Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/80

 sion, where,  in  spite  of  all  your  self-indulgence,  you  find  it  so difficult  to  prove  that  the  will  has  not  accompanied  the  gratification, and  that  you  have  not  overstepped  that  critical  and  dangerous line which  distinguishes  actual  guilt  from  involuntary  error:  you, in whom  almost  every  action  is  suspicious;  who  every  moment may be  demanding  at  your  own  heart,  a  Have  I  not  gone  too  far  }" who,  in  your  own  conscience,  feel  movements  and  regrets  which you  will  never  quiet:  you,  who,  in  spite  of  so  many  just  subjects of  dread,  believe  the  state  of  your  conscience  to  be  perfectly known  to  you;  that  the  decisions  of  your  own  self-love,  with  regard to  your  infidelities,  are  the  decisions  of  the  Almighty;  and that  the  Lord,  whom  you  serve  with  so  much  coldness  and  negligence, does  not  yield  you  up  to  your  own  blindness,  and  punish your  crimes,  by  making  you  mistake  them:  you  can  possibly believe  that  you  still  preserve  your  righteousness,  and  the  grace of  sanctification,  and  can  quiet  yourselves  upon  your  visible  and habitual  guilt,  by  a  pretended  invisible  exercise  of  righteousness, of  which  you  can  produce  neither  mark  nor  proof?

O man! how little  art  thou  acquainted  with  the  illusions  of  the human heart,  and  the  terrible  judgments  of  God  upon  those  souls which resemble  thee! Thou sayest  to  thyself,  I  am  rich,  I  am loaded  with  the  good  things  of  this  world;  (with  this  our  Saviour formerly  reproached  a  cold  and  unbelieving  soul;)  and  thou  perceivest  not,  continued  he,  (for  blindness  and  presumption  are  the distinguishing  character  of  coldness,)  that  in  my  sight,  thou  art poor, miserable,  blind,  and  lost  to  every  thing. It is  the  destiny, therefore, of  a  lukewarm  and  unfaithful  soul,  to  live  in  error  and illusion; to  believe  himself  just  and  acceptable  to  God,  while,  alas! before him,  he  is  lost,  without  knowing  it,  to  both  grace  and  righteousness.

And one  reflection,  which  I  beg  you  to  make  here,  is,  that  the confidence of  such  souls  is  so  much  the  more  illusive  and  ill-founded, as there  exists  not  a  soul  less  capable  of  judging  of  his  own  heart than the  lukewarm  and  unfaithful  one. For the  avowed  sinner cannot conceal  his  crimes  from  himself;  and  he  is  sensible  that  he must  assuredly  be  dead  to  the  Lord. The just  man,  although  ignorant whether  he  merits  the  love  or  hatred  of  his  Master,  enjoys, nevertheless, a  conscience  free  from  reproach. But the  cold  and unfaithful soul  is  involved  in  a  state  of  continual  and  inexplicable mystery to  itself;  for  this  lukewarmness  in  the  ways  of  God,  enfeebling in  us  the  lights  of  faith,  and  strengthening  our  passions, increases our  darkness. Every infidelity  is  like  an  additional  cloud, overspreading the  mind  and  heart,  which  darkens  to  our  sight  the truths of  salvation. In this  manner  the  heart  is  gradually  enveloped, the  conscience  becomes  embarrassed,  the  lights  of  the  mind are weakened;  you  are  no  longer  that  spiritual  Christian,  capable of a  proper  judgment. Insensibly you  adopt  maxims  in  secret, which, as  you  think,  diminish  your  guilt;  the  blindness  increases in the  same  proportion  as  the  lukewarmness.

The more  you  admit  of  this  relaxation,  in  a  more  altered  light  do