SERMONS

BY THE

REV. JOHN VENN, M. A.
RECTOR OF CLAPHAM.
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IN THREE VOLUMES. 
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Vol. II.
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THE THIRD EDITION.
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LONDON:
PRINTED BY ELLERTON AND HENDERSON,
JOHNSON’S COURT, FLEET STREET:

AND SOLD BY J. HATCHARD, PICCADILLY; AND 
RIVINGTONS, ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD.
1818.

SERMON I.
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ON THE CONDESCENSION AND GOODNESS OF GOD TO MAN.
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psalm viii. 4.
What is man, that thou art mindful of him; and the son of man, that thou visitest him?

IT is a happy circumstance when the contemplation of the works of nature leads the mind to reflect upon their great Author, and to adore him. This, however, is not always the case. With pain it must be acknowledged, that there have been philosophers who have measured the immense magnitude of the heavenly orbs, and surveyed the swiftness and order of their motion; who have examined the exquisitely curious structure of the human body, and observed how fearfully and wonderfully we are made; and yet have not been led by their admirable discoveries to worship and obey the great Creator. It was not thus with the Psalmist. You may figure to yourself the King of Israel, at the time he composed this Psalm, sitting by night in his garden, to contemplate the starry heaven, and watch the planets rolling through the serene atmosphere of an eastern sky. In him every faculty of the soul was sanctified, and every object ministered to the service of God. He breaks out, therefore, in the language of religious adoration:—“O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!—who hast set thy glory in the heavens!”—And then, considering the majesty of God, “the heavens, the work of his fingers; and the moon and the stars, which he had ordained;” he cannot conceal his astonishment, that such a great and glorious God should notice a creature so insignificant as man, and visit him with his presence and blessing. “Lord,” he adds, “what is man, that thou art mindful of him; and the son of man, that thou visitest him?”
If we fall into the same train of meditation as the Psalmist, we may fix our thoughts upon the following points.
I. The meanness of man, and his unworthiness of the regard and affection of the Most High God.
II. The greatness and majesty of God, and yet the condescension and goodness which he has been pleased to show, in being “mindful of man, and in visiting him.”

I. The “meanness of man, and his unworthiness of the regard and affection of the Most High God.”—Whenever man singles out one of his fellow-creatures with peculiar regard, it is on account of some amiable or useful quality he supposes him to possess; his powers to entertain and communicate pleasure, his benevolence of disposition, his strict integrity, or his ability to grant protection and to confer benefits. These form the ordinary basis upon which esteem is built; and without some such basis, affection degenerates into a mere brutal instinct unworthy of a rational being. There must also be suitableness and correspondence between the persons allied in friendship. The great and noble unite themselves to persons in an elevated station. The learned and wise consort with persons of taste and knowledge. The pious and excellent seek for companions amidst such as fear the Lord. In vain, however, shall we look to these several sources of esteem, to account for that regard which God has been pleased to entertain for man: for when we survey man, and compare him with the Divine Being, there appears every thing which would tend to break the bonds of union. Such a dissimilarity of taste, as well as difference of rank, exists in this case; such a want of those dispositions which alone can appear amiable and excellent, in the eyes of a holy God, is discoverable in man; that it would appear to be almost morally impossible the glorious Jehovah should ever “be mindful of him, and visit him.”
I do not here set before you the intellectual meanness of man, or the scanty and limited nature of his powers and faculties; though indeed these, when compared with the excellent glory of the Divine Nature, would seem to form an insurmountable obstacle to union. For “what is man?” He is “like a thing of nought.” Take the noblest part of him, his mind.—Far be it from us to undervalue any of the works of God, and much less the chief of those works. But when our end is to exalt God, then surely we may say, as the Psalmist did, “yet let God be true and every man” be found “a liar,” or vanity, before him.— “What, then, is man,” with all his boasted powers? How scanty the limits of his comprehension! Instead of seeing, as a more perfect creature may see, all truth by intuition, what pains must he take, and what helps must he use; to what patient study and laborious investigation must he submit, in order to discover even a small part of that truth which is within his comprehension! I say, within his comprehension; for it is probably but a very small part indeed of the whole compass of knowledge which he is capable of discerning. Many of the sublime truths which relate to the existence of God, and to eternal things, it is impossible for him, however ardent his pursuit, to comprehend. And how dim is the light, even of that knowledge he does possess; how mixed with error; how hardly acquired; how easily lost! But the natural defect and scantiness of his powers is not the point on which I would insist. There are more serious obstacles to a union between him and a holy God. There is a moral opposition between them. Man is a depraved and sinful, as well as a weak, creature. There prevails in him not merely a darkness with respect to spiritual things, but a dislike to them. He shuts his eyes against the light of truth: he is prone to ridicule, to despise, to revile it: he loves his own grovelling ideas: he is a slave to those corrupt passions which are hateful to God: he takes pleasure not merely in trifles, but in sin: his heart is the seat of vanity and vice; his understanding is blind to the beauty of Divine things: his will is no longer free to what is good: his memory is tenacious only of what is bad: his judgment is perverse; his affections are unhallowed.
It must be admitted, indeed, that there are remains of dignity in man which sometimes break forth and show his original: his desires are sometimes great, and he pants after immortality: his spirit seems not unfrequently to burst the bonds of its prison, to feel indignant at its captivity to sin, and to aspire after a happier and holier state. But, setting aside the influence of the Spirit of God, with whom those better feelings originate, we may remark, that these very endeavours betray his weakness and corruption. Were there no knowledge of a better state; were no desires felt, and no efforts made to attain it, we could not so fully ascertain the feebleness of man. But when desires so strong generally fail, and attempts so earnest prove abortive, it is evident, there must be some radical defect and inherent corruption in man, which unfits him for what is truly great and excellent.
To know what man is, we ought not to consider of what he is capable under circumstances peculiarly favourable, but to look at him as he generally is. Cast your eyes, then, around the world. First contemplate the abundant means of grace, the awful remonstrances, the clear instruction, the powerful motives God has employed for the reformation of mankind, and then observe the actual state of mankind. Mark the dissensions which prevail in it; nation rising up against nation; the feuds of private families or states; the acts of cruelty and fraud; the insatiable cravings of ambition; the secret workings of lust! Explore the hearts of men, and see how they are occupied; how low and sordid their desires; how foolish and vain their pursuits; how much of their time is consumed, either in doing nothing or in doing wrong! It is a scene from which the philosopher, as well as the religious man, retires with disgust. “Lord, what is man?” Yet, of him, God is “mindful.”

