Vital Godliness: A Treatise on
Experimental and Practical Piety
CHAPTER 9
Backsliding
“A person who suspected that a minister of his acquaintance
was not truly orthodox, went to him and said, ‘Sir, I am told that you are
against the perseverance of the saints.’ ‘Not I!’ answered he; ‘it is the
perseverance of sinners that I oppose.’ The other replied, ‘But that is not a
satisfactory answer, sir. Do you think that a child of God cannot fall very low,
and yet be restored?’ The minister answered, ‘I think it will be very dangerous
to make the experiment.’”
Whether the minister was orthodox or not, it is certain that
his sentiments, so far as expressed, were quite consistent with the Bible. He
who is determined to see how far he may decline in religion and yet be restored,
will lose his soul. “The soul that does anything presumptuously shall surely be
cut off.” He who regards sin with so little abhorrence as willingly to commit
it, cannot be walking in the way of holiness. He who allowedly and habitually
departs from God, proves that sin reigns in his mortal body, and that he is the
slave of corruption.
The sins, backslidings and spiritual declensions of godly and
ungodly men are unlike in several particulars. When the wicked depart from God,
they cry, “Peace and safety.” When the righteous no longer maintain a close walk
with God, they say, “Oh that it were with us as in months past.” In their
wanderings, the wicked call themselves happy. Having forsaken God, the righteous
lose enjoyment, and are filled with sadness. The wicked backslide perpetually,
(Jer. 8:5). The righteous err from God’s ways, but only for a season. The wicked
are bent to backsliding, (Hosea 11:7). The righteous are betrayed into sin. The
wicked are as the sow wallowing in the mire. It is their nature to work
iniquity. The righteous are as the cleanly sheep. If they are in the slough, it
is their calamity. “No one born of God makes a practice of sinning, for God’s
seed abides in him, and he cannot keep on sinning because he has been born of
God,” (1 John 3:9) The wicked fill up their sin always. They cannot rest until
they have done some mischief. They dig into hell. The righteous is not so. Even
when he sleeps, his heart wakes. When he falls, he shall rise again. When he
sits in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto him. A just man falls seven
times, and rises up again. All his backslidings are healed.
The
Danger
of declension is very great. Many think not so. Their words and lives prove that
they think it a small matter to offend God and grieve his Spirit. They are cold
and heartless in his service. Their fear of offending God is a weak principle.
It controls them not. It has not the force of law. We are always in danger when
we have slight thoughts of the evil of sin, and are not ready to fight it. To
depart from God is to seek darkness.
Let us then inquire
Who
are backsliders. This is a point of high importance. Like all matters of
practical religion, it demands forthrightness, seriousness, and discrimination.
He who wishes to deceive himself, can usually do so. It is no conclusive
evidence that one is not a backslider—just because he is not himself convinced
of the fact. A truly pious man in a state of declension usually has some fears
respecting himself; but many grievously depart from God without being fully
convinced of their wrongdoing. It is a sad truth—that all sin blinds the mind
and hardens the heart. It is very difficult to convince any man of his guilt. We
have an account of a primitive church that was in a sad declension, neither cold
nor hot, and ready to be spewed out; and yet, far from having any just sense of
her state, she said, “I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of
nothing; and knew not that she was wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind,
and naked,” (Rev. 3:16, 17).
Many are kept from owning their
backslidings, because they are mercifully restrained from open sins. Had they
publicly fallen into overt iniquity, they would blush, and be ashamed; they
would bewail their wickedness before God and men. But as yet all is secret. They
are merely backsliders in heart. No man knows of the extent of the spiritual
wickedness of another person. No man can accuse them of living in coldness or in
iniquity. Hence they conclude that all is well. But they are mistaken. It may
all come to the knowledge of men in a short time. It was so with David. To him
God said, “You did it secretly; but I will do this thing before all
It should also be stated that it is
Easy
to backslide from God. We go astray from the womb, speaking lies. It is as
natural for us to do wrong as for the sparks to ascend upwards. In our voyage
heavenward, both wind and tide are both against us. If we do nothing to overcome
their action, they will carry us away. We can go to hell without intending to do
so, without putting forth any efforts to that effect. But to go to heaven
requires prayer, self-denial, vigilance, violence, running, wrestling, fighting.
