31. The Cure of our Divisions.
Chapter Thirty-One The Cure of our Divisions.
W hat gracious heart is not torn with grief for the severe and fearful evils that arise from our divisions, and is not again troubled with careful thoughts about what may be done to heal them? In Matthew 6:25,
Christ forbids the anxious care that burdens our hearts when it concerns matters of ourselves, even our lives. The Greek phrase μὴ μεριμνᾶτε translates to "do not worry about your life," but it signifies, "Do not take such thought as should tear your heart apart." Similarly, in verses 28, 31, and 34, Christ repeats this charge against anxious, dividing thoughts about ourselves.
However, for uniting the hearts of the Saints for the good of the Church, this heart-concerned care is not only allowed but required, as stated in 1
Corinthians 12:25: "That there should be no schism in the body, but that the members should have the same care for one another." The word for care here is the same as in Matthew 6, where it is forbidden. The expressions of my thoughtful cares about this work are the subject at this time. When I set myself about it, my heart aches at the apprehension of its difficulty.
There are some diseases called opprobria medicorum, the disgrace of physicians, because they know not what to say or do to them; or if they do anything, it is of little purpose. If there is any soul-disease that is opprobrium Theologorum, the disgrace of Divines, it is this of contention and division. How little has all that they have studied and endeavored to do prevailed with the hearts of men? What shall we do? Shall we join in this one thing: to sit down together and mourn over one another until we dissolve our hearts into tears and see if we can thus get them to unite? Oh, that it might be so, whatever sorrow it costs us!
We read in Judges 2:1-5 that the Lord sent an angel from Gilgal to the men of Israel, who told them how graciously He had dealt with them. Yet they had made a league with the inhabitants of the land contrary to God's command, for which the Lord threatened that they would be as thorns in their sides. When the angel spoke these words to the children of Israel, the people lifted up their voices and wept. They called that place Bochim, a place of tears. Their sin was too much joining—joining in league where
God would not have them. Those whom they joined with were to be thorns in their sides. Upon this, they wept so sorely that the place received its name from their weeping.
But oh, that the Lord would send His angel, even His Spirit, to us to convince us of our evil—that we have not joined in a sure league with one another but are thorns in each other's sides. After so many mercies and great deliverances from our bondage and from the rage of ungodly men, we are so false to one another, though the Lord has never broken covenant with us.
This was the heart-breaking argument used by the angel in verse 1. The Lord has done abundantly for us beyond our hopes, desires, and thoughts.
Yet after all this, there are only breaches and divisions among us. We are
not only thorns but spears and swords in each other's sides, piercing each other's hearts.
Are we the children of Israel? Let our hearts break for the breaches among us. Let them break, melt, mourn, bleed, and resolve that nothing shall comfort them but peace with our God and peace with one another.
That one text, 1 Thessalonians 4:9, is enough alone to pierce our hearts thoroughly: "As touching brotherly love, ye need not that I write unto you," says the Apostle, "for ye yourselves are taught of God to love one another."
Oh Lord, are we in these days such Christians as these were? Oh that it were so with us—that we had no need to be written to or preached to concerning this. Does it appear by our actions towards one another that we are taught of God to love one another? But that God may teach us this day, attend to what shall be said to you in His name, which I shall cast into these five heads:
1. Joining Principles.2. Joining Considerations.3. Joining Graces.4.
Joining Practices.5. Conclude with Exhortation.
We shall endeavor to set before you the beauty and excellence in the heart, union, and mutual love of Christians.
I shall not need to be long on these: For take away Dividing Principles, Dividing Distempers, Dividing Practices, and be thoroughly convinced of the evil of divisions, and one would think our hearts should naturally unite.
But that I may not seem to leave our wounds open so that air should get into them but endeavor their closing and healing, I shall speak something to these five heads.
The first joining principle:
In the midst of all differences of judgment and weaknesses of the Saints, it is not impossible for them to live in peace and love together.
