Form and Power.
"having the form of godliness,but denying the power thereof."—2 Tim. iii. 5.
N this, his last letter and legacy, the Apostle Paul is much occupied with the anticipation of coming evils. It is most natural that the faithful watchman, knowing that the hour of relieving guard was very near at hand, should eagerly scan the horizon in quest of the enemies that might approach when he was no longer there to deal with them. Old men are apt to take a gloomy view of coming days, but the frequent references to the corruptions of the Church which occur in this letter are a great deal more than an old man's pessimism. They were warnings, which were amply vindicated by the history of the post-apostolic age of the Church, which was the seed-bed of all manner of corruptions, and they point to permanent dangers, the warning against which is as needful for us as for any period.
The Apostle draws here a very gloomy picture of the corrupt forms of Christianity, the advent of which he tremblingly anticipated. I do not mean to enter at all upon the dark catalogue of the vices which he enumerates, except to point out that its beginning, middle, and end are very significant. It begins with "lovers of self"—that is the root of all forms of sin. In the centre there stands "lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God "; and at the end, summing up the whole, are the words of our text, "having the form of godliness, but denying the power thereof." .
I do not suppose that these words need much explanation. "Godliness," in the New Testament, / means not only the disposition which we call piety, but the conduct which flows from it, and which we may call practical religion. The form or outward appearance of that we all understand. But what is "denying the power thereof"? It does not consist in words, but in deeds. In these latter epistles we find "denying" frequently used as equivalent to abjuring, renouncing, casting off'. For instance, in a passage singularly and antithetically parallel to that of my text, we read "denying ungodliness and worldly lusts," which simply means throwing off their dominion. And, in like manner, the denial here is no verbal rejection of the principles of the Gospel, which would be inconsistent with the notion of still retaining the form of godliness; but it is the practical renunciation of the power, which is inherent in all true godliness, of moulding the life and character— the practical renunciation of that, even whilst preserving a superficial, unreal appearance of being subject to it.
This, then, being the explanation, and the rough outline of the state of things which the Apostle contemplates as hurrying onwards to corrupt the church after his departure, let us look at some of the thoughts connected with it.
I.—Observe the sad frequency of such a condition.
Wherever any great cause or principle is first launched into the world, it evokes earnest enthusiasm, and brings men to heroisms of consecration and service. And so, when Christianity was first preached, there was less likelihood than now of its attracting to itself men who were not in earnest, but were mere formalists. But, even in the Apostolic Church, there were an Ananias and a Sapphira; a Simon Magus and a Demas. As years go on, and primitive enthusiasms die out, and the cause which was once all freshly radiant and manifestly heaven-born becomes an earthly institution, there is a growing tendency to gather round it all sorts of superficial, half-and-half adherents. Whatsoever is respectable, and whatsoever is venerable, and whatsoever is customary will be sure to have attached to it a mass of loose and nominal adherents; and the Gospel has had its full share of such.
I was talking not very long ago to a leading man belonging to another denomination than my own; and he quietly, as a matter of course, said, "Our communicants are so many hundred thousands. I reckon that a quarter of them, or thereabouts, are truly spiritual men!" And he seemed to think that nobody would question the correctness of the calculation and the proportion. Why, "Christendom" is largely a mass of pagans masquerading as Christians.
And every church has its full share of such people; loose adherents, clogs upon all movement, who bring down the average of warmth, like the great icebergs that float in the Atlantic and lower the temperature of the summer all over Europe. They make consecration "eccentric "; they make consistent, out-andout Christian living "odd," unlike the ordinary thing, and they pull down the spirituality of the Church almost to the level of the world. Every communion of so-called Christian men has its full share of these.
Brethren, the members of this church and congregation are not exempt. The same thing applies to us. Every church of God on the face of the earth has a little core of earnest Christians, who live the life, and a great envelope and surrounding of men who, as my text says, have the form of godliness, and practically deny the power thereof. Widespread, and all but uersal, this condition of things is. And so let each of us say, " Lord! Is it I?"
II.—Think, next, of the underground working of this evil.
