Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/91

 stant proof  of  love  and  fidelity;  and  the  servant  who  improves  his talent, must  necessarily  be  recompensed  in  proportion  to  the  profit he has  known  how  to  reap  from  it. It is  just,  on  the  contrary, that a  lukewarm  and  unfaithful  heart,  who  serves  his  God  with negligence and  disgust,  should  find  the  Almighty  cold  and  disgusted toward  him. The misery  inseparable  from  coldness  is  therefore the privation  of  the  grace  of  protection. If you  become  cold,  the Almighty becomes  so  toward  you;  if  you  limit  yourself  with regard to  him,  to  those  essential  duties  which  you  cannot  refuse him without  guilt,  he  confines  himself  with  regard  to  you,  to  those general succours  which  will  not  support  you  far. He retires  from you in  proportion  as  you  retire  from  him;  and  the  measure  of fidelity  with  which  you  serve  him,  is  the  measure  of  protection  you may expect  to  receive.

Nothing can  be  more  equitable  than  this  conduct;  for  you  enter into judgment  with  your  God. You neglect  every  opportunity where you  might  give  him  proofs  of  your  fidelity:  you  dispute every thing  with  him,  of  which  you  think  you  could  avoid  the  payment;  you  carefully  watch  lest  you  do  any  thing  for  him  beyond what duty  requires. It appears  you  say  to  him,  what  he  formerly said to  the  unfaithful  servant,  Take  that  thine  is,  and  go  thy  way. You reckon  with  God,  as  I  may  say. All your  attention  is  engaged in prescribing  limits  to  the  right  he  has  over  your  heart;  and  all his attention  likewise,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  speak  in  this  manner, is  to  put  bounds  to  his  mercies  to  your  soul,  and  to  pay  your indifference with  the  same. Love is  the  price  of  love  alone;  and if you  do  not  sufficiently  feel  all  the  terror  and  extent  of  this  truth, allow me  to  explain  to  you  its  consequences.

The first  is,  that  this  state  of  lukewarmness  and  infidelity  removing the  soul  from  the  grace  of  protection,  leaves  him,  as  I  may say, empty  of  God,  and  in  the  hands,  as  it  were,  of  his  own  weakness. He may,  undoubtedly,  with  the  common  succours  left  him, still preserve  the  fidelity  he  owes  to  God. He has  always  enough to support  him  in  well-doing;  but  his  lukewarmness  deprives  him of the  ability  to  apply  them  to  any  purpose;  that  is  to  say,  that he is  still  aided  by  those  succours  which  may  enable  him  to  go  on, but no  longer  by  those  with  which  he  may  infallibly  persevere; there is  no  peril,  therefore,  in  this  situation,  but  makes  a  dangerous impression upon  him,  and  leads  him  to  the  brink  of  ruin.

I grant,  that  a  happy  natural  disposition,  some  remains  of  modesty, and  fear  of  God,  a  conscience  still  afraid  of  guilt,  and  a reputation  to  preserve,  may  for  some  time  defend  him  against  himself; but  as  these  resources,  drawn  mostly  from  nature,  cannot extend far;  as  the  sensual  objects,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  lives, make every  day  new  wounds  in  his  heart,  and  grace,  less  abundant, repairs not  the  loss, — alas! his strength  exhausts  every  moment, faith relaxes,  and  truth  is  obscured;  the  more  he  advances,  the worse he  becomes. Such souls  feel  perfectly,  that  they  no longer  retire  from  the  world  and  its  dangers,  equally  innocent  as formerly;  that  they  carry  their  weaknesses  and  compliance  much