Christian Mercy Explained & Enforced 2

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II. The PROPERTIES of Christian mercy.

1. Mercy is supported and directed by the principles of the New Testament, and not merely by the force of natural feeling. It will be remembered that I am now speaking of 'Christian mercy'—or, in other words, of that compassion which is represented in the Word of God, as the work of the Divine Spirit, which supposes the previous existence of the Christian character, and which is urged by considerations peculiar to the gospel. The renewed mind of a believer is represented, in the figurative language of the Scripture, as the garden of the Lord; and all the holy virtues of sanctification as the fruits and flowers which, by a heavenly agency, have been planted in it. Between these 'holy virtues'—and the 'natural virtues of the unrenewed heart' there is a considerable resemblance, as there is between the wild plants of nature—and plants of the same species when removed to the garden, and placed beneath care and skill. I admit there is much mercy, much amiable compassion, shedding their fragrance and yielding their fruits in the wilderness of corrupt nature; refreshing the weary by the former, and by the latter satisfying the needs of the hungry.

We have sometimes the melancholy spectacle to see a man whom a whole village or a town unites to bless, because he has been eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame, and a father to the poor, and has fed the hungry, and clothed the naked, and healed the sick, and caused the widow's heart to sing for joy; to see such a man—because he has not erected his mercy seat, like that in the temple, upon the Rock of God's choice—swept away with the refuse of the earth, and the wreck of nations who know not God. I pretend not to determine what effect 'natural loveliness of disposition' without saving religion may have in lessening the torments of hell, but if there be any truth in the Scripture—it will not elevate to the joys of heaven. A deist, or an atheist, may be of a merciful disposition, but will this save him? One feels a reluctance in applying the denunciatory parts of revealed truth to men, who, though they are apparently destitute of all real religion, possess everything else that can adorn humanity, and render them the blessing of mankind; and yet when so many are perpetually told, and so readily believe the assertion, that 'charity is a passport to the skies', it would be cruel if those who know the reality and consequences of the delusion, were to be silent, and not to declare that—the most amiable and diffusive benevolence, if unaccompanied by the essentials of true religion, will leave a man after all within the flood of divine vengeance, where he will be swallowed up by its approaching tide.

Paul expressly declares that though a man gives all his goods to feed the poor, and has not love—that is, love to God, leading to a proper regard of our fellow-creatures—he is nothing. Many have deluded themselves on this subject by the dreadful perversion of a passage of inspired truth, which utters a sentiment the most remote from that which it has been made to promulgate. "Charity," say these people, "shall cover the multitude of sins." Now, by charity, here, is meant love; and the sentiment contained in the expression is nothing more than that love will conceal with a friendly covering, instead of publishing to the world, a multitude of imperfections in those we regard. This is its true meaning. If it meant that God accepts those people who whose alms-deeds outweigh their crimes—it would justify all the vile and horrid hypocrisy of the darkest age of popery, when to build a church or found a monastery was declared by lying priests to the murderer or adulterer, to be a sufficient expiation for all the crimes of the most impure or bloody life; for if lesser acts of benevolence will cover lesser sins, there are no vices so flagrant which may not be covered on this principle, by an increase of munificence.

Let it not be said, that the motive of a merciful act is of no consequence, provided the compassion is felt, and the relief communicated. I admit that in relation to the object of our mercy, and the interests of society with regard to him, this remark is correct. In reference to these, it is no matter what was the motive which dictated the act; whether the doer of it had the glory of God in view, or whether he was an infidel. But our actions sustain other relations, which make it of infinite and eternal consequence under what motives, and upon what principles, they are performed. The question is, what influence our conduct will have, not upon the comfort of others, but upon our own eternal destiny; not what may be demanded by our fellow-creatures, whose most penetrating discrimination cannot reach the heart—but what may be and is required by that Omniscient Being, to whom the very soul, with all its most secret contents, is an open and legible page. In short, the question is not what constitutes worldly morality, but what is essential to pure evangelical religion.

