An Address to Young People: Excuses for the Neglect of Religion (2)

Youth often excuse themselves for the neglect of religion, on the ground that it is gloomy, that it throws a damp on all the joys of life. This certainly is a very serious charge, and deserves to be particularly examined.

Suppose, however, that this representation were just, I would still maintain that it did not amount even to the semblance of an apology for neglecting religion; for it is never to be forgotten that it is religion, and that only, that saves the soul from eternal death, and secures to it everlasting life and glory. What then though religion were that chilling and comfortless thing which its enemies would sometimes represent it; what though it did require us to sacrifice all the enjoyments of social life, or even to undergo the most painful penance— the severest lacerations that nature can bear; what would all this be, compared with the loss of the immortal soul, the tortures of the never-dying worm, the ceaseless convulsions of the second death? I say then, that let religion require of us whatever present sacrifices it might, that man would be a fool who would not rather make these sacrifices than expose himself to the agonies of perdition. For in the one case, the poor and pitiful pleasures of a moment would be succeeded by scenes of undying anguish and despair; in the other, the privations and sufferings of this short life would be followed by everlasting ages of glory. Admitting this charge in its full extent, therefore, which you bring against religion, we maintain that your conduct in neglecting it is, on principles of reason, utterly indefensible.

But let us see whether there be any validity to this charge; whether it can be sustained either on the ground of reason or on the ground of experience.

I admit indeed that the beginning of a sinner’s conversion is often a very painful one, and is always accompanied by serious reflection and deep anxiety. It is impossible that a soul should awaken to its condition as lost, as exposed to the wrath of God, and remain unaffected by the woes of that condition. But this, though indispensable, is not religion itself. It would be no more absurd to talk against the blessing of health, because the sick man must submit to some unpleasant prescriptions in order to regain it, than to condemn religion as gloomy, because you cannot partake of its joys until you have felt the burden of conviction, and have drunk of the bitter waters of repentance.

Moreover, I am willing to admit that there are some gloomy Christians — persons who really have the love of God in their hearts, but who are yet subject through life to a deep and settled melancholy. But this, instead of proving that religion is the parent of gloom, only proves that either some of the truths of religion are misapprehended— and thus perverted to minister to a gloomy habit— or else that the principle of religion is too feeble in its operations to counteract the various causes which may produce this effect. Nothing can be more unjust than to make religion answerable for the existence of evils, which, on account of the limited influence it has gained over the heart, it does not remove. Moreover, it admits of no question that what is called religious depression is often to be referred to constitutional temperament and the operation of other physical causes. So far as religion is concerned with it at all, it may safely be said that it is not religion, but the want of it, which operates to produce this effect.

In speaking of the delightful influence which religion is fitted to exert on the heart, I am aware that we labor under one disadvantage: it is that we are supposed to be speaking to persons who are not only strangers to the joys of religion, but who actually have no relish for them. But if I mistake not, even such persons, if they would examine the gospel impartially, would find in it no tendency to a spirit of gloom. The gospel does indeed announce to man his ruined and wretched state; but then it does nothing towards bringing him into that state, but on the contrary, it makes provision to bring him out of it. It cannot be denied that it speaks to the impenitent sinner the language of terror; but its practical tendency is to be estimated by its effect on those who do, and not upon those who do not, yield their hearts to its influence.

And now let me ask you, what there is in it which is adapted to diffuse gloom over a sanctified soul? Is there anything in the character of God — in His wisdom, goodness, mercy, or holiness, which is fitted to dampen the Christian’s joys? Is there anything gloomy in the thought that wherever he may be, he is surrounded by Jehovah’s watchful care; and that even the most apparently untoward dispensations will finally redound to his greatest benefit? Is the glorious work of redemption by Christ— that work in which all the amiable and venerable attributes of the Godhead shine forth with transcendent luster — fitted to shed mildew on the best comforts of the soul? Is there the semblance of gloom in the precious promises of the gospel; in the promise that Jehovah will guide the Christian by His counsel; that He will sustain him in the valley of death; and finally be his everlasting portion? If these and other kindred subjects are not fitted to dispel gloom and inspire the soul with serenity and cheerfulness, I ask what subjects are adapted to produce this effect? The gospel then is not calculated to make men gloomy but how is it in experience?