All serious declension in piety begins in negligence of
closet duties. These are, meditation, self-examination, reading the Scriptures,
praise, and prayer. A close walk with God insures regularity and alacrity
[eagerness; ed.] in performing these duties. But an indisposition for them is
one of the first signs that spiritual health is failing. This symptom should
produce alarm. Sometimes it does; and then the enemy gains no permanent
advantage. But often the soul is made quite at ease, is thrown quite off its
guard, and allows the public duties of religion to supersede the secret closet
duties. A true Christian can hardly live without any secret prayer; but he may
be in such a state as sadly to slight the means of personal communion with God.
Seasons of pious meditation may be few. The Scriptures may cease to be to the
soul the lively oracles—honey and the honeycomb. Self-examination may prove a
hard task, and a revealer of unlooked for wickedness. Praise and thanksgiving
may become strange things, and He who gave songs in the night may leave the soul
to sighings and tossings. Then prayer will be regarded rather as an exaction to
be granted, rather than as a privilege to be enjoyed.
When piety flourished in the soul, it was not enough to
perform closet duties stately and formally. Without having set a particular time
for them, the soul would occasionally pursue its pious reflections, its
self-examinations, its earnest inquiries, its grateful trains of thought. It
would sing some notes of praise. It would cry out after God, even when removed
from the usual place and circumstances of devotion. Yes, in the midst of worldly
business, devout aspirations would ascend to the Father of mercies; the events
of providence successively occurring would be piously contemplated; the tear of
penitence would often trickle down, and hope would rouse the soul to great
animation.
But when such a one backslides, heart religion is gradually
excluded from a place in the common affairs of life. Its duties are shoved into
a corner, and not constantly delighted in as before. Then one will go from his
closet, quieting his conscience with the reflection that he has spent some time
in the set observance of secret duties, and now he feels more free to welcome
the affairs of the world. He follows the Lord, but not fully nor heartily. Here
the sad work of declension begins. Sin advances rapidly. Thraldom [enslavement;
ed.] and bewilderment commence. The soul is already entrapped in the net!
Blessed is he who now takes the alarm, returns to duty and to the Savior, and is
restored to peace, a good conscience, and the light of God’s countenance.
Sometimes this is done. In every case it should be attempted. But often sin
gains strength. The backslider proceeds to greater lengths. The next step is the
neglect of family and social religion. This may not soon be taken; but it is
well-near impossible to be cold and formal in the closet—and remain lively and
punctual in the social duties of devotion.
Hypocrisy may go very far, but rarely as far as this. Men are
affected by temptations to slight or omit family worship or social prayer,
according to the state of their hearts. To the lively, growing Christian the
adversary comes, but has nothing in him. His allurements take not effect. But to
the neglecter of his spiritual duties, the enemy approaches boldly. He finds his
reasonings vainly resisted, and finally yielded to. The stones of the domestic
altar begin to be loose and ready to tumble down, and the little praying circle
is quite forsaken. How sad a state is this.
How blind the mind becomes under the power of sin! None but
God can effectually check this painful declension. In this state, before long
one feels uneasy and guilty. Therefore, to quiet conscience and keep up
appearances with himself, he may for a long time be unusually strict and
punctual in some of the public duties of religion. So his seat will seldom be
vacant in the public worship of God. For like reason, he will become quite
zealous about some of the externals of religion. Or he may insist much on the
system of doctrine which he has embraced—having learned the art of holding the
truth in unrighteousness. Or he may talk of experimental religion, deceiving
himself with the belief that if he talks on the subject it is a sign of some
right feeling.