These people about whom Paul is speaking in my text were, I suppose, mostly, though by no means exclusively, conscious pretenders to what they did not possess. But the number of hypocrites, in the full sense of the word, is amazingly small, and the men whom you would brand as most distinctly so, if you came to talk to them, would amaze you, when you found how entirely ignorant they were of the fact that they were dramatizing and pretending to piety, and that there was next to no reality of it in them. A very little bit of gold, beaten out very thin, will cover over, with a semblance of value, an enormous area. And many men beat out the little modicum of sincerity that they have so very thin that it covers, and gives a deceptive appearance of brilliancy and solidity to, an enormous amount of windy flatulence and mere pretence. Hypocrites, in the rude vulgar sense of the word, are, I was going to say, as rare as, but I will say a great deal rarer than, thorough-going and intensely earnest and sincere Christians. These men, the precursors of Gnostic heresies and a hundred others, had no notion that their picture was like this. And if they had been shown Paul's grim catalogue they would have said, " Oh! a gross caricature, and not the least like me." And that is what a great many other men do as well.
But it is unconscious hypocrisy, unconscious sliding away from the basis of reality on to the slippery basis of pretence and appearance, that I want to say a word or two about. The worse a man is, the less he knows it. The more completely a professing Christian has lost his hold of the substance and is clinging only to the form, the less does he suspect that this indictment has any application to him. The very sign and symptom of spiritual degeneracy and corruption is unconsciousness; as the great champion of Israel, when his locks were cropped in Delilah's lap, went out to exercise his mighty limbs as at other times, and knew not, till he vainly tried feats which their ebbing strength was no longer equal to perform, that the Spirit of the Lord had departed from him. The more completely a man's limbs are frost-bitten the more comfortable and warm they are, and the less does he know it. If a man says, "Your text has no sort of application to me," he thereby shows that it has a very close application to him.
I need say little about the reasons for this unconsciousness. We are all accustomed to take very lenient views, when we take any at all, of our own character; and the tendency of all conduct is to pull down conscience to the level of conduct, and to vindicate that conduct by biassed decisions of a partial conscience. And so I have no doubt that there are people in this congregation now listening quite complacently to my words, and thinking how well they fit that other man in that other pew there, from whom there has, without their knowing it, ebbed away, by slow, sad drops, almost all the life-blood of their Christianity. They are like some great tree that stands in the woods, fair to appearance, with solid bole and widespread leafage, and expanded branches, and yet the heart is out of it; and when the tempest comes, and it falls, everybody can look into the hollow trunk and see that for years it has been rotten.
Brethren, the underground enemies of our Christian earnestness are far more dangerous than its apparent and manifest antagonists; and there are many men amongst us who would repel with indignation an obvious assault against their godliness,'who yield without resistance, and almost without consciousness, to the sly seductions of unsuspected evil. The arrow that flieth in darkness is more deadly than the pestilence that wasteth at noonday.
III.—Further, notice the ever-operating causes that produce this condition.
I suppose that one, at any rate, of the main examples of having this "form" was participation in the simple worship of the primitive Church. And although the phrase by no means refers merely to acts of worship, still that is one of the main fields in which this evil is manifest. Many of us substitute outward connection with the Church for inward union with Jesus Christ. All external forms have a tendency to assert themselves, and to detain in themselves, instead of helping to rise above themselves, our poor sense-ridden natures. How many of us are there whose religion consists very largely in coming to this place, standing up when other people sing, seeming to unite in prayer and praise, perhaps participating in the sacred rites of the Church; but having most of our religion safely locked up in our pews along with our hymn-books when we leave the chapel, and waiting for us quietly, without troubling us, until next Sunday. We need outward forms of worship. It is a sign of our weakness that we do, but they are so full of danger that one sometimes wishes that they could be broken up and made fluent, and that, at least for a time, something else could be substituted for them.
