Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/92

 farther: that  they  encroach  upon  limits  which  they  formerly respected: that  loose  conversations  find  them  more  indulgent,  evil-speaking  more  favourable,  pleasure  less  guarded,  and  the  world more anxious  for  it;  that  they  bring  into  it  a  heart  already  half-gained;  that  they  are  sensible  of  their  losses,  but  feel  nothing  to repair  them: — in  a  word,  that  God  is  almost  withdrawn  from  them, and there  is  no  longer  any  barrier  but  their  own  weakness,  between guilt and  them. Behold the  situation  in  which  you  are,  and  from that judge  of  the  one  in  which  you  will  soon  be.

I know  that  this  state  of  relaxation  and  infidelity  troubles  and disturbs you;  that  you  say  every  day,  that  nothing  can  bestow greater happiness  than  a  detachment  from  every  thing  worldly; and that  you  envy  the  destiny  of  those  Christians  who  give  themselves up  to  God  without  reserve,  and  no  longer  keep  any  terms with the  world. But you  are  deceived:  it  is  not  the  faith  or  the fervour of  these  faithful  Christians  you  envy;  you  only  covet  their lot, that  happiness  and  peace  which  they  enjoy  in  the  service  of their  Master,  and  which  you  are  incapable  of  partaking;  you  only envy them  that  insensibility  and  happy  indifference  to  which  they have attained  for  the  world  and  every  thing  it  esteems,  your  love for which  occasions  all  your  troubles,  remorses,  and  secret  anguish: but you  envy  them  not  the  sacrifices  they  were  under  the  necessity of making,  to  arrive  at  their  present  state  of  tranquillity;  you  envy them not  the  trials  they  have  undergone,  in  order  to  merit  the  precious gift  of  a  lively  and  fervent  faith;  you  envy  the  happiness  of their  state,  but  you  would  not  wish  it  to  cost  you  the  illusion  and sensuality of  your  own.

The second  consequence  I  draw  from  the  refusal  of  the  grace of protection  to  the  lukewarm  Christian,  is,  that  the  yoke  of  our Saviour, to  him,  becomes  burdensome,  hard,  and  insupportable. For, my  brethren,  by  the  irregularity  of  our  nature,  having  lost all taste  for  righteousness  and  truth,  which,  in  a  state  of  innocence, formed  the  happiness  of  man,  we  no  longer  have  any  feeling or  desire  but  for  objects  which  gratify  the  senses  and  passions. The duties  of  the  law  of  God,  which  recall  us  from  the  senses  to the  spirit,  and  make  us  sacrifice  the  present  impressions  of  pleasure to  the  hope  of  future  promises: — these  duties,  I  say,  presently fatigue our  weakness,  because  they  are  continual  efforts  we  make against ourselves. It requires  the  unction  of  grace,  therefore,  to soften  the  yoke;  it  is  necessary  that  grace  spread  secret  consolations over  its  bitterness,  and  change  the  sadness  of  duty  into  a holy  and  sensible  joy. Now, the  lukewarm  soul,  deprived  of  this unction, feels  only  the  weight  of  the  yoke,  without  the  consolations which soften  it. In this  manner,  all  the  duties  of  piety  and  religion become  insipid  to  you;  works  of  salvation  become  wearisome; your conscience,  restless  and  embarrassed  by  your  relaxations  and infidelities, of  which  you  cannot  justify  the  innocence,  no  longer allows you  to  enjoy  either  peace  or  happiness  in  the  service  of  God. You feel  all  the  weight  of  the  duties  to  which  some  remains  of faith,  and  love  of  ease,  hinder  you  from  being  unfaithful;   but