He is now sadly blind to his own wretchedness. If he has gone
thus far, it will probably not be long until he will be detained from the house
of God by causes that once could have had no hindering effect. His zeal even for
forms and externals will probably soon betray weakness, or fierceness, or a
spirit of contention. His love for the gospel will be substituted by a desire
for controversy. Practical and experimental religion will engage but few of his
words or thoughts. His heart has gone after other things. Sometimes indeed one
acquires the evil habit of speaking fluently of things not felt nor loved. In
this case recovery is less and less to be expected. All insincerity is
uncongenial to our recovering ourselves out of the snare of the devil. Such a
soul will find duties and ordinances unprofitable. He will go away from prayer,
from reading, from preaching, and even from the Lord’s table—and be no more
holy, no more humble, no more watchful, no more spiritually minded, no more able
to resist temptation than before.
Sometimes he hopes that he is receiving
profit; but his conduct soon shows that he is mistaken. His expectation deceives
him. “He looks for salvation, but it is far off from him,” (Isa. 59:11). He
says, “What profit is it that I have kept his ordinance, and that I have walked
mournfully before the Lord?” (Mal. 3:14). It is with him even “like a hungry one
who dreams he is eating, then wakes and is still hungry; and like a thirsty one
who dreams he is drinking, then wakes and is still thirsty, longing for water,”
(Isa. 29:8). Sometimes the ordinances are like the fruit which
Backsliders are made miserable by an approach to God. They
are not prepared for it. As piety thus dies in the soul, charity diminishes, and
censoriousness takes its place. A backslider will be more than formerly disposed
to doubt the good motives, the upright intentions, and sincere professions of
others. He will not be slow in entertaining severe judgments of others.
Sometimes he will express harsh opinions of his fellow-men. Attaching great
value to any “little shreds of piety” still about himself, he expresses surprise
that others have not his seeming virtues. He wonders how a Christian can act so
and so—while he himself is doing worse! His heart does not lead him instantly
and spontaneously to cast a cloak over the faults of others.
This spirit marks also his treatment of the unconverted.
Reproach rather than persuasion, contempt rather than affection—mark his conduct
towards the unconverted. It cannot now be said of him that he “thinks no evil,”
and “is kind.” He shows much of the temper of those who make a man an offender
for a word. Soon you may find him vain and trifling, in his plans and
conversation. He prefers vain company. He selects unprofitable reading. He seeks
amusement, not those things which are profitable to his soul.
Things must be found to suit “his taste.” When lively in
religion, his conversation was seasoned with salt; but now anything rather than
piety is congenial to his feelings. On that topic he is cold. On worldly things
he speaks with zest and animation. He may not wholly forsake the society of
spiritual Christians—but he will not always shun the fool and the scorner. Books
of “taste” or “fiction” will very much supersede the sound and solid treatises
on piety, which once feasted his soul. The Bible does not refresh his spirit as
once it did. His pious friends are often alarmed at his state, and weep over it
in secret; yet he often thinks this is the usual way to glory. In this state he
will often exhibit a painful degree of indifference to the honor of Christ. An
apostasy which once would have cost him bitter tears, hardly awakens a transient
pang. He may not grossly profane the name or the word of the Lord, but he is far
less than formerly grieved at such sins in others. When he sees people sunk in
sin, his spirit is not stirred within him. He is not grieved for the affliction
of Joseph. He does not weep between the porch and the altar as he once did,
crying, “Spare your people, O Lord!” Nor does he rejoice as formerly in hearing
of the spread of truth, the conversion of sinners, the progress of the gospel.
Once his soul was inflamed with love, and leaped for joy, when he heard of the
revival of religion. Jonathan Edwards says that when he first obtained settled
peace of conscience, he felt irrepressible desires for the salvation of the
world, and had peculiar delight in hearing of the progress of religion in any
part of the earth. This is common Christian experience. A lively Christian
unites with angels in rejoicing over even one sinner who repents. But the
backslider has little interest in such events.
