Spiritual Joy

I devote this address to the consideration of a topic intimately connected with your present happiness as Christians; I mean, "spiritual joy," which follows justification; for "being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God." Before justification, we have no right to joy; and after it, we have no reason for misery. The spirit of true religion is essentially a spirit of pure and elevated joy, and it is thus distinguished from superstition, which is as essentially a spirit of gloom, and fear, and abject sorrow. Situated as the believer is between one paradise lost by sin, and another restored by grace—he may be expected to combine in his experience, the seemingly opposing states of mind described by the apostle, where he says, "sorrowful—yet always rejoicing," and the tears which he sheds for his transgressions, however numerous and penitential, should still be irradiated with a predominant smile of delight, and appear like dew-drops sparkling in the sun.

The most superficial acquaintance with the Bible must teach us that it is a book to make us happy—as well as holy. The two Testaments are like two ministering angels sent down from heaven to conduct the child of sin and sorrow—to the fountain of peace! Even the older economy contains innumerable exhortations to the people of God, to rejoice and be glad; yes, "to cry out, and shout for joy." And if a believer when placed amidst the clouds and shadows of the Jewish dispensation, where he could not but be awed by the thunders of Sinai, and pressed in no small measure with the spirit of bondage, was called upon to rejoice, how much more may such a frame of mind be expected in the Christian, on whom the Sun of righteousness has risen, and poured the noon-tide brightness of his glory!

The Christian, then, ought to be both a joyful, as well as a righteous man. His religion should not only adorn his character with the beauties of holiness, but array his countenance with the smile of peace. Yet how few seem to rise to this privilege. If we look into the Bible, we might expect to see all who really believe it, and live under its influence, as so many happy spirits, carrying about with them the springs of their own felicity, independent alike of the joys and sorrows of mortality; neither greatly elevated by the one, nor much depressed by the other—and yet when we look at the great bulk of professors of religion, we are sadly disappointed, and even in reference to their happiness as well as to their conduct, are led to ask, "What do you have, more than others?"

By spiritual joy, I do not mean simply the joy of pious people, for all their joy does not answer to this description. But I mean—the joy produced by true religion. It is that holy peace which is the result of Divine truth—understood, believed, and contemplated. It is not mere exhilaration of the animal spirits, the joyousness produced by good health, worldly prosperity, friendship, or gratification of taste. Much of the Christian's enjoyment upon earth is produced by those susceptibilities and possessions which belong to him as a man—and this portion of his gratification is perfectly innocent; but this is not properly speaking spiritual joy. True it is that his spiritual delight may blend itself, and does, with his more common pleasures, sweetening, sanctifying, and elevating them all; and may indeed itself be somewhat modified by them—but still it is of a different kind. It is the joy of faith, of hope, of love—it is joy in God, in Christ, in holiness, in heaven.

It begins when the trembling sinner, after a season of unrelieved anxiety and oppression on account of his sin, loses the burden of his guilt at the cross—and in that case it is altogether the joy of faith; it continues to increase as he advances in holiness, and is then the joy of love, united with that of faith; it is sustained amidst all the trials of earth, by the prospect of heaven, and then it is swelled by hope, adding its influence to that of faith and love. This is spiritual joy, that agreeable and comfortable state of mind, which is produced by the believing contemplation of the great object of revealed truth of God, in his nature, attributes, providence, and covenant relations to his people of Christ—in his person, work, faithfulness, and grace—of the promises of Scripture; and all this strengthened by the joy resulting from the testimony of a good conscience, the consciousness of growing holiness, and the assurance of hope.

Such is spiritual joy—not necessarily a state of great excitement. Occasionally, indeed, it does rise into a strong and elevated emotion; it is more than peace, it is delight; more than delight, it is ecstacy. The saints have sometimes soared on the wing of rapture into the element of devotion so highly as to be far above the ordinary attitude of religious experience. But the physical nature of some scarcely admits of this excitement at all, nor can any bear it long. It should be recollected that the differences of our mental temperament and constitutional susceptibility will much modify even our spiritual feelings. The joy of some believers, as to the emotion itself, will be much stronger than that of others, without supposing there may be any clearer understanding of the objects that produce it, any stronger faith in them, or any greater practical influence of them; but simply because there is a stronger physical susceptibility of excited emotion.