We go on to observe, then, that true Christian mercy—that which will be accepted in the sight of God, and receive his smile; that which will ensure his gracious and unmerited reward, and which will have no slight connection with our celestial happiness, is exercised in designed obedience to God's command, in express imitation of his conduct, and with an earnest desire to promote his glory. This is the ground on which it is enjoined, "Be merciful, as your Father who is in heaven is merciful." This disposition is cherished by a devout contemplation of that mercy which shines from heaven upon the human race through the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ. With other men, mercy is merely a 'feeling'—with the Christian it is a 'principle'. By them, it is exercised in gratification of their inclination; by the believer, at the dictate of conscience. They think it is kind for one needy creature to compassionate another; in addition to the force of this sentiment, the Christian reasons—that if God has so far pitied him as to deliver his soul from eternal misery, the least spark of gratitude must lead him to relieve the needs of his fellow-creatures. They go no higher than to gratify their own propensities; the Christian desires to honor God. They expect, by deeds of mercy, to merit eternal life; but the Christian depends, amidst the most profuse benevolence, upon the righteousness of Christ.

2. Christian mercy displays tenderness of MANNER, in her acts of liberality. It is akin to that charity which is kind, and resembles that goodness of our heavenly Father, which "gives to all men liberally, and upbraids not." There are many ways of communicating relief to the wretched, but this lovely virtue will choose that which will least oppress the feelings of its object. It will act the part of the tender surgeon, who, in healing the wounds of his patient, will inflict no unnecessary pain. A rough and churlish man, whatever may be his skill, is unfit for the chamber of pain and sickness. Mercy needs a quick, discerning eye, a gentle hand, a tender heart; many of its objects must be dealt with delicately. It is a feminine virtue, and should partake of the softness and mildness of femininity. There should be nothing in our manner unnecessarily to wound the feelings of those whose miseries we wish to relieve; no upbraiding should accompany our beneficence; what we communicate should not appear to be extorted from a reluctant hand; it should not be like the spark smitten from a flint; nor like water squeezed from a sponge; but mercy should drop like balm upon the wounded spirit of the sufferer.

The smallest act of mercy will in every case be doubly sweet when administered with kindness; while the most substantial benevolence, tossed in petulance to the miserable, may aggravate the suffering which it is intended to mitigate. Like Him, who has left us an example, that we should follow his steps, we should be careful not "to break the bruised reed."

3. Christian mercy adds the greatest COURAGE IN ACTION—to the greatest tenderness of feeling. There are some who would be thought to possess too much compassion to endure the sight of human woe. They flee the scenes of wretchedness, and never venture down into the dark and gloomy abodes where misery dwells in all its loathsome and repulsive forms. At such sights, their senses are offended, their feelings are shocked, their comforts are interrupted, and they resolve to expose themselves no more to the scene of misery. But this 'sickly sensibility' deserves no higher character than selfishness in disguise, or cowardice—varnished with the tears of mock compassion. What would the miserable do if there were no other pity than this in the world, and no other benefactors than these to be found? Many of the forms of human wretchedness are of the most disgusting nature, and others of the most shocking nature—and every person of feeling would, on every ground but the hope of communicating relief, preserve the greatest distance from them.

But mercy, like the physician, consults not her pleasure, but the calls of duty; and bracing up her nerves, and fortifying herself with motives, and kindling all her courage—flies to the scene of need and suffering. Would you see this virtue in all its sublimity and grandeur, go, not to the study of the sentimentalist, where, weeping over the tale of unreal sorrows, in fancied tenderness of his heart, he hides himself from all the sights and sounds of actual woe, and whence he occasionally sends abroad his alms, without daring to trust himself amidst the living forms of grief; but follow the philanthropist from his home, the resort of plenty, luxury, and elegance—and trace him along the dirty and narrow alley, where the poorest of the poor herd together, amid poverty, and wretchedness, and vice; where there is everything to offend every sense, and some new shape of misery or 'specter of deprivation' crosses his path at every step; where sounds which seem the wailings and blasphemies of the damned, at every step, come across his ear; see this herald of mercy, trembling, yet pressing onward, through all these horrors, to reach a hovel in the center of this earthly hell, where, amidst filth, and poverty, and disease, lies gasping a human being, to whom he is anxious to convey the comforts of one world, and the hopes of another. This is mercy!

