rejection of himself, of what he said, and what he did? Who hath believed our report, and to whom hath the arm of the Lord been revealed? was a prophecy abundantly verified by their carriage to ward him. These and the like usages, which he perpetually did encounter, he constantly received without any passionate disturb ance of mind, any bitter reflections upon that generation, any revengeful enterprises against them; yea, requited them with continued earnestness of hearty desires, and laborious endeavours for their good. very remarkable instances? since that one scene of his most grievous (shall I say, or glorious) passion doth represent unto us a perfect and most lively image of the highest patience and meekness possible; of the greatest sorrow that ever was or could be, yet of a patience surmounting it; of the extremest malice. that ever was conceived, yet of a charity overswaying it; of injury most intolerable, yet of a meekness willingly and sweetly bearing it: there may we observe the greatest provocations from all hands to passionate animosity of spirit and intemperate heat of speech, yet no disWe might observe the ingrateful disre-covery of the least disorderly, angry, or spects of his own countrymen and kin dred toward him, which he passeth over without any greivous disdain; rather excusing it, by noting that entertainment to have been no peculiar accident to himself, but usual to all of like employment: No prophet (said he) is acceptable in his own country. We might also mention his patient suffering repulses from strangers; as when, being refused admittance into a Samaritan village, and his disciples, being incensed with that rude discourtesy, would have fire called down from heaven to consume those churls, he restrained their unadvised wrath, and thus expressed his admirable meekness: The Son of man is not come to destroy men's lives, but to save them. * revengeful thought, the least rash, bitter, or reproachful word; but all undergone with clearest serenity of mind, and sweetness of carriage toward all persons. To Judas, who betrayed him, how doth he address himself? Doth he use such terms as the man deserved, or as passion would have suggested, and reason would not have disallowed? Did he say, Thou most perfidious villain, thou monster of iniquity and ingratitude! thou desperately wicked wretch! dost thou, prompted by thy base covetousness, treacherously attempt to ruin thy gracious Master and [best Friend; thy most benign and bountiful Saviour? No; instead of such proper language, he useth the most courte ous and endearing terms: 'Elige, ¿q' úge; Friend (or companion) for what We might likewise remark his meek dost thou come? or what is thy business comporting with the stupid and perverse here? A tacit charitable warning there incredulity of his disciples, notwithstand-is to reflect upon his unworthy and wicking so many pregnant and palpable in- ed action, but nothing apparent of wrath ducements continually exhibited for con- or reproach. firmation of their faith,' the which he no otherwise than sometime gently admonisheth them of, saying, deihol to18, From his own disciples and servants, who had beheld his many miraculous works, and were indebted to him for the greatest favours, he reasonably might have expected a most faithful adherence and most diligent attendance on him in that juncture: yet he found them careless and slothful: What then? How did he take it? was he angry, did he upbraid, did he storm at them? did he threaten to discard them? No; he only first gently admonished them: What, could ye not watch one hour with me? then a little exciteth them, Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: he withal suggesteth an excuse for their | himself; such as did exactly correspond drowsiness and dulness; The spirit is to the ancient prophecies: He was opwilling, but the flesh is weak: in fine, he pressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened indulgeth to their weakness, letting them not his mouth: he was brought as a lamb alone, and saying, zubeúdere loinòr, Sleep to the slaughter, and as a sheep before on now, and take your rest. the shearer is dumb, so he opened not his When he foresaw they would be of-mouth; and, I gave my back to the fended at his (to appearance) disastrous smiters, and my cheeks to them that estate, and fearfully would desert him, plucked off the hair: I hid not my face he yet expressed no indignation against from shame and spitting." them, or decrease of affection toward Neither did the wrongful slanders dethem upon that score; but simply men-vised and alleged against him by suborntioneth it, as unconcerned in it, and noted witnesses, nor the virulent invectives affected thereby. And the unworthy apostacy of that disciple, whom he had especially favoured and dignified, he only did mildly forewarn him of, requiting it foreseen by the promise of his own effectual prayers for his support and recovery; and when St. Peter had committed that heinous fact, our good Lord only looked on him with an eye of charity and compassion, which more efficaciously