II. Let us, therefore, in the second place, contemplate the nature of the great and glorious God, and judge how unlikely it is that he should be “mindful of man, or visit him.”
I am aware how little we are acquainted with the Divine Nature. But though we cannot tell what He is, we can say what he is not: though we cannot comprehend his perfections, we understand enough of them to see how unfit they appear for any union with man.
Consider, then, a Being, who, full and complete in himself, needs no addition, and feels no want; a Being who knows all things, embraces the past, the present, and the future, in one comprehensive glance:—a Being Almighty, who, by the simple exertion of his will, can create or destroy. “What is man, whose breath is in his nostrils,” that such a Being should “regard him?” He sitteth in the circle of the heavens, and the inhabitants of the earth are as “grasshoppers before him. The nations are as the drop of the bucket, and are counted as the small dust of the balance.” “All nations before him are nothing, and they are counted to him less than nothing and vanity.” “Wherein then is man to be accounted of?”—The peculiar attribute of God is holiness. “Behold the very heavens are unclean in his sight, and he chargeth his angels with folly.” How much more abominable, then, is man, who “drinketh in iniquity like water!”—God is also just. He reigns the King of the universe, and the glory of his character is the justice with which he sways the sceptre. And will not this form an eternal separation between God and man? Can he who is the avenger of sin, and the asserter of the honour of his law, dwell with sinners? What is there in man, which should excite any other sentiment than that of indignation and aversion in such a God? Can there be any harmony; is there any correspondence, any foundation for union between beings, not only so dissimilar in rank, in station, in character, in perfection; but even in disposition also? Is there not a manifest contrariety? Do we see things dissimilar accord with each other? Can angels accord with men? Can light be united to darkness, heaven to earth, God to man? “Lord, what is man, that Thou,” the purest, the greatest, most perfect, most glorious of beings, “shouldest be mindful of him, and shouldest visit him?” Of all the acts of the Most High, perhaps there is not one which is in itself more extraordinary, and which affords greater matter of surprise and instruction to the angels than his dealings with the children of men.
It is true, indeed, that when we consider God only in the light of the most benevolent of beings, and man in the character of the most wretched, we may discover some reason why God should thus regard and visit his creatures; for there is an attraction between benevolence and misery. But then mere benevolence could be supposed to extend only to the relief of absolute necessity, or deliverance from immediate danger. No principles of common benevolence are sufficient to explain the gracious acts of God to man.
This leads us to consider more particularly the nature of that benevolence which God exercises towards us.
1. The Psalmist says, in the first place, that he is “mindful of him”—We are not to understand this expression as if it were merely opposed to his forgetting him. God cannot forget any of his creatures. They are, every one of them, at all times present to his view. Nor are we to suppose that it implies only a relief sparingly, and, as it were, unwillingly administered: though even such a degree of relief would show a mindfulness of the distressed. But the word here employed bears, as is common in Scripture, a much larger sense than it seems, at first sight, to imply. It intimates, that God not merely remembers man, but keeps him constantly in view, ever watching over him, and never ceasing to do him good. A father is “mindful of his son” when he bears him in mind continually, when he is never long absent from his remembrance. Such is the mindfulness of God to us. He surveys our innumerable wants, and he supplies them. He considers our dangers, and he defends us from them. He is near to us in every time of difficulty and distress. “When thou passest through the waters,” he says to his people, “I will be with thee: they shall not overflow thee. When thou passest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned.” If we go to the “uttermost parts of the earth, even there his hand shall lead” and protect us. “He will give his angels charge over us, lest at any time we dash our foot against a stone,”
Now what is man, that the Lord should thus be mindful of him!—that instead of leaving him to himself to enjoy happiness, or to perish, according as chance shall direct—just as we leave those inferior creatures in whose happiness our own is not concerned—he should thus watch over him, and protect him against unforeseen and unnumbered dangers? Yet, so minute is the providence of God that even “the hairs of our head are all numbered.”
2. But the goodness of God extends yet farther. It leads him not only to be “mindful of man,” but also to visit him.—This expression supposes more than mere care or providence. It implies a degree of union and regard which may well excite our surprise. “Lord, what is man, that thou visitest him?” A man is said to visit another, when he comes to him in order to cultivate friendship and love. As far as this purpose is concerned, the difference of rank and station is laid aside, and the person “visited” is invited to acquaintance or friendship.
In explaining the metaphorical terms of Scripture, a degree of caution should be used, that we do not give them too literal an interpretation. In the case before us, however, we shall not err if we venture to use the term in its most literal sense.
Consider, for instance, the temple of Jerusalem.—God had indeed before pitched his tabernacle with man: but now he commanded Solomon to build him a house, and a house worthy of his greatness. And surely, when thus erected, by the command of the Most High, in the chief city of the Jews, its lofty towers seemed to say to the whole world, “Behold, God dwelleth with man!”—“But will God in very deed dwell with man?” we might justly exclaim, and be tempted to deny that the Most High could be said to “visit man.” Behold, then, a sensible proof. Behold the “glory of the Lord “descending at the dedication of the temple in a cloud of visible glory, and so filling the temple that the priests could not minister there on account of its brightness. Behold also that glory continue for successive generations within the veil, exhibiting, by the supernatural brightness of that part of the temple, a perpetual proof that God did indeed “visit man.”
A still more illustrious testimony, that God does indeed visit man, is to be recognised in the incarnation of his only begotten Son.—Behold Him who was “the brightness of the. Father’s glory, and the express image of his person:” Him who was, from eternity, in the bosom of the Father; who “was with God, and was God;” coming down to “visit man coming not as the prince sometimes comes to visit the cottage of a poor man, in his proper dignity, conveying no benefit but the honour of his visit; but as one of our fallen race, that is to say, taking upon him our nature, dwelling as a man amongst the children of men for many years, made in all respects like unto us, submitting himself to our infirmities, sympathizing in our sorrows, and laying out his life to do us good. Thus did the Son of God “visit man.”
Nor, at this day, are we to consider ourselves as less favoured: still God may be justly said to “visit man.”—In the appointment of a day for worship, of ministers to officiate, and of a house sacred to himself, God plainly proves his willingness to “visit man.” These are indications, that, “if we seek him, he will be found;” that if we “call upon him, he will be nigh to us.” Above all, the holy sacrament, in which we are invited to sit down at the table of the Lord, and to hold communion with Him who is the Head of the Church, and who thus teaches us to consider him as immediately present in our assemblies, seems designed to show us that God does indeed “visit man.”
In like manner, the providential dispensations of our Heavenly Father may be considered as further proofs of this disposition on his part. What is it but a sensible sign of the presence of the Almighty when he delivers us from sudden dangers; when he relieves us in the moment of our extremity; when he raises us from the bed of sickness, and restores our life, and renews our strength?
Still more plainly may the Lord be said to “visit us,” when, in trying seasons, we call upon him for help, and he supports our fainting spirits, hears our prayers, comforts us by the sense of his love, enlarges our hopes, strengthens our faith, and “lifts up the light of his countenance upon us.”—The Throne of Grace is appointed as the scene where we may meet God;—and the hour of affliction is the season in which God is particularly needed, and in which, therefore, he generally gives to the soul which seeks him the most sensible proofs that he will “visit man” with his presence; and bless him.

