I immediately began reading prayers and expounded the second lesson, both in the morning and evening. The morning service began at five, and ended at, or before six: the evening service began at seven.
Now supposing all the grown persons in the town, had been present every morning and evening, would this have _made them idle_? Would they hereby have had _less_, or considerably _more time for working_?
10. The same rule I follow now, both at _London_, _Bristol_ and _Newcastle-upon-Tyne_: concluding the service at every place, winter and summer, before six in the morning: and not ordinarily beginning to preach, till near seven in the evening.
Now do you, who make this objection, work longer, throughout the year, than from six to six? Do you desire, that the generality of people should? Or, can you count them idle, that work so long?
Some few are indeed accustomed to work longer. These I advise, not to come on weekdays. And it is apparent, that they take this advice, unless on some rare and extraordinary occasion.
But I hope, none of _you_ who turn them out of their employment, have the confidence to talk of _my_ making them idle! Do you (as the homely phrase is) cry wh―― first? I admire your cunning; but not your modesty.
So far am I from either _causing_ or _encouraging_ idleness, that an idle person, known to be such, is not suffered to remain in any of our societies; we drive him out, as we would a thief or a murderer. “To shew all possible diligence,” (as well as frugality) is one of our standing rules: and one, concerning the observance of which, we continually make the strictest enquiry.
11. “But you drive them out of their senses. You _make them mad_.” Nay, then they are idle with a vengeance. This objection therefore being of the utmost importance, deserves our deepest consideration.
And first, I grant, it is my earnest desire to drive all the world, into what you probably call _madness_: (I mean, inward religion) to make them just as _mad_, as _Paul_ was when he was so accounted by _Festus_.
The counting all things on earth but dung and dross, so we may win Christ; the ♦trampling under foot all the pleasures of the world, the seeking no treasure but in heaven; the having no desire of the praise of men, a good character, a fair reputation; the being exceeding glad when men revile us, and persecute us, and say all manner of evil against us falsely; the giving God thanks, when our father and mother forsake us, when we have neither food to eat, nor raiment to put on, nor a friend but what shoots out bitter words, nor a place where to lay our head: this is utter _distraction_ in _your_ account; but in God’s it is sober, rational religion: the genuine fruit, not of a distempered brain, not of a sickly imagination, but _of_ the _power_ of God in the heart, _of_ victorious _love, and of a sound mind_.
♦ “trampleing” replaced with “trampling”
12. I grant, secondly, It is my endeavour to drive all I can, into what _you_ may term another species of _madness_, which is usually preparatory to this, and which I term _repentance_ or _conviction_.
I cannot describe this better than a writer of our own has done. I will therefore transcribe his words.
“When men _feel_ in themselves the heavy burden of sin, see damnation to be the reward of it, and behold with the eye of their mind the horror of hell; they tremble, they quake, and are inwardly touched with sorrowfulness of heart, and cannot but accuse themselves, and open their grief unto Almighty God, and call unto him for mercy. This being done seriously, their mind is so occupied, partly with sorrow and heaviness, partly with an earnest desire to be delivered from this danger of hell and damnation, that all desire of meat and drink is laid apart, and loathsomeness (or loathing) of all worldly things and pleasure cometh in place. So that nothing then liketh them, more than to weep, to lament, to mourn, and both with words and behaviour of body to shew themselves weary of life.”
Now what if your wife, or daughter, or acquaintance, after hearing one of these field-preachers, should come and tell you, that they _saw damnation_ before them, and _beheld with the eye of their mind the horror of hell_? What if they should _tremble and quake_, and be so taken up _partly with sorrow and heaviness, partly with an earnest desire to be delivered from this danger of hell and damnation,_ as _to weep, to lament, to mourn, and both with words and behaviour to shew themselves weary of life_; would you scruple to say, that they were _stark mad_? That these fellows had driven them _out of their senses_? And that whatever writer it was, that _talked at this rate_, he was fitter for _Bedlam_ than any other place?