LECTURE XXV.

DEPRESSION OF SPIRITS IN SEASONS OF AFFLICTION.

JOB XXIII. 1-3.

THEN JOB ANSWERED AND SAID, EVEN TO-DAY IS MY COMPLAINT BITTER; MY STROKE IS HEAVIER, THAN MY GROANING. OH, THAT I KNEW WHERE I MIGHT FIND HIM! THAT I MIGHT COME EVEN TO HIS SEAT!

HAPPY are they who are never constrained to adopt this, or similar language of despondency. Happy indeed are they, who under every stroke, through every change and trial, are supported and comforted, rendered perfectly submissive, and preserved from every bitter complaint. Happy, thrice happy, are they who, having been reconciled to God, continue to walk so closely with him, as on every occasion to find immediate access to the mercy-seat, and obtain grace to help in every time of need. Comparatively few, however, if any, even of those whose hearts have been renewed, whose faith in the divine promises is strong, whose love of the divine character is ardent, whose submission to the divine will is cordial, whose obedience to the divine law is sincere and habitual; comparatively few of these devoted servants of God, are so completely sanctified, and enabled to keep their Christian graces in such full and constant exercise, as to enjoy

this uninterrupted happiness, this privilege of angels, this felicity of heaven.

Job is presented to us as a good man, a man of eminent piety and distinguished benevolence. By an apostle of our Lord he is celebrated for his exemplary patience, and by the inspired author of the book, which bears his name, he is declared to have been "a perfect and upright man." Improving the light which was given him, he had learned to "fear God and eschew evil." Through the anticipated mediation of the Son of God, the Lamb, slain from the foundation of the world, he had been reconciled to God. Believing the promise of a Saviour to come; trusting, that at the latter day his Redeemer would stand upon the earth, he was waiting for this consolation of Israel, walking by faith and living in habitual obedience. But notwithstanding his permanent principles, established character and prevailing hopes, he was still subject to depression of spirits. In a season of heavy and complicated afflictions, he experienced that distress of mind, which dictated the desponding language of our

text.

Now "as in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man." Those, therefore, who have obtained like precious faith and similar habitual submission with Job, may with him experience seasons of darkness and distress. Especially when, like him, they are overwhelmed with sudden calamity, they may for a time forget their refuge, and lie "under the hidings of God's face;" deprived of the light of his countenance, covered with darkness, bewildered by doubts, cut off from the mercy-seat, driven almost to despair. Thus, having the same leading views, possessing the same general character, and passing through the same state of trial, the pious in every age

may experience the same temporary darkness and distress, with this ancient servant of God; and with propriety adopt his lamentation: "Even to-day is my complaint bitter; my stroke is heavier than my groaning. Oh, that I knew where I might find him! that I might come even to his seat!"

This language, however, is not exclusively applicable to the children of God. Even impenitent sinners, who are yet destitute of saving faith, unreconciled to God and without hope in the world, may in seasons of sorrow and conviction have feelings, so far resembling those of Job, as to appropriate to themselves his language, and with truth repeat the declarations in the text. Indeed a part of these declarations will always be found strikingly appropriate to afflicted sinners. For when their earthly expectations fail, when distress and anguish come upon them, when they find vanity inscribed on everything below the skies, their complaint must be peculiarly bitter, and their "stroke heavier than they can bear." Although they have no love, either for the divine character or law, nor any correct views of that happiness, which flows from communion with God; yet finding that all earthly comforts fail; and looking about them for something to soothe their aching hearts and support their sinking spirits, their attention may be arrested by the exceedingly great and precious promises of the gospel. Having learned by experience, that the pleasures and riches and honors of the world are unsatisfying and transitory, they may feel a sincere, though yet indefinite desire to become interested in the promises and consolations of the gospel. If they have any faint conceptions of a merciful God, any indistinct apprehensions of a mercy-seat, will they not wish to find that God, and obtain access to that mercy-seat? will

they not say: "Oh, that I knew where I might find him! that I might come even to his seat?"

Let us, therefore, consider the language of the text more particularly, first in its primary application to imperfect saints, and then in its secondary application to impenitent sinners.

I. Various are the trials under which, and frequent the occasions on which, this desponding language may express the feelings even of the eminently pious. A recollection of Job's situation, when he uttered it, will naturally lead us to the contemplation of some of them. It is not necessary for this purpose, however, to repeat the history, which minutely records his complicated afflictions. For it is already familiar to the mind of every reader of the Bible. He had been suddenly stripped of all his substance. His children had gone down to the grave, in a moment. He had been smitten with sore boils from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head. The great adversary of man had assailed him with all his tempting arts. The wife of his bosom had provoked him to curse his God. And even his three pious friends who came to visit and comfort him, instead of administering consolation, had, by mistaking his character and charging him with hy. pocrisy, aggravated his grief.

Thus overwhelmed by successive calamities, and sunk in the abyss of sorrow; thus reduced to a state of penury, bereaved, at once, of all his children, distracted by pain, assailed by the tempter, and even misrepresented and reproached by his friends, this pious man seems for a moment to have lost his confidence and hope. He, who had with submission said, "the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord;" he, who had with confidence said, "though he slay me, yet will I trust in him;" he,

who had with assurance said, "I know, that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth; and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself, and mine eye shall behold, and not another;" he, who had been thus submissive, thus confident, thus full of faith and hope, was at this time bewildered by doubts, shut up in darkness, cut off from the mercy-seat, unable to find his God. "Even to-day," said he, "is my complaint bitter; my stroke is heavier, than my groaning. Oh, that I knew, where I might find him! that I might come even to his seat!" "Behold I go forward, but he is not there, and backward, but I cannot perceive him; on the left hand, where he doth work, but I cannot behold him; he hideth himself on the right hand, that I cannot see him."

How many, like Job, under similar trials, have experienced similar depression of spirit! Often have we, who are called by our professional duty to visit the sick, and the afflicted seen those, who had given the best evidence of a Christian temper, a Christian character and a Christian hope, left for a season in darkness. Often have we found them, like the pious author of our text, depressed in spirit, and deprived of hope. Often have we heard them, repeating the language of the text, or the no less affecting language, in which the pious Psalmist records his experiences of darkness and distress: "Lord, why castest thou off my soul? why hidest thou thy face from me? I am af flicted and ready to die from my youth up; while I suffer thy terrors I am distracted:"-" Give ear to my prayer, O God, and hide not thyself from my supplication. Attend unto me and hear me; I mourn in my complaint and make a noise:"-" My heart is sore