struck him, than the most dreadful threat or sharp reprehension could have done: Peter thereupon went out and wept bitterly. When the high priest's officer, upon no reasonable occasion, did injuriously and ignominiously strike him, he returned only this mild expostulation: If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil; if well, why smilest thou mer that is, I advise thee to proceed in a fair and legal way against me, not to deal thus boisterously and wrongfully, to thy own harm. Even careful and tender he was of those who were the instruments of his suffering; he protected them from harm who conducted him to execution; as we sce in the case of the high priest's servant, whom (with more zeal than wherewith he ever regarded his own safety) he defended from the fury of his own friend, and cured of the wounds received in the way of persecuting himself." All his demeanour under that great trial was perfectly calm, not the least regret or reluctancy of mind, the least contradiction or obloquy of speech, appearing therein; such it was as became the Lamb of God, who was to take away the sins of the world, by a willing oblation of P Matt. xxvi. 31. 9 Luke xxii. 61, 62,—Ενέβλεψε τῷ Πέτρῳ. John xviii. 23; Cypr. Ep. 65. • Luke xxii. 51, &c. of the priests, nor the barbarous clamours of the people, nor the contemptuous spitting upon him and buffeting him, nor the cruel scourgings, nor the contumelious mockeries, nor all the bloody tortures inflicted upon him, wring from him one syllable importing any dissatisfaction in his case, any wrath conceived for his misusages, any grudge or ill-will in his mind toward his persecutors; but, on the contrary, instead of hatred and revenge, he declared the greatest kindness and charity toward them, praying heartily to God his Father for the pardon of their sins. Instead of aggravating their crime and injury against him, he did in a sort extenuate and excuse it by consideration of their ignorance and mistake: Father, said he, in the height of his sufferings, forgive them, for they know not what they do. The life they so violently bereaved him of, he did willingly mean to lay down for the ransom of their lives; the blood they spilt, he wished to be a salutary balsam for their wounds and maladies; he most cheerfully did offer himself by their hands a sacrifice for their offences. No small part of his afflictions was a sense of their so grievously displeasing God, and pulling mischief on their own heads, a foresight of his kind intentions, being frustrated by their obstinate incredulity and impenitence, a reflection upon that inevitable vengeance, which from the Divine justice would attend them; this foreseen, did work in him a distasteful sense (more grievous than what his own pain could produce), and drew from him tears of compassion (such as no resentment of his own case could extort ;) for, When he was come near, he beheld the city, and Isa. liii. 7. u Isa. 1. 6. ▾ Luke xxii. 34. wept over it, saying, O that thou hadst | his own dearest Son? Can we be disknown, even thou, at least in this thy day, pleased at a conformity to our Lord and the things which belong unto thy peace." If ever he did express any commotion of mind in reference to this matter, it was only then when one of his friends, out of a blind fondness of affection, did presume to dissuade him from undergoing these evils; then, indeed, being somewhat moved with indignation, he said to St. Peter, Get thee behind me Satan, for thou art an offence unto me: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men. Master? Can we, without shame, affect to live more splendidly, or to fare more deliciously than he chose to do? Shall we fret or wail, because our desires are crossed, our projects defeated, our interests any wise prejudiced; whenas his most earnest desires and his most painful endeavours had so little of due and desired success; when he was ever ready, and had so constant occasion to say, Let not my will be done? Can we despise that state of meanness and sorrow which he, from the highest sublimities of glory and beatitude, was pleased to stoop unto? Can we take ourselves for the want of any present conveniences or comforts to happiness was destitute of all such things, and scarce did ever taste of any worldly pleasure? Are we fit or worthy to be his disciples, if we will not take up his cross and follow him; if we will not go to his school, (that school wherein he is said himself to have learnt obedience,") if we will not con that lesson which he so loudly hath read out, and transcribe that copy which he so fairly hath set before us? Can we pretend to those great benefits, those high privileges, those rich and ex Neither was it out of a stupid insensibility or stubborn resolution, that he did thus behave himself; for he had a most vigorous sense of all those grievances, and a strong (natural) aversation from be wretched, whenas the fountain of all undergoing them; as those dolorous agonies wherewith he struggled, those deadly groans he uttered, those monstrous lumps of blood he sweat out, those earnest prayers