PASTOR OF THE MADISON STREET PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, N. Y. FAULTS IN PRAYER. "Ye ask and receive not because ye ask amiss."-James iv. 3. FEW subjects claim a higher importance than that of prayer. As the divinely appointed way in which the blessings of God are obtained, it stands connected, in the mind of the Christian, directly with his own elevation in piety, and with the highest good of others—with the glory of God, and the eternal well-being of men. Into no act, therefore, of his mind will he be more disposed to extend a far-reaching and jealous scrutiny than into the feelings and motives which influence him in this duty, and especially in seasons of spiritual declension, when the windows of heaven are closed, when the ways of Zion mourn and few come to her solemn feasts; for it may be taken as certain that at such times there is a fault somewhere-that there is something wrongsome" iniquity in our holy things." It is equally certain that this, whatever it may be, will not be seen and corrected unless the Christian is in earnest in his search for it-unless he is willing to look into the deep recesses of his own heart, and to search it as "with lighted candles"-to try his thoughts and to examine thoroughly his feelings in prayer, his motives in lifting up his supplication to God, and the consequent action of the life. The present aspect of things calls imperiously for such examination. Christians pray, and yet they are not revived. They lift up their voices in supplication to God in behalf of those who are ready to perish, and yet they are not converted. There is not heard throughout our churches the cry, "Men and brethren, what shall we do?" This fact ought to make us feel that there is something wrong in our intercession, or in something connected with it. It ought to lead us to suspect that the reason we receive not, is that we ask amiss-ask with wrong views or feelings. For we cannot for one moment suppose that God is unwilling to hear and answer prayer. We know that he is not. not straitened in him. "His arm is not shortened that it cannot save, neither his ear heavy that it cannot hear." His ear is open to our cry. He bids us ask, and on the ground of his promise that, if we ask, we shall receive. He urges us to do this by declaring that he is more willing to give us the Holy Spirit, than we are to give good gifts to our chil We are dren. No; we are not straitened in God. The difficulty is in us-in the manner in which we ask-in the feelings with which we seek-in the motives with which we knock-or in something connected with it or consequent upon it. Let us search at least, brethren, and see if this be not the fact. Let us not rest until the scrutiny is made, and conscience is clear and decided in its testimony. The examination extends over a wide field; I can, therefore, only direct your attention to a few points, and leave you to make the application, or extend the scrutiny further. 1. We may pray without any deep and affecting sense of our own wants, or of the wants of others. There may be so little thought bestowed upon our condition-upon our helplessness-our proneness to evil-and our distance from God, as will leave no adequate impression on the mind of the facts in the case. We may think so little upon the provisions of the Gospel-upon the fulness of God in Christ for usand upon him as our wisdom, righteousness, sanctification and redemption, as to be ignorant of what we have in Christ, or at least to have no proper idea of its richness and abundance. The thoughts may be fastened so seldom upon the condition of the impenitent-upon their danger while out of Christ and upon the worth of the soul and the glory of God in its salvation, as will fix no conviction in the mind corresponding with the peril of the sinner and the loss of the soul. Here, we fear, there is a fault among Christians generally. Other subjects so occupy the mind as to leave little time for meditation on these things. Other cares are allowed so far to exhaust the strength, that nothing scarcely is left for the contemplation of the great interests of the soul. Men come to this work with only a fragment of their energies, and engage in it with a mind torn and distracted by the things which perish with the using. Hence they have no deep and affecting sense of their condition or of that of others, and consequently they do not pray as they should. They ask amiss. Their pleading does not correspond with the facts in the case. In the absence of a proper impression on the mind of their wants and those of others, there is no proper feeling -no becoming emotion, and of course no suitable importunity-no holy pleading with God in prayer. Neglecting to muse upon what we are what we need--and what others need-the fire of heavenly feeling does not burn in the soul-no heaviness of heart is felt-and no fervent, effectual prayer ascends. We can never plead our wants till we feel them. We can never mourn over sin before God, till we are prostrated to the earth by a sense of its evil. We can never intercede for the impenitent as we ought, till we see and feel the worth of the immortal soul. While the Christians of Laodicea felt that they were rich and increased with goods and had need of nothing, it was impossible for them to pray as they should-to pray in accordance with the facts in their case-to pray as wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked. They had no proper sense of their wants. They asked, and received not, therefore, because they asked amiss. 