Behold the man, whose memory will never perish until the milk of kindness in the bosom of our species be transvenomed into the poison of asps, and whose name will be heard with transports on the banks of every river in Europe, until those rivers shall forget to flow—the immortal Howard, pacing backward and forward over our quarter of the globe in search of misery, diving into the depths of dungeons, plunging into the infection of hospitals, surveying every building in which society inflicts or hides away sorrow and pain.

This is mercy. Behold that heroine of our own days, who, urged by the mighty impulses of her own brave heart, in opposition to kind advice, and as it seemed at first with neglect of prudence, but as we see now, under the protection of God, whose messenger she was, ventured within the walls of Newgate prison, where, in addition to all that could offend the eye, the ear, the touch, the smell—there was everything to shock the moral sense. See this astonishing woman, descending from splendor to place herself amidst scenes of living, crawling filth, and leaving for a season the pure and quiet endearments of her home—to collect around her a band of furies, maddened at once by disease and vice; and all this for the simple purpose of reforming creatures considered by society beyond any hope, and below every effort for their improvement. This is mercy. Go, you soft and sentimental benefactors of the human race, who can weep for wretchedness, but cannot bear to see it; go, look at these sublime and beautiful characters—and learn what mercy is.

4. To judicious discrimination between true and false misery, Christian mercy unites a propensity to relieve ALL misery, on its own account. We certainly ought not to allow ourselves to be easily imposed upon by "that cunning craftiness which lies in wait to deceive." An indiscriminate liberality supplies a stimulus to vice, is a rewarder to fraud, and afterwards, when deception has been frequently detected, by a powerful reaction it overturns the very throne of mercy itself—for no one is more likely to have his heart steeled against all appeals to his compassion than he who, after a long course of benevolence, discovers that his pity has been often wasted upon pretended distress. But while this discrimination must be exercised, there should be a disposition to relieve to the extent of our ability—all real misery.

We can easily conceive, for it is a case of frequent occurrence, that misery may in some instances be attended by circumstances that give it a deep interest, and invest it with a charm of peculiar and resistless fascination. Even the churl, the miser, and the cruel oppressor—have bowed at the feet of afflicted beauty, and allowed themselves for once to be led captive in the fetters of mercy. There is a romantic kind of pity in the world, which silly tales, falling in with mawkish sensibility, have helped to produce and cherish—I mean that disposition which is ever seeking after what it considers interesting objects of compassion.

Misery, exhibited naked and alone, as it may be found in every street and every day, has no power to set in motion this spurious passion. The cries of hunger, the groans of sickness, the plaint of woe—return unheeded in sad echoes upon the sufferer's heart, unless the child of romance can discover some moving incentives to give, and which might serve as the basis of some striking and pathetic tale. I call this the mercy, not of the heart, but of the imagination; the compassion of the novelist, of the poet, of the painter, but not of the Christian. It should be recollected that there may be the most deep and entire wretchedness, without either youth, or beauty, or rapid vicissitude, or complicated plot, in the case. It is but seldom that we shall meet with instances of woe so varied and interesting in their details as to form a picture for the pages of a story. If we wait for such scenes to awaken our compassion, the world will die around us, and we shall die in the midst of it—before we have hushed a groan, or wiped away a tear.

5. Christian mercy should be characterized by DILIGENCE. It is said of our Lord, that "he ever went about doing good;" and the history of his life proves the truth of the assertion. Whether in the crowded city, or the retired village; whether in the domestic circle, or the courts of the temple; whether he led the multitude into the wilderness, or met them amidst the social haunts of men—he was ever engaged in acts of compassion, both to the souls and bodies of mankind. His errand to our world was a commission of mercy, and all his actions here an uninterrupted display of pity. We are to find our model in Him who never slept in the cause of human happiness. Diligence characterizes the efforts of the enemies of the human race, and it should surely not be lacking in its friends. The powers of darkness, with an energy of which we can form no adequate conception, are perpetually scattering the seeds of human misery, and causing the thorn, the bramble, and the nettle, to grow with noxious lushness in the path of life. We must oppose energy to energy, and diligence to diligence.

