SERMON XXVI.

THOUGHTFULNESS IN THE HOUSE OF GOD.

66

Ecclesiastes, v. 1.

WHEN YOU ENTER INTO THE HOUSE OF GOD, REFLECT Whither you DIRECT YOUR STEPS, AND DRAW NEAR TO LISTEN, rather than to OFFER THE SACRIFICE OF FOOLS; FOR THEY KNOW NOT THE EVIL WHICH THEY DO."

"Go ye, and teach all nations." Such was the last command of Jesus, when on the point of ascending into heaven. His obedient Apostles immediately go forth to enlighten the world: they preach, they make converts, found churches, establish a religion. Soon does Christianity spread itself far and wide. Wherever it reaches, houses of prayer are opened; every where they offer an asylum to the unfortunate, information to the ignorant; and from one end of the world to the other, the Father of mercies makes himself known to the disciples of his Son. The benefit is measureless, entire, universal. What return do we make, my brethren? I do not ask, if you come to the house of God every time that you ought, or might; but do you always approach it with the respect, the attention, the thoughtfulness, that

this august act requires? I do not, my brethren, fear to be accused of exaggeration if I reply, that thoughtfulness in the house of God is among the rarest of religious habits. Almost every one goes into the holy place with a mind fully agitated by the affairs or vanities of the world. Hearers take their place, sing the divine praises, join in the prayers of the minister, almost without thinking of what they do. If at the first moment the voice of the preacher seems to arouse their attention, soon do distractions, more or less, involuntarily intervene to counteract it; their efforts to dismiss them are feeble or insufficient; ordinarily they leave the temple without having acquired one exact idea, formed a positive resolution; and suddenly the distractions which wait for them at the door-conversations, pleasures, business-complete the erasure of the feeble impressions that they had received. Such is the service they offer to the Lord!

My brethren, I fear I must say, that this is precisely what our text designates by the severe expression, "the sacrifice of fools." I fear, that, by want of reflection, by thoughtlessness, we thus do ourselves a real and serious injury. To encourage you to conquer this fatal habit, we propose to set its consequences before you: we will then show you that it would be easy and pleasant to triumph over it. For this once at least, lend, my brethren, some attention to those reflections, which, though simple and unpretending, are of high importance, and may, as we presume to think, be eminently useful to you.

They understand not the evil which they do," says the Preacher; it is therefore necessary to lead

them to form an idea of it. Now, with the first look that I cast on the consequences of this habitual distraction in the house of God, I see a great good lost, baneful effects produced, a serious fault committed. Whence does it happen, my brethren, that public worship, that beautiful and salutary institution, has amongst us results evidently disproportionate to the means that are employed? If it produced the effects that it ought to produce, we should see religious ignorance disappear. All those who habitually frequent the sanctuary, would not have solely those vague and often false notions of religion that are too frequent amongst Christians of these days, but clear and accurate ideas; they would no longer so commonly contract those strange illusions, those loose opinions, with which, to the shame of the Church, so many persons deceive themselves. If public worship produced the effects which it ought to produce, it would have on each of us a direct and powerful influence. By periodically removing you, my dear brethren, from the cares of the world, it would combat your levity; it would call to your mind, often and powerfully, those grand thoughts of a God-a judgment-of redemption-of immortality: it would, in some sort, compel you to reflect, in spite of yourselves; it would, at intervals, dissipate that poisoned atmosphere of the world, which enervates our souls, and renders them incapable of serious and energetic thoughts. It would enfeeble your passions; to their seducing attractions, it would oppose a force not less powerful, and defend against them your principles and your virtues; by placing before your eyes the holy truth of the Gospel, with the fears, the hopes, the salutary emotions that are its companions, it would

render all the efforts of the enemies of our salvation nugatory. In misfortune, it would offer us consolation; in prosperity, it would prevent moral blindness; in disquietude, it would restore peace to our souls; in temptation, it would give strength; in discouragement, it would give energy; in passion, composure. In a word, in all the positions of life it would be a support, an aid, a guide to remind us of duty, to lead us from vice to supply us with hope and happiness. Such would be the natural effects of an institution, so benign, so eminently popular, so well suited to the wants of all ranks, of all ages, of all conditions. Such are the effects which it produced in the primitive church; in every age, in the souls of single-minded and pious Christians, who brought to its exercises congenial emotions; which it still produces in some retired places, where, far from cities, the simplicity of ancient manners and the fervor of a primitive peity are preserved; which it produces even amongst us, in the very small number of persons who go into the temple with a collected mind. But if, in our time, it is in general far from producing these effects, where must we look for the cause? have we not to blame our want of thoughtfulness? How can worship be useful to minds full of distractions and incapable of a profound impression? Attention is Attention is necessary in order to comprehend, to be moved, to be swayed. Attention is necessary to make the words that strike the ear go to the heart and become thoughts. Attention is necessary to feel the force of a train of reasoning, and the full meaning of a truth. What hold can worship have on a man whose mind is pre-engaged; to whom the prayers of the pulpit are nothing but lifeless

and monotonous sounds; who never thinks of applying what he hears to his own condition; who has only confused thoughts and vague ideas; and whose indolent imagination is, turn by turn, occupied by a thousand different phantoms, which succeed each other as chance directs. No, it has none, or scarcely none; it has daily less, and will quickly lose all its influence. In reality observe, that if we have the power of acquiring the habit of attention, we acquire also, and much more easily, that of mental dissipation; if, on the return of the same circumstances, we again yield ourselves to their influence, soon will the same ideas bring constantly the same disposition; soon, by occasionally indulging in distractions in the holy place, will the habit be formed, the evil perpetuated; and that worship, which might have elevated our soul, expanded our heart, strengthened our virtues, imparted to us pleasurable sensations, and filled us with salutary emotions, that worship, the source of so much gratification, so many blessings, is lost to us.

This is not all, my brethren: this fatal habit entails a multitude of disastrous effects. You cannot, in the first place, attend, with distraction of mind, on divine service, but you soon grow weary of it. There is no medium: if it is not a pleasure, it is wearisomeness to you. If it is not useful, it is hurtful. If it brings you not near to God, it removes you at a distance from him. There is in our nature a constant and invincible repugnance to vague and confused ideas. Those prayers, that preaching, which are to us a continual source of new distractions, which leave no definite impression, no consecutive idea, from which we depart with the dis