I speak not here of those who merely bear the name of Christians, but of those in whom religion is a living, acting, reigning principle. And of such I venture to say, that they are more consistently and uniformly cheerful than any other class. I do not mean that you will find them throwing themselves into the current of worldly levities. I mean that in all the various circumstances of life, you may see in them a dignified cheerfulness, equally remote from an unsocial austerity or forbidding gloom, on the one hand; and from a spirit of gay frivolity, on the other. Place such a person in the humble walks of life, and if you please, let the night clouds of adversity gather around him, and let him see one friend after another carried to the grave, one fountain of earthly comfort after another dried up, until, to the eye of sense, his last hold of earthly enjoyment seems to be broken. Tell me whether you can imagine that peace and even joy can find its way into such a scene as this. I tell you, my young friend, that that Christian is not bereft of consolation, though he may be bereft of everything else. Amidst all this desolation without, there is a peace that passeth understanding within; there is a holy confidence in God, a hope sure and steadfast, which is an anchor to the soul amidst all the storms of trouble that beat upon it. I speak not here, blessed be God, of rare occurrences; and I doubt not that some such cases as that which I have supposed, may have come under your observation; that you may have seen Christian faith rising and triumphing under a weight of calamity which seemed to you absolutely insupportable. Surely then, if religion is gloomy, she imparts no such influence in the day of adversity. She has, at least, one bright side, one friendly, helping hand, to wipe away the tears from the eye of the mourner, and to carry consolation to the heart, whose sorrows the world is utterly powerless to assuage.

But there is another and still darker scene through which we must all pass, in which religion is, by no means, an idle attendant. It is in that hour— when all the poor helps that nature can yield us are failing, and the soul that has not God for its refuge is put upon its own naked resources — that religion most triumphantly refutes the charge of being gloomy. Did you ever, my young friend, see a Christian dying in the exercise of a strong and elevated faith? Then I venture to say, you do not in your heart believe this charge against religion, which I am considering. Draw nigh, ye incredulous ones, who have been accustomed to regard Christianity as only the damper of human joy; draw nigh to that scene of mingled agony and triumph, in which a disciple of Jesus is taking his departure for the eternal world. Now, what is the world any longer to him? And what can it do for him in this hour of his extremity? Nothing. The chill clutches of death are already upon his countenance; and the sinking, fluttering pulse proclaims that the conflict with the destroyer has begun. Friends may weep and break their hearts around his dying bed; though even they can do nothing to enable him to retain his hold on life a single hour. But amidst all the complicated natural horrors of the death scene, you may see that Christian fearless and joyful. You may behold a lingering smile of triumph on the countenance over which the icy hand of the king of terrors is passing. And perhaps you may hear the praises of redeeming love—the hosannas of an almost disenthralled spirit, trembling on the tongue which a few moments hence will be motionless in death. And will you say, after all this, that religion is the parent of gloom? Go then to the dying bed of the sinner, and contrast what you have just seen with what you will there see. Go and mark the frenzied look, listen to the frantic exclamation, and measure, if you can, the woes that are clustering on that departing spirit; and then say, if it is a gloomy thing to die with religion, what is it to die without it?

Thus I have endeavored to expose the fallacy of the plea that religion is gloomy by showing that, if the charge were true, it would amount to no apology for the neglect of it. It is this alone which secures our eternal happiness: that, so far from being gloomy, it is in itself essentially a system of consolation. All experience proves that it yields support which can be derived from no other source, and in circumstances in which everything else is completely unavailing.

And has not enough been said in this article to remove the delusion, if it has existed in any of your minds, that religion is too grave a concern for the buoyant spirits of youth? Does it not also remove the delusion that though old age or even manhood may reasonably enough be brought under its claims, yet the young have a fair right to be exempted? Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing in religion that renders it unsuitable to your period of life. Its tendency is, not to repress the ardor of youth, but to give a right direction to it; not to dry up the sources of youthful enjoyment, but to enlarge and purify them. If you are told that in becoming religious you must yield yourself to become a victim to melancholy, believe not the slander for a moment. Be assured, on the other hand, that the “ways” of piety “are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.”

Rev. William B. Sprague (1795-1876) was a well-known Calvinistic, Presbyterian pastor who served West Springfield, Massachusetts for ten years and Albany, New York for forty years. He published 165 sermons and fourteen books, several of which were written for young people. This address is taken from his Lectures to Young People, recently reprinted by Sprinkle Publications, P.O. Box 1094, Harrisonburg, VA 22801.

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