The objects of our pity are every hour passing in crowds, above the need of our efforts, or below the reach of our efforts; rising to heaven, where misery never enters, or sinking to hell, where mercy is never seen. Sin and disease, accidents and injustice, misfortune and death, are every moment busily employed, in extending the range and the reign of misery; and surely mercy should not be tardy or lukewarm. Our compassion should not be fretful or capricious—today all ardor, tomorrow all languor—but steadfast, immoveable, always abounding. Whatever our hand finds to do, we should do it with our might.

6. Christian mercy should be attended with SELF-DENIAL. We are not to offer on her altar the halt, the blind, and the lame, the mere surplus of our comforts, which we deem below our notice. Nor are we to be content with yielding up the surplus of our possessions, which we do not want, and cannot use. We must stand prepared to make sacrifices, and endure hardships. It is shocking to think how little some people will do to relieve the miseries of others. If they can supply the wants of the needy, and alleviate the woes of the afflicted, without going a step out of their way, abridging themselves of a single comfort, or giving up a moment's ease—they feel no objection to do a generous act. But if they must endure the least fatigue, or sacrifice what is in any degree valuable to themselves, tears may flow in torrents, and groans may rise in dismal concert, before they can be excited to deeds of mercy. They will not abridge one of all their luxurious gratifications, although the 'prunings' of almost any of them would be enough to guard the cottage of a poor neighbor from the worst terrors of poverty.

Did the Son of God exhibit a species of compassion which cost him nothing? Did he, without effort and without humiliation, give us the mere surplus of his riches, the redundance of his glory? Did he only speak from the throne of his majesty, or despatch a company of angels from the countless multitudes ministering around his feet, to bring us tidings of mercy, expressions of his good will? Altogether the opposite! "You know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, who though he was rich, yet for our sakes became poor, that we, through his poverty, might become rich." The measure of his self-denial was the difference between his throne of glory—and his cross. Can that man, who will not make the smallest sacrifice in mercy's cause, persuade himself that he is a disciple of this merciful, self-denying Redeemer?

7. Christian mercy is not discouraged by the ingratitude or the opposition which may be manifested by those whom it relieves. That man has calculated too highly upon human virtue who believes that benevolence will always be rewarded by the gratitude of those whose needs are supplied, and whose sorrows are mitigated, by its exertions. It is too common a fault of mankind—first to mistake, and then to forget, their benefactors. Mercy is not always received with the promptitude with which it is offered. Some are too proud to be dependent, and turn with scorn from the hand that would lift them into comfort; others sullenly receive the assistance as their due, and stoop not to thank the generosity to which they are indebted.

It is not thus with all. Tears of gratitude often repay the philanthropist with a reward, compared with which the gems of India are but as dust. If, however, we would do good, we must do it looking only to the smile of conscience, and of God, for our remuneration. It is delightful to behold poverty and need, and disease and sorrow, disappearing before us in the path of mercy, although we may see ingratitude filling their place. We have still the comfort of reflecting, that notwithstanding we have done our duty—and the 'sum of human wretchedness' is less. In this respect, also, we may be instructed by the history of our divine Savior.

He flew to our world on the wings of mercy, he was himself incarnate love, truth dwelt on his lips, compassion reigned in his heart; wherever he directed his course the miseries of multitudes vanished before the miracles of his grace—and salvation followed his footsteps. He was the teacher who instructed their minds, the benefactor who satisfied their hunger, the physician who healed their disorders, the deliverer who would have saved their souls; yet, for all this, he was maligned, calumniated, hated, persecuted, murdered! And shall we expect to find the path of benevolence like one of the walks of paradise, where the serpent was harmless beneath the flowers? If we do, we shall soon discover our mistake.

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