Faithful: Well, if you will not, will you give me leave
to do it?
Talkative: You
may use your liberty.
Faithful: A work
of grace in the soul discovereth itself, either to him that hath it, or to
standers-by.
To him that hath
it, thus: It gives him conviction of sin, especially the defilement of his
nature, and the sin of unbelief, for the sake of which he is sure to be damned,
if he findeth not mercy at God’s hand, by faith in Jesus Christ. This sight and
sense of things worketh in him sorrow and shame for sin. He
findeth, moreover, revealed in him the Saviour of the world, and the absolute
necessity of closing with him for life; at the which he findeth hungerings and
thirstings after him; to which hungerings, etc., the promise is made. Now,
according to the strength or weakness of his faith in his Saviour, so is his
joy and peace, so is his love to holiness, so are his desires to know him more,
and also to serve him in this world. But though, I say, it discovereth itself
thus unto him, yet it is but seldom that he is able to conclude that this is a
work of grace; because his corruptions now, and his abused reason, make his
mind to misjudge in this matter: therefore in him that hath this work there is
required a very sound judgment, before he can with steadiness conclude that
this is a work of grace.
To others it is
thus discovered:
1. By an
experimental confession of his faith in Christ. 2. By a life answerable to that
confession; to wit, a life of holiness-heart-holiness, family-holiness, (if he
hath a family,) and by conversation-holiness in the world; which in the general
teacheth him inwardly to abhor his sin, and himself for that, in secret; to
suppress it in his family, and to promote holiness in the world: not by talk
only, as a hypocrite or talkative person may do, but by a practical subjection
in faith and love to the power of the word. And now, sir, as to this brief
description of the work of grace, and also the discovery of it, if you have
aught to object, object; if not, then give me leave to propound to you a second
question.
Talkative: Nay,
my part is not now to object, but to hear; let me, therefore, have your second
question.
Faithful: It is
this: Do you experience this first part of the description of it; and doth your
life and conversation testify the same? Or standeth your religion in word or
tongue, and not in deed and truth? Pray, if you incline to answer me in this,
say no more than you know the God above will say Amen to, and also nothing but
what your conscience can justify you in; for not he that commendeth himself is
approved, but whom the Lord commendeth. Besides, to say I am thus and thus,
when my conversation, and all my neighbors, tell me I lie, is great wickedness.
Then Talkative at
first began to blush; but, recovering himself, thus he replied: You come now to
experience, to conscience, and to God; and to appeal to him for justification
of what is spoken. This kind of discourse I did not expect; nor am I disposed
to give an answer to such questions, because I count not myself bound thereto,
unless you take upon you to be a catechiser; and though you should so do, yet I
may refuse to make you my judge. But I pray, will you tell me why you ask me
such questions?
Faithful: Because
I saw you forward to talk, and because I knew not that you had aught else but
notion. Besides, to tell you all the truth, I have heard of you that you are a
man whose religion lies in talk, and that your conversation gives this your
mouth-profession the lie. They say you are a spot among Christians, and that
religion fareth the worse for your ungodly conversation; that some have already
stumbled at your wicked ways, and that more are in danger of being destroyed
thereby: your religion, and an ale-house, and covetousness, and uncleanness,
and swearing, and lying, and vain company-keeping, etc., will stand together.
The proverb is true of you which is said of a harlot, to wit, “That she is a
shame to all women:” so are you a shame to all professors.
Talkative: Since
you are so ready to take up reports, and to judge so rashly as you do, I cannot
but conclude you are some peevish or melancholy man, not fit to be discoursed
with; and so adieu.
Then up came
Christian, and said to his brother, I told you how it would happen; your words
and his lusts could not agree. He had rather leave your company than reform his
life. But he is gone, as I said: let him go; the loss is no man’s but his own.
He has saved us the trouble of going from him; for he continuing (as I suppose
he will do) as he is, would have been but a blot in our company: besides, the
apostle says, “From such withdraw thyself.”