2. Our language in prayer may be in advance of the real desires of the heart. We may express more than we really feel. Words may be used without much definite meaning-may be employed without being the true exponents of the feelings of the heart. We may ask in an earnestness of manner which is in advance of our real desires. A shrewd statesman once defined the faculty of speech to be the power in man of concealing his real opinions and designs. This facetious definition may lead us to think of a fearful source of temptation in prayer. The Christian is not tempted at first to omit this duty. That is too bold a proposition for the adversary to make to him. It is presenting iniquity in wholesale. No, his snares are hidden. His temptations lie in the manner of this exercise-in the motives which prompt us to it—and in the feelings with which we engage in it. His aim is to separate the tongue from the heart-to produce sounds with the one which are not the true echoes of the feelings in the other—a kind of mechanical action in the organs of speech," which runs over a form of words without any aid of the understanding-without any concurrence of the will, and without any consent or prompting of the affections." We are in great danger of concealing the real state of the heart, not from men-not from God-but from ourselves, by the language of our prayers. We may not, indeed, intend to practise any such imposition upon ourselves; we may not even be conscious of it at the time, and yet it may be true. We may even in the closet, and more particularly in the social circle, say more than we feel-we may give utterance to language that is, in its import, in advance of the real askings and cravings of the inner man, and thus offend against God. If there is a proper sense of our wants and of the condition of impenitent men in the mind, the heart will be in advance of the tongue. We shall feel, what we cannot fully express. We shall be conscious of intercessory feeling and desire, to which no language can give adequate utterance. Such was the fact, when Moses, interceding for guilty Israel, said, "If thou wilt not forgive their sin, blot me, I pray thee, out of thy book, which thou hast written." Such was the fact, when Paul prayed for his countrymen, and said, "I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh." Here there was a heaviness in the heart, which no language could express. That which was used, and which startles us even by its boldness, was but the distant echo of what these devoted men felt. Luther's heart was evidently in advance also of his impassioned language. He desired what he could but feebly express. So great was the earnestness with which John Knox prayed for his country, that his cry was, "Give me Scotland or I DIE!" His mind had seized upon this object with such intensity of desire, as could not be denied, with such a grasp of feeling as was stronger than death. No one can fail to see a connection between this state of his heart and the results which followed-to see a reason in this deep-working intercession in his bosom, why his prayer was answered-why his enemies quailed before the voice of his supplication. His prayers were the earnest-the compassionate desires of his heart-the groanings which could not be uttered. But when the reverse of all this is true, when the language means more than the heart really feels, it is not prayer-it is only a solemn sound from a thoughtless tongue. 3. Feeling may be disproportionate in reference to the objects for which we pray. We may ask for certain things with too great earnestness and importunity. There are objects of prayer in reference to which we should take no denial; objects, which God has promised to bestow, and in regard to which we can never feel too deeply or plead too importunately. In matters of spiritual interest-in things that concern our growth in grace-our communion with God-our sympathy with the mind of Christ in the work of saving the souls of men, no desire can be too deep-no pleading too great. But there are other objects where no such earnestness-no such importunity would be proper-where our desires should be very moderate. There are objects of earthly interest merely-things which concern our temporal convenience or happiness only, in reference to which we may ask amiss, by asking with too much earnestness. Feeling should be regulated by the intrinsic worth of those objects which claim our attention. Interest should be felt in different things, just as those things differ in importance-just as they bear more or less directly on the great object and