It is doubtful whether he loves himself or his Savior the
most. It grieves him more to hear himself reviled—than to hear his Savior
blasphemed. It rejoices him more to hear himself praised—than to hear his Savior
commended. Such things render it doubtful whether he ever knew the Lord—whether
he ever was born again. And it is a bad sign if these things do not shake his
confidence in his own conversion. These things lead to a great diminution of
solid religious comfort. He has few songs of holy joy. His heart is too cold to
relish religious duties. He looks on the past with no real pleasure. It reminds
him of time wasted, of vows broken, of opportunities lost, of comforts decayed,
of mercies slighted. Of the future he is much afraid. He remembers God—and is
troubled. He is afraid of evil tidings. He is expecting some sore chastisement.
His old besetting sins revive with great power. Levity takes the place of
seriousness; fretfulness expels gentleness. Ambition begins to burn in the
bosom—where formerly dwelt humility, lowliness and contentment. Covetousness
resumes her iron despotism; or extravagance breaks out afresh. The heavenly
racer takes up one by one the weights which he had formerly laid aside. He runs,
but as uncertainly; he fights, but with great feebleness.
Those who have thus departed from God, are left to see what
they can do alone. God permits them to try their own power and resources. Of
such the Comforter says, “I will go and return to my place, until they
acknowledge their offence and seek my face; in their affliction they will seek
me early,” (Hosea 5:15). Samson is now shorn of the locks of his strength. It
will be well if he be not forced to make amusement for the Philistines.
How long one may remain in this state none can tell. To
escape from such error and sinfulness is no easy thing. It pleased God at once
to restore Peter after he had denied his Lord. But it seems to have been months
before David shed for his crimes the tears of true repentance. It is no easy
matter to escape from the snare of the devil, when we have once been led captive
by him at his will.
Yet to all God’s people, his promise stands sure: “I will
heal their backsliding,” (Hosea 14:4). In fulfilling his promise, God will
choose his own time. He heals when and how he pleases. None can hasten, none can
retard his work. The good Shepherd restores the soul of his servants, and does
not leave them to perish in their errors. He commonly begins the healing process
by convincing the soul of its sad departures from him. This is done by calling
the mind to reflection on its own evil doings. Sometimes God sends “Nathan the
prophet” with a pointed message, charging home guilt upon the transgressor.
Sometimes he employs “affliction” to humble the soul. “In their affliction they
will seek me early.” God is not confined to any class of means to restore his
backsliding people. The crowing of the rooster brought home to Peter Christ’s
words of warning, with as much power as any truth that ever reached a man’s
heart. God sometimes uses the derision and persecution of the wicked to awaken
his people out of sleep. The word of God is, to such, quick and powerful, and
sharper than any two-edged sword. The Spirit reproves. He convinces of sin; he
reveals the baseness of the heart; he makes one see his folly and ingratitude in
departing from the living God.
Now is fulfilled that scripture: “The backslider in heart
shall be filled with his own ways,” (Prov. 14:14). He forsook God, the fountain
of living waters. This was his first error. The second was like unto it: he
hewed out to himself broken cisterns—which could hold no water. God may now let
loose his corruptions upon him, or send a messenger of Satan to buffet him. He
is afflicted; he is tossed with tempest, and not comforted. He is so “ashamed
that he cannot look up.” He is convinced that he deserves rejection. God often
seems to fulfill the threatening: “I will attack them like a bear robbed of her
cubs, I will rip open their chests. I will devour them there like a lion, like a
wild animal would tear them apart,” (Hosea 13:8). Instead of comforting, God now
speaks words of terror. The afflicted soul says, “Oh that I knew where I might
find him! that I might come even to his seat! I would order my cause before him,
and fill my mouth with arguments. Behold, I go forward, but he is not there; and
backward, but I cannot perceive him: on the left hand, where he does work, but I
cannot behold him: he hides himself on the right hand, that I cannot see him,”
(Job 23:3, 4, 8, 9).
Sometimes despairing thoughts enter his mind, and he cries,
“Why has my pain become unending, my wound incurable, refusing to be healed? You
truly have become like a mirage to me—water that is not reliable,” (Jer. 15:18).