To conclude; you have heard, my brethren, that God will “in very deed dwell with man.” He will be “mindful of him, and visit him.”— What tidings are these! What an honour is conferred upon us! What a privilege is bestowed! An honour so little to be expected! A privilege so little deserved! What is there, not comprehended in this blessing, which man could desire? We might indeed dread the visit of God, if he came as a Judge to mark our transgressions against him. We might dread his visit, if he came to remonstrate and to reprove. But the visit of God is a visit of love. He comes only for purposes of mercy. It is to bless us that he visits us. What, then, is the reception we give this Heavenly Visitor? Are we sensible of the honour? Do we say, in the language of true humility, “Who are we, that the Lord should be mindful of us; and that the Most High should visit us!” Is God a welcome visitor to us?—How many are there who endeavour to exclude him? He knocks at the door of the heart by his providence, by his calls, by his warnings, by the motions of his Holy Spirit; but they refuse to give him admittance. What preparation do we ourselves make for receiving him? Do we take care to be ready? Do we prize his condescension? Do we improve his kindness? Do we endeavour to remove from our hearts every thing that would offend him—all murmuring—all unbelief—all distrust of his providence and love? Let us consider well what a favour is done to us. The Lord of heaven is not to be refused. He has paid no visit to the fallen angels. It is to fallen man only that he shows this indulgence. Let me, then, conclude by urging upon you these two considerations:—What may you not expect from the loving kindness of the Lord, when he thus “visits” you, if indeed you receive him? And what must you not dread from his displeasure, if you live and die despising the “visits” of the Most High?