end of human existence. David desired to awake in the likeness of God and to build him a temple. It would have been wrong in him if he had felt equally urgent in these desires. Paul would have sinned, had he felt the same heaviness of heart in reference to the thorn in his flesh, that he did in regard to the salvation of his countrymen. A desire to succeed in business cherished to the same extent as that for prosperity of soul would manifestly be sinful. We The temptation to disproportionate feeling, in reference to the objects for which we pray, is very great. We are creatures of sense. love to walk by sight. What is seen affects us much more than what is unseen-the present more than the future. Things near us appear larger, and attract attention, and of course enlist more of feeling than those do which are at a greater distance, and of immensely more importance. The danger is that we shall feel too much in regard to temporal things, and too little in reference to what is eternal. This disproportion is wrong. Feeling should rise or fall with the inherent worth of those things which call it forth. It is not right that the interests of earth should have more of the heart than the momentous concerns of eternity. It is not right that we should fix with greater desire upon the convenience or life of the body than upon the weal of its thinking, undying inmate. It cannot be otherwise than displeasing to God to see a greater earnestness in the heart of the Christian in prayer about what perishes with the using, than is felt about that for which atoning blood has been shed. It must be reason enough for sending us empty away when we come before him in the earthly mould of such feelings -when he sees in us desires so disproportionate to the real worth of things-so contrary to his word and so little in sympathy with our expectations as Christians-desires which tend to chain us to the earth -and which war with all the aspirations awakened in the soul by the Spirit of God. 4. We may pray without any fixed determination to act in accordance with our prayer. Two points here particularly claim attention. We may confess our sins in prayer without any fixed and definite purpose to forsake them. Confession may spring, in part at least, from custom. Praying is with the Christian a daily exercise. What is repeated from day to day becomes familiar, and often flows from our lips, especially in its indefinite aspect, almost as a matter of course. As we have seen, words may express more than the heart feels, and more than we are determined to do. Confession of sin may be made, and yet not be prompted by a feeling of self-degradation in consequence of it. It may come from the lips, when the heart is not loathing itself on account of it, and determined to forsake it. The action consequent upon the prayer may not be in accordance with the confession. It is not thus that we act when we confess a fault to man. If you have injured any one, and confess it, and ask his forgiveness, you mean all that you say-your confession is accompanied with a determination to do so no more. The confession in this case comes from the heartfrom a sense of shame felt in the soul, and is therefore followed by reformation. But what is there in an offence against man, that should crimson the countenance and lead to better action, when compared with the meanness and insult of sin against God? If confession to man makes it necessary to cease from the offence, how can we confess our sins to God, without a fixed and honest determination to forsake them? Words, here, are nothing, except as they come from the heart, and are followed by action which corresponds with them. The question is not what we know, or can say about sin, but this, what we feel it to bewhat we are determined to do in reference to it. It is in vain to confess it, while our conduct shows that we differ in our feelings with God in regard to its evil. Sin is an abominable thing; it is what God abhors. It must be offensive to him, therefore, when we confess it without in heart loathing it, and without a determination to abandon it-to free ourselves, through his grace, from all its pollutions. To confess a particular sin, and yet continue in it, is mockery. To confess our coldness in religion, and yet make no effort to wake up into spiritual life, is an offence. To pray for our enemies, and yet not from the heart forgive them, is adding sin to sin. In one word, to confess sin without determining to forsake it, is to take your position on the barren heath, is to sit where the frown of God rests, and where darkness, doubt, and despair, will be your companions and your constant tor mentors. Again, we may pray for divine direction, and yet not be fully and sincerely determined to follow it when given. Nothing is more proper in the Christian, who is of yesterday, and who knows comparatively nothing, than to ask wisdom from above. And yet, in this we are in great danger of offending God, by asking amiss. We may ask for wisdom, without any fixed purpose to follow where it leads, to believe |