Meditation LXXVII.
Meditation LXXVII.
IN A ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH.
May 18, 1759.
Ah! what a false system does 'human invention' make in the worship of God! Where a superstitious show prevails, godly sincerity decays. The expenses here are great—but the spiritual profit none. They have lifted up the tools of human invention on the altar of God, which renders it polluted. To what purpose are all these statues, images, and paintings? To what end so many representations of a suffering Savior? The new life is begun by the operation of the Spirit of God, and not by an inspection of pictures. Christ formed spiritually in the soul is the end of revelation—but not to carve him out into a statue.
It is true, here he stands with all the signs of agony and pain, the pricking thorns are wreathed about his head, and the blood is streaming down on every side! but who is this? did I not know the story, did not the superscription tell me, I would take him for some great malefactor who was so cruelly abused! A man, indeed, in all imaginable anguish, is cut out to the life, where the skill of the artist—but the folly of the contriver, eminently appear; but nothing more appears, not one beam of his divinity shines forth.
If he were no more than what this statue sets him forth, a poor, infirm suffering mortal, our hopes would have died with him—but had had no resurrection: it might excite our sympathy as to a fellow-creature—but never claim our faith as a Savior, Christ the Lord. The union of the two natures in one person, and his substitution in the room of sinners, is the interesting mystery, and basis of religion. Now, what painter or limner, what sculptor or artist can exhibit this? how vain, then, their incentives to devotion! Yes, though our Savior were yet alive, his humanity could not be the object of adoration; hence he reproved the young man for calling him "Good Master," seeing he considered him not as God-man—but only as man.
And likewise says the apostle, "Yes, though we have known Christ after the flesh, yet henceforth know we him no more." Streams rise no higher than their fountain, so that their unwarrantable representations give me at most but a faint view even of human sufferings. The mute statue emits no melting cries, no throes and twistings of the body, or varied distortions of the countenance, no affecting sighs, or agonizing groans; still the tears stand in one place, and the falling blood is not followed by more, because the tears have no fountain, and the blood no veins to afford a supply—so that to read the inspired account gives the Christian a more perfect knowledge and striking view of his sufferings, than all the masterpieces of the best painters.
But though they give but a faint view of bodily sufferings, what can set forth the agonies of our Savior's soul, which, like wax before the fire, was melted, and was poured out like water? Can they paint the strokes of divine vengeance which he bore for us, or depict the hidings of his Father's countenance—which gave so deep a wound? These are things for faith, not for sense; and it is the excellency of faith that it can and may intermeddle with divine things, while sense must stand at a distance.
As images strike our fancy, and impressions of them abide with us, a dumb image stands before us, when we adore the living God; so that in effect we are praying to an idol, rather than to the Searcher of hearts. The idolaters of old represented God by an ox, calf, fire, sun, man, and such-like—with which he was displeased.
And the idolaters of late represent the incarnate God—as a scourged, bleeding, suffering creature—with which he is no less displeased. But I must form no idea of God, that gives figure, limits, or bounds to him, because he is infinite. My soul must go out in my prayers, in the immensity of his perfections, and I must make my plea the meritorious sufferings of Jesus, which no art of man can set forth—as the Spirit of God can to the eye of faith in the renewed soul.
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