Hence the necessity of suggesting the remark—that emotion alone is a very equivocal and deceptive test of personal piety. Spiritual joy is ordinarily a calm, unruffled feeling; a composed and serene state of mind. It is usually denominated peace, and though unspeakable and full of glory, because it is produced in part by the hope of celestial bliss, it is still a tranquil river, and not a torrent, that flows through the soul, noiseless in proportion as it is deep. Or, changing the metaphor, it is a sweet rest, diffusing a feeling of joyous repose over the heart, rather than filling it with the tumultuous exhilaration of a festival. "It is that peace of which the Savior spoke, when being about to leave the world, and wishing to comfort his sorrowing disciples, he said, 'Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you;' his peace, the sweet serenity of mind which he enjoyed himself, and in the enjoyment of which he went forward in the performance of every duty, and met with such calm dignity, such entire self-command, such cheerful resignation to the Divine will, the overwhelming trials he had to endure."

From all this it must be evident that spiritual joy is a very different thing from what some people would wish to represent it, who, imagining that religion has been disparaged, as it certainly has been, by the gloom and sourness of some of its professors, oscillate to the opposite extreme, and attempt to justify a lamentable degree of frivolity, merriment, and lightness, by the excuse, "that pious people ought to be cheerful; and that this is the way to win the people of the world to piety." So indeed they should be cheerful; but then it should be by the joy of their religion. Nothing spectral in appearance, nor sepulchral in tone, nor ascetic in habit, nor cynical in spirit, should characterize a Christian; he is a child of light, and should live, and act, and speak as such; he should be like one of the sons of the morning dropped from paradise, and bending his way back to it again, and bearing the trials of earth, with the recollection of his happy destiny, and the prospect of his future glory—he should have something of the bliss of heaven, but withal much of its seriousness too.

I shall now inquire into the reasons why so little of this joy is experienced by the majority of Christian professors. I assume that the multitude have far less than they might or should have. Look at the prosperous among them, and whence does their joy arise? From their religion? Or from their good spirits, their health, their family, their fiends, their success, and home enjoyment? Look at the afflicted—how oppressed with care; how tortured with anxiety; how overwhelmed with sorrow; how cheerless for the present, and how hopeless for the future, do they seem to be! How few appear to have the peace that passes all understanding, the joy which is unspeakable and full of glory! The bible tells the world that the springs of true happiness gush out from the hill of Zion, at the foot of the cross—and so they do—but how little do many who profess to have drank the living water, appear as if they had been at the crystal stream, and were satisfied with it.

Why is this? Is there in reality, not enough in the objects of spiritual truth to yield this joy? Yes, for they have comforted millions in the valley of tears, in every variety and degree of human woe; they are the rejoicing of spirits made perfect; the bliss of angels, and the joy of God's own heart. Is it that the sources are inaccessible to them? No—they are open to every child of God. Is it that God is unwilling to impart this joy to them; that in a way of sovereignty he has withdrawn it? No—it is a mistake to suppose that God, by any positive act of his own, hinders our peace, or extinguishes it; that in a way of sovereignty, and not as a chastisement for sin, but for the purpose of trying and exercising the graces of his people, he withdraws from them what is usually denominatedsensible comfort, and causes them to experience darkness and despondency. "This view," says Wardlaw, "has long appeared to me not a little hazardous.

It is too much calculated to make believers well pleased and satisfied with themselves, in circumstances which ought to excite them to self-jealousy, and searching of heart. It seems to me at once more safe, and more spiritual, to regard the lack of peace and joy as arising invariably (except where there is a physical cause in a nervous constitution) from, and indicating something wrong in—the spiritual temperament of our minds—some sin, or some defect in ourselves. It is of essential consequence for us to be impressed with the conviction that if we are destitute of peace and joy, the cause is in ourselves—uniformly and exclusively in ourselves. It is not that God has withdrawn from us—but that we have withdrawn from God."

The true causes of the lack of spiritual joy in professors, are the following—

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