If despite differences from God's mind and many weaknesses there may be peace and love between God and His Saints, then surely despite these things, the Saints may be at love and peace among themselves. Let this be laid as a foundation; let our hearts be much possessed with it. We shall find it very helpful for our reconciliation.
Away with that vain conceit which has been the great disturber of Churches in all ages: if men differ in their judgment and practice in matters of religion—even if it is only due to the weaknesses of godly men—there must necessarily be heart-burning and division. Let all peaceable men deny this consequence. Let us not say it will be so and then make it so by our actions. Certainly, any connection between them is more due to the corruption of our hearts than to the nature of things.
I have read of two rivers in the East—Sava and Danube—that run along in one channel for sixty miles together without any noise and yet keep themselves distinct; their waters remain distinct all along. Why should we not think it possible for us to go along closely together in love and peace even though in some things our judgments and practices differ? I will give you who are scholars a sentence to write upon your study doors—a necessary one in these times:
Opinionum varietas et opinantium unitas non sunt Ἀσύστατα.
Variety of opinions and unity among those who hold them can coexist.
There has been much ado to get us to agree: we labored to unify our opinions, but they will not come together. It may be that in our endeavors for agreement, we have begun at the wrong end. Let us try what we can do at the other end; it may be we shall have better success there. Let us labor to join our hearts and engage our affections with one another. If we cannot be
of one mind so that we may agree, let us agree so that we may be of one mind.
Eusebius records a letter that Constantine sent to Alexander and Arius, before he realized the grossness of Arius's heresy. Believing they differed only in minor matters, he endeavored to reconcile them: "For that," says he,
"the things wherein you differ do not concern any weighty substance of our religion, there is no reason why it should breed any division in mind or discord in doctrine; and this I say not to compel you in this light question, of whatever sort it may be, altogether to condescend to the same sentence: and though you dissent among yourselves about a matter of small importance (for truly neither are we all in all things like-minded, nor do we all have the same nature and gift engrafted in us), nevertheless, for all that, the sacred unity may be soundly and inviolably retained among you, and one consent and fellowship conserved between all."
I have read of a similar peaceable disposition among various German divines, meeting to confer about religious matters in difference, in Marburg.
The conclusion of their conference was this: Although we see we cannot fully agree about the corporal presence of the body and blood of Christ in the bread and wine, yet both parties ought to declare Christian love for one another, as far as each can with a good conscience. Oh, that this were the conclusion of all our debates and conferences, where we cannot fully align with one another's judgments. If we wait for peace and love until we achieve unity of faith in all things, we must wait for it, as far as I know, until we come to another world. Ephesians 4:11-12: "He gave some apostles, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, for the work of the ministry, till we all come in the unity of the faith, and knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man." The unity of the faith and the perfect man will
be together; and when they are, there will be no more need for any ministry; there shall be no more preaching after we all come to this unity: when that is done, our work is done for this world.
The Second Joining Principle That shall never be got by strife which may be had by love and peace.
We would all gladly have our wills: now what lies uppermost upon many men's hearts, what is the first thing they do if their wills are crossed, is presently to strive and contend. But this should be the last thing after all other means are tried; this should never be used except in a case of pure necessity. We should first think: Is there any way in the world whereby it is possible we may have our desires satisfied with peace? Let us try this way, and another way, a third, a fourth, even a hundred ways if they lie between us and the way of strife before we come to meddle with that.
This rule will be of great use to order all our business in churches and commonwealths, towns, families—indeed, whatever concerns any of your persons in reference to any other. The Apostle, in 1 Corinthians 12, rebukes the divisions of that church, which they were guilty of more than any other because they had many among them with raised parts and eminent gifts and therefore were puffed up more than others. Except God joins eminency of grace, men with eminent gifts join less than others whose gifts are meaner.
Among those means he directs for union when he speaks of love: "I will show you," says he, "a more excellent way," verse last; καθʼ ὑπερβολὴν ὁδὸν [a way of surpassing excellence], beyond any expression. The way of love, of engaging hearts with one another, is the only way to bring men to unity of judgment; indeed, the only way when all is done for men to have their wills. I may give you this or that rule to bring you to think and do the same thing, but what has an excellence in it with a hyperbole is the way of
love. If you could get your minds by other ways, certainly you cannot enjoy it with that sweetness and comfort as you may if you have got it this way.