Sometimes he cannot see anything good implanted in his heart by God’s Spirit. He
almost concludes that no real child of God would be left to fall so low as he
has done. The promises do not comfort him, though the threatenings often terrify
him. He feels the force and justice of the charge God brings against him: “Have
you not procured this unto yourself—in that you have forsaken the Lord your God?
Your own wickedness shall correct you, and your backslidings shall reprove you!
Know therefore and see that it is an evil and bitter thing—that you have
forsaken the Lord your God, and that my fear is not in you,” (Jer. 2:17, 19). He
now has continual sorrow. He drinks wormwood and gall. His conscience makes his
soul like the troubled sea. None can tell his griefs. “The heart knows its own
bitterness.”
It is said by some that David seems never to have fully
recovered his joyousness after his backsliding. However this may be, we know how
the arrows of the Almighty stuck fast in him, and his waves and his billows
passed over him. The pangs of a backslider’s recovery often exceed those of a
first conversion. Such views lead one to a hearty confession of sin. “I
acknowledge my transgression, and my sin is ever before me,” (Ps. 51:3). This
confession may be minute and particular. It will go back and deplore original
sin, (Ps. 51:5). It will humble itself for sins committed before conversion:
“Remember not the sins of my youth, nor my transgressions,” (Ps. 25:7). But sins
committed since a profession of piety, justly seem to call for deep abasement.
They are against vows and promises, illumination and ordinances—against all that
is solemn in the public profession of Christ. The fountains of the great deep
are broken up. Witnesses of one’s sinfulness arise on all hands. The stone out
of the wall cries, and the beam out of the timber answers it. Thus his
confession is not vague and general, but definite and particular.
He sees good cause in many a misdeed why God should contend
against him. Sins against man are not forgotten; but sins against God are
fearfully multiplied and aggravated. Sometimes it seems as if the soul was made
to see all the evil that ever it did, and then it cries, “I am undone!” “O
wretched man that I am!” “God be merciful to me a sinner!” “Enter not into
judgment with your servant; for in your sight shall no man living be justified.”
“If you, Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand?” “I abhor
myself, and repent in dust and ashes!”
Sometimes a soul thus convicted is so troubled and restless,
that he rages like a wild bull in the net. And now his bones wax old through his
roaring all the day long. It is a great thing to have the heart subdued, and the
soul made like a weaned child. When the soul is thus humbled, quiet, and
submissive, when proud looks are brought down, and proud thoughts abased—then
God grants a spirit of true believing prayer and of strong crying. He says,
“Take words of repentance with you and return to the Lord. Say to Him—Forgive
all our sin and accept what is good, so that we may repay You with praise from
our lips,” (Hosea 14:2). This spirit of prayer is sure to be followed by tokens
for good. This itself, is a blessed fruit of Christ’s mediation. He who asks
receives.
And now the Lord appears. As the spouse found it good to be
of a quiet, patient spirit, so does the soul; for the next thing is, “The voice
of my Beloved! behold, he comes, leaping upon the mountains, and skipping upon
the hills,” (Song 2:7). He “comes out of the wilderness like pillars of smoke,
perfumed with myrrh and frankincense,” (Song 3:6). When, in the fullness of his
love and kindness and power and condescension and faithfulness, Christ makes his
appearance and shows himself gracious to the repentant soul—there is a wonderful
change. He comes both gently and seasonably. “His going forth is prepared as the
morning,” (Hosea 6:3). He bids the soul take courage. He forgives all its sins,
casting them behind his back. He gives a check to corruption. He causes the
tempter to depart. He pours light into the mind. He hushes the tumultuous waves
of human passion. He quiets the troubles of the soul. He says, “Peace, be
still!” and suddenly there is a great calm. Thus Jesus is “a horn of salvation
for us, in the house of his servant David. That we should be saved from our
enemies, and from the hand of all who hate us. That we, being delivered out of
the hand of our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and
righteousness before him, all the days of our life.” Thus he “gives knowledge of
salvation unto his people, by the remission of their sins, through the tender
mercy of our God; whereby the day-spring from on high has visited us, to give
light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet
into the way of peace,” (Luke 1).
