the language of the heart, the outcry and tumult of the affections, the slander of the thoughts, and the invectives of the desires. And that man that can entertain the anger that he dares not utter, and hug the distastes that he will not speak; so that, in that respect, his heart is never at his mouth; he may indeed have more prudence, but never the less malice; or his malice may be buried, but not dead.

For suppose that his concealed wrath never flies out in words, yet the virulence and ugliness of the mind, the anarchy and confusion of the passions, is still the same. It is like thunder without a shower. The inward chafings and ravings of the heart make it a

very unfit seat for reason or religion. Christ and religion are usually asleep in such a storm, and do not actually exert themselves in such a soul.

Wrath is wrath, and has all the deformities of that passion, whether it frets in a concealed disgust, or speaks out in open slander and calumny. As a body is altogether as unsound while it festers by an inward putrefaction as when it casts broad its rottenness by flux and suppuration.

2. There is required a restraint of the outward expressions. We must hush our discontents, put our mouths in the dust, and there bury our passion.

I confess, when anger and the tongue, that is, the two unruliest things in the world, and both so impatient of control, do meet and concur, the restraint must needs be difficult and arduous; yet the command of Christ is here indispensable, the precept high and exact. We must be all ear to hear our own disgraces, and be as quietly attentive to an injurious slander, as to a homily of patience, or a lecture of perfection.

If a man vents his anger against his brother, even by those undervaluing terms of "fool" and "rascal," Christ awards him the sentence of hell and judgment, (Matt. v. 22.) "The tongue," (as Saint James says, chap. iii. 6,) "is set on fire of hell." And here we see, by a kind of vicissitude and return, it kindles hell itself for the calumniator.

Has anger, therefore, prevailed so far as to fire our thoughts? Let it not proceed farther, to inflame our expressions. If it has been our unhappiness to be surprised with the beginnings, let us at least cut short the progress. It is an untamed beast, and needs a bridle, without a metaphor. It is loud and destructive, and, like a lion, first it roars, and then it devours. Certainly, therefore, it concerns us to stop our own mouths, and that to keep in our peace, our happiness, our reputation from flying out; and not, in gratification of a silly, angry humour, to word away our souls, or declaim ourselves into perdition.

But here, for our regulation both in the apprehension and practice of this duty, I shall subjoin this caution; namely, that a due expression of asperity against the enemies of God, the king, and the public peace, is not the reviling mentioned or intended in the text; the scene of which is properly private revenge, not a zealous espousal of the public injuries.

He that treats a rebel, and a murderer of his prince, in terms suitable to those actions, is not a reviler. But he that conceals or smooths a villain in the execrable practices of a public mischief, he is truly a reviler and a slanderer; for he reviles his conscience, and slanders his religion. It is a duty that every man owes to the public, to call vice and villainy by its own name; which name, if it be

infamous, the cause is in him that deserves, not in him that bestows it.

For observe, that the great standard by which the text bids us measure ourselves in this duty, is Jesus Christ; who, though in his own cause, in his own personal affronts, "opened not his mouth," but passed over all with a meek and a silent sufferance; yet with what fervour and sharpness did he interpose his rebukes in the public concerns of piety and religion!

When Saint Peter himself went to cross him in the great business of the world's redemption, his passion and crucifixion, in what language did Christ answer him? No appellation but that of "Satan" was thought fit for him.

With what severity of speech did he also treat those public enemies of piety, and patrons of hypocrisy, the scribes and pharisees! "Whited walls, rotten sepulchres, generation of vipers," with other such like terms, were their constant titles; and may indeed serve indifferently for the scribes and pharisees of all ages; even those of ours also, did they not prevail above their progenitors in the several arts and more improved methods of hypocrisy.

By warrant therefore of the grand exemplar of meekness and patience, we are empowered to give great and public villains, and disturbers of society, names proper to their actions and merits. He that called Herod fox, does not command us to call a fox a sheep, nor a vulture a dove; nor to give rebels and murderers occasion to think themselves innocent, by never telling them that they are otherwise. To sooth and flatter such persons, would be just as if Cicero had spoke commendatories of Antony, or made panegyrics upon Catiline.

He that commends a vile person, upbraids the virtuous; whose virtue never receives so fair a character, as by an impartial representment of the ugly lineaments and appearances of vice. Nay, he that commends a villain, is not an approver only, but a party in his villainy. Besides, the fruitless frustraneous vauity of such an essay; for bring all the force of rhetoric in the world, yet vice can never be praised into virtue: a rotten thing cannot be painted sound. A false gloss is but a poor corrective of a bad text.

And what I say against a commendation, or smoothing of such unworthy persons, I may with the same reason affirm of a degenerous passing over and concealing their base actions to bury them in silence, is to give them too honourable a funeral.

To what purpose is a ministry, if the ambassador of God must come with a tongue and conscience enslaved to the guilt and pleasure of an obnoxious auditory? when conscience must be reduced to that which