he made to be freed from them, declare; but from a perfect submission to the Divine will, and entire command over his passions, an excessive charity towards mankind, this patient and meek behaviour did spring: The cup which my Father hath given me, shall I not drink it? O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; never-cellent rewards, which he hath attained theless not as I will, but as thou wilt; let not my will, but thine be done. No man taketh away my life, but I lay it down of my own accord. I will give my flesh for the life of the world. So doth our Lord himself express the true grounds of his passion and his patience. Such is the example of our Lord: the serious consideration whereof, how can it otherwise than work patience and meekness in us? If he, that was the Lord of glory (infinitely excellent in dignity and virtue), did so readily embrace, did so contentedly endure such extremities of penury, hardship, disgrace, and pain, how can we refuse them, or repine at them? Can we pretend to a better lot than he received, or presume that God must deal better with us than he did with Luke xix. 41; xiii. 34. y Matt. xxvi. 37, 38; Luke xxii. 44; John xii. 27; Matt. xxvi. 39; Heb. v. 7. John xviii. 11; Matt. xxvi. 39; Luke xxii. 42; John x. 18; vi. 51. for us, and which he proposeth to us, if we will not go on towards them in that way of patience which he hath trod before us? Can we also, if we consider him that endured such contradiction of sinners,a be transported with any wrathful or revengeful passion, upon any provocation from our brethren? Can we hope or wish for better usage from men than our Lord did ever find? Can we be much displeased with any man for thwarting our desires or interests, for dissenting from our conceits, for crossing our humors, whenas he, to whom all respect and observance was due, did meet with so little regard or compliance in any way; continually did encounter repulses, disappointments, oppositions, from Quam gravis causa sit hominis Christiani servum pati nolle, cum prior passus sit Dominus, &c.—Cypr. Ep. 56. Luke xiv. 27; ix. 23; Matt. x. 38; xvi. 24. b Heb. v. 8. Heb. ii. 9, 10; Phil. ii. 9. d Heb. xi. 3. Can to bear the infirmities of our brethren, to forgive any small wrongs or offences from them; whatever they do to us, to love them, and do them what good we can? If so admirable a pattern of patience, and meekness so immense, cannot, what is there that can, oblige or move us?* I conclude with those doxologies to our so patient and meek Redeemer :* the perverse and spiteful world? we be very jealous of our credit, or furious when our imaginary honour (honour that we never really deserved or can justly claim, being guilty of so many great faults and sins) is touched with the least disgraceful reflection, if we do well observe and mind that most truly, and indeed only honourable personage (only honourable, because only innocent person) that ever was, had his reputation aspersed by the most odious reproaches which deepest envy and malice could devise, without any grievous resentiment, or being solicitous otherwise to assert or clear it than by a constant silence? Can we be exasperated by every petty affront (real or supposed), when the most noble, most courteous, most obliging person that ever breathed upon earth, was treacherously exposed to violence by his own servant, shamefully deserted by his own most beloved friends, despitefully treated by those whom he never had offended, by those upon whom he had heaped the greatest benefits, without expressing any anger or displeasure against them, but yielding many signal testimonies of tenderest pity and love toward them? Can we see our Lord treated like a slave and a thief, without any disturbance or commotion of heart; and we, vile wretches, upon every slight occasion, swell with fierce disdain, pour forth reproachful language, execute horrible mischief upon our brethren? He indeed was surrounded with injuries and affronts; every sin, that since the foundation of things hath been committed, was an offence against him and a burden upon him (God laid upon him the iniquities of us all ;) so many declared enemies, so many rebels, so many persecutors, so many murderers he had as there have lived men in the world for every sinner did in truth conspire to his affliction and destruction; we all in effect did betray him, did accuse him, did mock, did scourge, did pierce, and crucify him; yet he forgave all offences, he died for all persons; while we are yet enemies, yet sinners, he died for us, to rescue us from death and misery and shall we not then, in imitation of him, for his dear sake, in gratitude, respect, and obedience to him, be ready Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing. Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and to the Lamb for ever and ever. Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen. SERMON XLIII. REJOICE EVERMORE. 1 THESS. V. 16.