To a soul thus exercised, Christ in all his offices is
precious. Its language is, “Whom have I in heaven but you? and there is none
upon earth that I desire besides you.” “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a
seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death. Many waters cannot quench love,
neither can the floods drown it; if a man would give all the substance of his
house for love, it would be utterly despised,” (Song 8:6, 7).
In such a soul, the purposes of obedience are humble, but
firm. Faith gains many an important victory. Penitence loves to shed her secret
tears. Hope looks up, and says—I shall soon be forever with the Lord. The spirit
of adoption says—That majestic God, who shakes the heavens with his voice, is my
kind and merciful Father. Aversion to sin is now strong. The soul says, “What
shall I render into the Lord for all his benefits to me?” Gratitude is ready to
make any offering; it withholds nothing.
In one thus dealt with by the Lord are strikingly fulfilled
these passages of Scripture: “I waited patiently for the Lord, and He turned to
me and heard my cry for help. He brought me up from a desolate pit, out of the
miry clay, and set my feet on a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song
in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their
trust in the Lord,” (Ps. 40:1-3). Nor is the following language of the psalmist
less applicable to his case: “I love the Lord because He has heard my appeal for
mercy. Because He has turned His ear to me, I will call out to Him as long as I
live. The ropes of death were wrapped around me, and the torments of Hell
overcame me; I encountered trouble and sorrow. Then I called on the name of the
Lord: “Lord, save me!” The Lord is gracious and righteous; our God is
compassionate. The Lord guards the inexperienced; I was helpless, and He saved
me. Return to your rest, my soul, for the Lord has been good to you. For You,
Lord, rescued me from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling. I will
walk before the Lord in the land of the living,” (Ps. 116:1-9).
Thus experience teaches the sense and
sweetness of many a passage of Scripture formerly read without understanding.
Indeed it is not uncommon for those thus recovered to think that this is their
first conversion, and that never before did they know in their souls the joy of
God’s salvation. The change is great. The grace is great. When God thus heals
backsliders, he kindly adds these blessings: “I will love them freely; for my
anger is turned away from him. I will be as the dew unto
All the figures in this passage may not be intelligible to
some; but plain honest minds will not doubt that here are promised rich supplies
of free grace, securing pardon of sin, the indwelling of the Holy Spirit,
deep-rooted vigor, increase of grace and of fruitfulness, usefulness to those
under his influence, a sweet savor of piety at all times, together with an utter
renunciation of idols and of self-dependence.
And now are you a backslider? Are you cold, formal, or
negligent in the secret duties of piety? Do you feel the uneasiness of guilt?
Are you “afraid of evil tidings?” Do you live in constant apprehension of sore
calamities? Are ordinances unprofitable to you? Are you in the constant exercise
of charity, or do you indulge in a censorious spirit? Are you vain, light,
trifling? Do you prefer the society of the devout? What books do you select? Are
you alive to the honor of Christ? Do you enjoy piety? Let these solemn questions
be asked frequently and answered honestly, as you shall give account to God. If
you have evidence that you are not a backslider, then give God the glory, and
“be not high-minded, but fear.”
Nothing but amazing grace could have preserved you from the
snare of the fowler. But if you find that the evidence shows you to be in a
state of declension, then open your eyes to your real condition, judge yourself,
confess your sins, and cleave to God. Hear the kind call: “Come, and let us
return unto the Lord,” (Hosea 6:1). If you should not return and be healed, and
if you should be called to die, how sad would be your departure out of this
world. Your sun would go down behind a cloud, leaving others in doubt whether it
was not gone down in eternal night. And if your sanctification shall not advance
faster than it has done since you first believed in Christ, how long will it be
before you are prepared for glory? At your present rate of growth in grace—would
you be fit for heaven in a thousand years? And yet there is no one of us who
shall live a thousand months. Many will not live a thousand weeks—yes, not a
thousand days. Possibly some will not live a thousand seconds. Indifference to
eternal things in so critical circumstances, is wholly irreconcilable with
wisdom.
