Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/84

 still to  preserve,  seek,  in  this  manner,  its  proper  interest? Does it regard  as  nothing,  the  displeasure  of  him  it  loves,  provided  its infidelities remain  unpunished? Does it  think  of  disputing,  like you every  day,  to  what  degree  it  may  safely  offend  him,  in  order to take  its  measures  accordingly,  and  then  allow  itself  every  transgression to  which  impunity  is  attached? Does it  see  nothing amiable in  its  God,  or  capable  of  attaching  the  heart,  but  his  chastisements? Were he  not  even  an  Almighty  and  an  avenging  God, would it  be  less  affected  by  his  infinite  mercies,  his  truth,  holiness, wisdom, fatherly  tenderness,  and  protection? Ah! lukewarm and infidel soul! thou lovest  him  no  longer:  thou  lovest,  thou  livest only for  thyself. The small  remains  of  fidelity,  which  still  keep thee from  sin,  are  nothing  but  a  fund  of  sloth,  timidity,  and  self-love. Thou wishest  to  live  in  peace  with  thyself:  thou  dreadest the embarrassments  of  a  passion,  and  the  remorse  of  a  sullied  conscience; iniquity  has  become  a  fatigue,  and  that  alone  displeases thee with  it. Thou lovest  thine  own  ease;  and  that  is  thy  sole religion. Indolence is  the  only  barrier  which  stops  thee,  and all thy  virtue  is  limited  to  thyself. Assuredly thou  wouldst wish to  know  whether  this  infidelity  be  a  venial  transgression,  or if  it  extends  farther. Thou acknowledgest,  that  it  displeases God, (for  that  point  admits  of  no  doubt,)  yet  is  that  not  sufficient to turn  thee  from  it? Thou wouldst  wish  to  know,  whether  it  so far  displeases  him  as  to  provoke  his  everlasting  wrath? Ah! thou seest  very  well,  that  this  investigation  tends  to  nothing  by thyself;  that  thy  disposition  leads  thee  to  think  guilt  nothing,  as an  offence  and  a  displeasure  to  God, — a  powerful  reason,  however, why it  should  be  detestable  to  thee;  that  thou  no  longer  servest the Lord  in  truth  and  in  charity;  that  thy  pretended  virtue  is  only a natural  timidity,  which  dares  not  expose  itself  to  the  terrible threatenings of  the  law;  that  thou  art  nothing  but  a  vile  and  wretched slave,  to  restrain  whom,  it  is  necessary  to  keep  scourges  continually in  thy  sight;  that  thou  resemblest  that  unfaithful  servant, who secreted  his  talent,  because  he  knew  that  his  master  was severe, and,  but  for  that  reason,  would  have  wasted  it  in  dissipation; and  that,  in  the  preparation  of  the  heart,  to  which  alone  the Almighty looketh,  thou  hatest  his  law:  thou  lovest  every  thing  it forbids;  thou  art  no  longer  in  charity;  thou  art  a  child  of  death and perdition.

The second  character  of  charity  is  to  be  timorous,  and  to  magnify to  ourselves  our  smallest  deviations;  not  that  charity  deceives or conceals  from  us  the  truth,  but,  disengaging  the  soul  from  the senses, it  purifies  our  view  of  faith,  and  renders  it  more  quick-sighted in spiritual  affairs;  and  besides,  whatever  is,  in  the  smallest  degree, displeasing  to  the  only  object  of  our  love,  appears  serious  and considerable to  the  soul  which  loves. Thus charity  is  always  humble, timid,  and  distrustful  of  itself;  unceasingly  agitated  by  its  pious perplexities, which  leave  it  in  suspense  respecting  its  real  state; always alarmed  by  those  delicacies  of  grace,  which  make  it  tremble at every  action;  which  make  a  kind  of  martyrdom  of  love,  from  the