—Rejoice evermore. Rejoice evermore! O good apostle, how acceptable rules dost thou prescribe ! O blessed God, how gracious laws dost thou impose! This is a rule, to which one would think all men should be forward to conform; this is a law, which it may seem strange that any man should find in his heart to disobey: for what can any soul desire more than to be always on the merry pin, or to lead a life in continual alacrity? would not embrace a duty, the observance whereof is not only pleasant, but pleasure itself? Who is so wild as to affect a sin, which hath nothing in it but disease and disgust? Who readily That joy should be enjoined, that sadness should be prohibited, may it not be a plausible exception against such a precept, that it is superfluous and needless, seeing all the endeavours of men do aim at nothing else but to procure joy and eschew sorrow; seeing all men do conspire in opinion with Solomon, that a man *Rependamus illi patientiam, quam pro nobis ipse dependit.-Tert. de Pat. 16. Apoc. v. 12, 13; i. 5, 6. hath nothing better under the sun than- So it may seem; but yet, alas! if we consult experience, or observe the world, we shall find this precept very ill obeyed: for do we not commonly see people in heavy dumps? do we not often hear doleful complaints? is not this world apparently a stage of continual trouble and grief? Did not the Preacher, upon a diligent survey of all the works done under the sun, truly proclaim, Behold all is vanity and vexation of spirit? Where, I pray, is any full or firm content? where is solid and durable joy to be found? or in fumes and vapours twitching the imagination, do soon flag and expire; their short enjoyment being also tempered with regret, being easily dashed by any cross accident, soon declining into a nauseous satiety, and in the end degenerating into gall and bitter remorse; for, Even (as Solomon observed) in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is heaviness: and, Though, as it is said in Job (ch. xx. ver. 12, 14, 20), wickedness is sweet in the mouthyet his meat in his bowels is turned, it is the gall of asps within him :* so that indeed the usual delights which men affect are such, that we should not if we could, and we could not if we would, constantly entertain them; such rejoicing evermore being equally unreasonable and impossible. Wherefore there is ground more than enough, that we should be put to seek for a true, substantial, and consistent joy; it being withal implied, that we should effect it in another way, or look for it in another box, than commonly men do; who therefore are so generally disappointed, because they would have it upon impossible or undue terms, and least expect it there, where it is only to be had. It is true that men, after a confused manner, are very eager in the quest and earnest in the pursuit of joy; they rove through all the forests of creatures, and beat every bush of nature for it, hoping to catch it either in natural endowments and improvements of soul, or in the gifts of fortune, or in the acquists of industry; in temporal possessions, in sensual enjoyments, in ludicrous divertisements and amusements of fancy; in gratification of their appetites and passions; they all hunt for it, though following a different It is a scandalous misprision, vulgarly scent, and running in various tracks: admitted, concerning religion, that it is some in way of plodding for rare notions; altogether sullen and sour, requiring a some in compassing ambitious projects; dull, lumpish, morose kind of life, barring some in amassing heaps of wealth; some all delight, all mirth, all good humour; in practice of overreaching subtilties; whereas, on the contrary, it alone is the some in wreaking their malice, their never-failing source of true, pure, steady revenge, their envy; some in venting joy; such as is deeply rooted in the frothy conceits, bitter scoffs, or profane heart, immoveably founded in the reason railleries; some in jovial conversation of things, permanent like the immortal and quaffing the full bowls; some in music and dancing; some in gallantry and courting; some in all kinds of riotous excess and wanton dissoluteness; so each in his way doth incessantly prog for joy; but all much in vain; or without any considerable success; finding at most, instead of it, some faint shadows, or transitory flashes of pleasure, the which, depending on causes very contingent and mutable, residing in a frail temper of fluid humours of body, consisting in slight touches upon the organs of sense, in frisks of the corporeal spirits, spirit wherein it dwelleth, and like the eternal objects whereon it is fixed, which is not apt to fade or cloy; and is not subject to any impressions apt to corrupt or impair it: whereas, in our text, and in many texts parallel to it, we see, that our religion doth not only allow us, but even doth oblige us to be joyful, as much and often as can be, not permitting us to be sad for one minute, banishing the least fit of melancholy, charging us in all times, upon all occasions, to be cheerful; * Sunt quædam tristes voluptates,-Sen. Ep. 67.-Quaquaversum se verterit anima hominis, ad dolores figitur alibi, præterquam in te,-Aug. Cons. iv. 10. Prov. xiv. 13. |