Works of Joseph Hall, Section 22
SECT. XXII.
Poſitiue rules of our peace.AL the enemies of our inward peace, are thus deſcried and diſcomforted. Which done, we hauehave enough to preſerue vsus from miſery: but (ſince wee moreouer ſeeke how to liue well and happily) there yet remaine thoſe Poſitiue Rules whereby our Tranquillitie may be both had, continued, and confirmed. Wherein, I feare not leſt I ſhould ſeeme ouer-diuine, in caſting the Anchor of Quietneſſe ſo deepe as Heauen (the onelyonly ſeat of conſtancy;) whiles it can finde no hold at all vponupon earth. All earthly things are full of variableneſſe: and therefore hauing no ſtay in themſelues, can giuegive none to vsus. He that will hauehave and hold right Tranquillitie, muſt finde in himſelfe a ſweet fruition of God, and a feeling apprehenſion of his preſence; that when hee findes manifold occaſions of vexation in theſe earthly things, he (ouer-looking them all, and hauing recourſe to his Comforter) may finde in him ſuch matter of contentment, that he may paſſe ouer all theſe pettie grieuances with contempt: which whoſoeuer wants, may be ſecure, cannot be quiet. The minde of man cannot want ſome refuge, and (as we ſay of the Elephant) cannot reſt, vnleſſe it hauehave ſomething to leane vponupon. The Couetous man, (whoſe heauen is his cheſt) when he heares himſelfe rated and curſed for oppreſſion, comes home; and ſeeing his bagges ſafe, applauds himſelfe againſt all cenſurers. The Glutton, when he loſeth friends or good name; yet ioyeth in his well furniſht table, and the laughter of his Wine: more pleaſing himſelfe in one diſh, than he can bee grieued with all the worlds miſ-carriage. The needy Scholler (whoſe wealth lies all in his braine) cheeres himſelfe againſt iniquitie of times, with the conceit of his knowledge. Theſe ſtarting holes the minde cannot want, when it is hard driuen. Now, when as like to ſome chaſed Siſera, it ſhrowds it ſelfe vnderunder the harbour of theſe Iaels; although they giuegive it houſe-roome and milke for a time, yet at laſt either they entertaine it with a naile in the Temples, or (being guiltie to their owne impotency) ſend it out of themſelues, for ſafetie and peace. For, if the Croſſe light in that which it made his refuge (as, if the couetous man be croſſed in his riches) what earthly thing can ſtay him from a deſperate phrenſie? Or, if the Croſſe fall in a degree aboue the height of his ſtay; as if the rich man be ſicke, or dying (wherein, all wealth is either contemned, or remembred with anguiſh) how doe all his comforts (like vermine, from an houſe on fire) runne away from him, and leaue him ouer to his ruine! whiles the Soule, that hath placed his refuge aboue, is ſure that the ground of his comfort cannot be matched with an earthly ſorrow, cannot be made variable by the change of any euent; but is infinitely aboue all caſualties, and without all vncertainties. What ſtate is there, wherein this heauenly ſtay ſhall not affoord mee, not onelyonly Peace, but Ioy? Am I in priſon? or in the hell of priſons (in ſome darke, low, and deſolate dungeon?Pompon. Alger. Fox Martyr.) Lo there Algerius (that ſweet Martyr) findes more light than aboue; and pitties the darkneſſe of our libertie. We hauehave but a Sunne to enlighten our world, which eueryevery cloud dimmeth, and hideth from our eies: but the Father of lights (in reſpect of whom, all the bright ſtarres of heauen are but as the ſnuffe of a dimme candle) ſhines into his pit, and the preſence of his glorious Angels make that an heauen to him, which the world purpoſed as an hell of diſcomfort. What walls can keepe out that infinite Spirit, that fills all things? What darkneſſe can be where the God of this Sunne dwelleth? What ſorrow where he comforteth? Am I wandring in baniſhment? Can I goe whither God is not? what Sea can diuide betwixt him and mee? then would I feare exile, if I could bee driuen away as well from God, as my countrie. Now he is as much in all earths: His title is alike to all places; and mine in him: His ſunne ſhines to me; his ſea or earth beares me vp; his preſence cheereth mee, whither-ſoeuer I goe. He cannot be ſaid to flit, that neuer changeth his Hoſt. He alone is a thouſand companions; he alone is a world of friends. That man neuer knew what it was to be familiar with God, that complaines of the want of home, of friends, of companions, while God is with him. Am I contemned of the world? It is enough for me, that I am honoured of God: of both, I cannot. The world would louelove me more, if I were leſſe friends with God. It cannot hate mee ſo much as God hates it. What care I to be hated of them, whom God hateth? He is vnworthy of Gods fauour, that cannot thinke it happineſſe enough without the worlds. How eaſie is it for ſuch a man, whiles the world diſgraces him, at once to ſcorne and pittie it, that it cannot thinke nothing more contemptible than it ſelfe? I am impoueriſhed with loſſes: That was neuer throughly good, that may be loſt. My riches will not leeſe mee, yea, tho I forgoe all, to my skin, yet hauehave I not loſt any part of my wealth. For, if hee bee rich that hath ſomething; how rich is he, that hath the Maker and owner of all things! I am weake and diſeaſed in body: He cannot miſcarry, that hath his Maker for his Phyſician. Yet, my ſoule (the better part) is ſound; for that cannot bee weake, whoſe ſtrength God is. How many are ſicke in that, and complaine not! I can be content to be let bloud in the arme or foot, for the curing of the head or heart. The health of the principall part is more ioy to me, than it is trouble to bee diſtempered in the inferiour. Let me know that God fauours me: then I hauehave libertie in priſon, home in baniſhment, honour in contempt, in loſſes wealth, health in infirmitie, life in death; and in all theſe happineſſe. And (ſurely) if our perfect fruition of God bee our complete heauen: it muſt needs be, that our inchoate conuerſing with him is our heauen imperfectly, and the entrance into the other: which (me thinkes) differs from this, not in the kinde of it, but in the degree. For the continuation of which happy ſocietie (ſith ſtrangeneſſe loſeth acquaintance and breedeth neglect) on our part muſt bee a daily renuing of heauenly familiaritie, by ſeeking him vp, euen with the contempt of all inferiour diſtraction; by talking with him in our ſecret inuocations; by hearing his conference with vsus; and by mutuall entertainment of each other in the ſweet diſcourſes of our daily meditations. He is a ſullen and vnſociable friend that wants words. God ſhall take no pleaſure in vsus if wee be ſilent. The heart that is full of louelove, cannot but hauehave a buſie tongue. All our talke with God is either Suites or Thankes. In them the Chriſtian heart powres out it ſelfe to his Maker; and would not change this priuilege for a world. All his annoyances, all his wants, all his diſlikes are powred into the boſome of his inuiſible friend; who likes vsus ſtill ſo much more as we aske more, as we complaine more. Oh the eaſie and happy recourſe that the poore ſoule hath to the high throne of Heauen! we ſtay not for the holding out of a golden ſcepter, to wame our admiſſion, before which our preſence ſhould be preſumption and death. No houre is vnſeaſonable, no perſon too baſe, no words too homely, no fact too hard, no importunitie too great. We ſpeake familiarly, we are heard, anſwered, comforted. Another while God interchangeably ſpeaks vntounto vsus by the ſecret voice of his ſpirit; or by the audible ſound of his word; we heare, adore, anſwer him; by both which the minde ſo communicates it ſelfe to God, and hath God ſo plentifully communicated vntounto it, that hereby it growes to ſuch an habit of heauenlineſſe, as that now it wants nothing, but diſſolution of full glory.