Seeing that the purest and the simplest of forms may become like a dirty window, an obscuring medium which shuts out instead of lets in the light, it seems to me that the churches are wisest, which admit least of the dangerous element into their external worship, and try to have as little of form as may keep the spirit. I know that simple forms may be abused quite as much as elaborate ones. I know that a Quaker's meeting-house is often quite as much a house of formal and not of real communion as a Eoman Catholic cathedral. Let us remember how full of dangers they all and always are. And let us be very sure that we do not substitute church membership, coming to chapel, going to prayer-meeting,
teaching in Sunday-schools, reading devout books, and the like, for inward submission to the power.
Another cause always operating is the tendency which all action of every kind has to escape from the dominion of its first motives, and to become merely mechanical and habitual. Habit is a most precious ally of goodness, but habitual goodness tends to become involuntary and mechanical goodness, and so to cease to be goodness at all. And the more that we can, in each given case, make each individual act of godliness, whether it be in worship or in practical life, the result of a fresh approach to the one central and legitimate impulse of the Christian life, the better it will be for ourselves. All great causes, as I was saying a moment or two ago, tend to pass from the dominion of impulse into that of use and wont and mere routine and our religion and practical godliness in daily life is apt to do that, as well as all our other actions.
And then, still further, there is the constant operation of earth and sense and present duties and pressing cares, which war against the reality and completeness of our submission to the power of godliness. Microscopically minute grains of sand in the aggregate- bury the temples and the images of the gods in the Nile valley. The multitude of small cares and duties, which are blown upon us by every wind, have the effect of withdrawing us, unless we are continually watchful, from that one foundation of all good, the love of Jesus Christ felt in our daily lives. Unless we perpetually tighten our hold, it will loosen, by very weariness of the muscles. Unless the boat be firmly anchored, it will be drifted down the stream. Unless we take care, our Christian life and earnestness will ooze out at our finger-tips, and we shall never know that it is gone. The world, our own weakness, our very tasks and duties, the pressure of circumstances, the sway of our senses, and the very habit of doing right—all of these may tend to make us mechanical and formal participators in the religious life, and unconscious hypocrites.
IV.—So, lastly, let me point you to the discipline which may avert this evil.
First and foremost, I would say, let us cherish a clear and continual recognition of the reality of the danger. Fore-warned is fore-armed. He that will take counsel of his own weakness, and be taught by God's Word how unreliable he himself is, and how strong the forces are which tend to throw his religion all to the surface, will thereby be, if not insured against the danger, at least made a great deal more competent to deal with it. "Blessed is the man that feareth always," and that knows how likely he is to go wrong unless he carefully seeks to keep himself right.
Rigid, habitual self-inspection, in the light of God's Word, is an all-important help to prevent this sliding into superficiality, of our Christian life. If what I was saying about the unconsciousness of decline is at all true, then most eloquently and impressively does it say to us all, " Watch! for you know not what may be going on underground unless you keep a continual carefulness of inspection." We should watch our own characters, the movement of our spiritual nature, and the effect and operation of our habits and of our participation in outward forms of Christianity; we should watch these as carefully as men in the tropics look for snakes and scorpions in their clothing and their beds before they put them on, or get into them. In a country which is only preserved by the dykes from being swallowed up by the sea, the minutest inspection of the rampart, is the condition of security, for if there be a hole big enough for a mouse to creep through, the water will come in, and make a gap wide enough to drown a province, in a little while. And so, brethren, seeing that we have such dangers round about us, and that the most formidable of them all are powers that work in the dark, let us be very sure that our eyes have searched, as well as we can, the inmost corners of our lives, and that no lurking vermin lie beneath the unturned-up stones.
And then, lastly, and as that without which all else is vain, let us make continual and earnest and contrite efforts day by day, to renew and deepen our personal communion with Jesus Christ. He is the source of the power which godliness operates in our lives, and the closer we keep to Him the more it will flood our hearts and make us real, out-and-out Christians, and not shallow and self-deceived pretenders.
The tree that had nothing but leaves upon it hid its absence of fruit by its abundance of foliage. The Master came, as He comes to you and to me, seeking fruit, and if He finds it not, He will perpetuate the barrenness by His blasting word, "No fruit grow upon thee henceforward for ever."