Thou leavest to those souls who depart from Thy paths, since, in order to draw them to virtue, Thou makest a means even of their crimes; and employest their wants to recall them to Thy eternal mercies.

Now to God, &c.

SERMON IV.

THE UNCERTAINTY OF RIGHTEOUS-
NESS IN A STATE OF LUKE-
WARMNESS.

LUKE iv. 38.

And he rose out of the Synagogue, and entered into Simon's house and Simon's wife's mother was taken with a great fever; and they besought him for her.

NOTHING more naturally represents the situation of a languid and lukewarm soul, than the state of infirmity in which the gospel here describes the mother-in-law of Peter. It may be said, that coldness and indolence in the paths of God, though otherwise accompanied with a life free from enormities, is a kind of secret and dangerous fever, which gradually undermines the powers of the soul, changes all its good dispositions, weakens its faculties, insensibly corrupts its inward parts, alters its propensities, spreads an universal bitterness over all its duties, disgusts it with every thing Vol. I.

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proper, with all holy and necessary nourishment; and finishes at last, by a total extinction, and an inevitable death.

This languor of the soul, in the path of salvation, is so much the more dangerous, as it is less observed.

Our exemption from open disorder gives us confidence; the external regularity of conduct, which attracts from men those praises due only to virtue, flatters us; and the secret comparison we make of our morals with the excesses of those avowed sinners, whom the world and their passions govern, finishes the delusion. We regard our situation as a state, less perfect indeed, but always certain of salvation, as our conscience can only reproach us with indolence and negligence in the discharge of our duties, too lenient a correction of our appetites, self-love, and some slight infidelities, which do not bring death to the soul. Nevertheless, since the holy writings represent the adulterous and the lukewarm soul as equally rejected by God; and as they pronounce the same anathema against those who despise the works of the Lord, and those who perform them with negligence; this state of coldness' and languor in the path of God, must necessarily be very doubtful of salvation, both from the present dispositions which it gives to the soul, and from those to which, sooner or later, it never fails to lead it.

I say, in the first place, from the present dispositions it gives to the soul; namely, a fund of indolence, self love, disgust to virtue, infidelity, and deliberate disregard to every thing we believe not absolutely essential in our duties; dispositions, that form a state, in which we ought to be very doubtful of salvation.

Secondly, from those to which, sooner or later, lukewarmness conducts us; namely, forgetfulness of God,

and an open and shameful departure from every thing sacred.

From these I wish to establish two principal truths in this matter, which expose the danger of a lukewarm and infidel life; and which, from their importance, will furnish us with subjects for two different discourses. The first, That it is very doubtful, whether, in this habitual state of coldness and languor, the lukewarm soul preserves (as it believes) that righteousness and sanctifying grace upon which it grounds its security.

The second, That were it even less doubtful, whether it had preserved or lost before God, the sanctifying grace; at any rate, it is certain of being unable long to preserve it.

The uncertainty of righteousness in a state of lukewarmness-This first truth will be the subject of the present discourse.

The certainty of a departure from righteousness in that state, is the second truth, upon which, in the following one, I shall endeavour to instruct you.

PART I. "If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us," says an Apostle. The purest virtue below is never free, therefore, from stain. Man, full of darkness and passions, since the entrance of sin into the world, cannot always be so attentive to regularity, but that he must sometimes err, and be deceived; nor so impressed with true, although invisible good, but he will allow himself to be sometimes caught by worldly and ostensible riches; because their impressions on the mind are lively and quick, and they always find in our hearts dispositions too favourable to their dangerous seductions.

The fidelity which the law of God exacts from just souls, excludes not, therefore, a thousand imperfections inseparable from our nature, and from which the most guarded and watchful piety cannot defend itself; but of these, there are two descriptions. The first, which happen through our weakness, are not so much infidelities as surprises, where the weight of corruption preponderates over the inclination and will; and which the Lord, says St. Augustine, permits to remain in the most faithful souls, in order to nourish their humility, excite their lamentations, re-animate their desires, their disgust to their present state of exile, and their longings for its termination: The second class are those which please us, which we justify to ourselves, which it appears impossible for us to renounce, which we look upon as necessary sweeteners of virtue, in which we see nothing criminal, because we perceive not the guilt; which form a part of the deliberate and general system of our morals and conduct, and constitute that state of indolence and coldness in the ways of God, which is the cause of condemnation to so many, born otherwise, perhaps, with principles of virtue, detestation of iniquity, a fund of religion, a fear of God, and happy dispositions for salvation.

Now, I say, that this state of relaxation and infidelity; this tranquil and continued negligence of every thing which perhaps appears not essential in our duties; this effeminate indulgence of all our desires, so long as they offer not actual guilt to our sight; in a word, this course of life, according to our animal nature, our humours, temperaments, and self love, so common with those who make a public profession of piety; so safe in appearance, so glorious even in the eyes of men, and to which the general error attaches the names of virtue and regulari