Marcus Cato repented that he ever went by sea when he might have gone by land (it seems the skill of those times for navigation was not great), but certainly there is no man living who has cause to repent that he ever got that by strife and contention which he might have got by love and peace. What hinders why soft and gentle words may not prevail as well as hard and bitter language? Why may not a loving winning carriage do as much as severe rigid violence? If it may, you provide ill for your own peace and comfort to leave this way and betake yourself to the other.
Tell me, would it be a sign of valor in a man to draw his sword at every whippet that comes near him? Yes, at every fly that lands upon him?
Wouldn't it be folly and madness? Why? He may by putting forth his finger put them off from him. Your rebellious choleric spirit is ready to draw at everything that you dislike. This is your folly: you may with less ado have what you desire. If I would put a feather from me, I need not strike violently at it; a soft gentle breath will do it better. Why should a man labor and toil until he sweats again to pick up a pin? Have none of you sometimes made a great stir in your families about something which when the stir is a little over you plainly see you might have had as well with a word speaking? And hasn't your heart secretly upbraided you then? Try next time what you can do by fair and gentle means.
Why should we let the strength of our spirits run waste? Let this be a constant rule: never make use of severity until you have tried what clemency will do. There is more power in that to conquer the hearts of men you would gladly have yield to you than you are aware of.
Plutarch reports of Philip of Macedon that when a man named Arcadion spoke harshly against him, some of the courtiers urged Philip to punish him severely. But Philip chose a different path. He summoned Arcadion, spoke kindly to him, and showed him great affection and respect. This completely changed Arcadion's heart, so much so that afterward, there was no man in the world who spoke more honorably of Philip than Arcadion, wherever he went. Later, Philip met with those same courtiers and asked them, "Well, what do you now say of Arcadion? How does he conduct himself?" They replied, "There is no one living who speaks more highly of you than he does now." "Well then," said Philip, "I am the better physician. My method has achieved what yours never could."
Plutarch tells a similar story about Fabius, who was called "The Shield of Rome." When Fabius learned that a valiant soldier had plotted with others to defect to the enemy, he summoned the man—not to punish him—but to honor him. Fabius told him he had not been properly rewarded for his service, gave him honorable gifts, and won him to lasting loyalty. Plutarch concluded: just as hunters, horse trainers, and tamers of wild beasts can more effectively calm and control their subjects through gentleness than by beating or chaining them, so governors of people should correct by patience, kindness, and clemency, rather than by harshness or severity. Only a cruel and coarse-spirited man would say, "I would rather be feared than loved." But God values what He receives from us through love most of all.
The Third Unifying Principle:
It is better to do good than to receive good.
Active goodness is greater than passive reception. Only God Himself, His angels, and His saints do good; all creatures are able to receive good. This principle would quickly bind us together. If people had this mindset in their
hearts, they would seek to do as much good as they could to one another, and in doing so, they would win each other's affection. The more good we do to others, the more our hearts incline to love them. True goodness, when it flows from a sincere spirit, draws the heart toward those it blesses. The more good God bestows on someone, the more He loves them—not because they first deserved it, but because they are the objects of His goodness. When He gives His grace, His Spirit, and His Son, He gives His heart. His gifts are not only expressions of love—they also deepen it.
So it is with us, in our own measure. If you were to take a poor child from the street or an almshouse and adopt him as your heir, you would not only do him good because you loved him—you would grow to love him more because he had become an object of your generosity. Titus, the Roman emperor, considered any day wasted in which he had done no good. This principle would make men not only good but great. It is God's glory that He does so much good. And if men viewed goodness as true greatness—if they found satisfaction in doing good—the world's bitterest contentions would cease. For what do men strive after more than greatness?
The Fourth Unifying Principle:
The good of others is my good as well.
We are all members of one body. Whatever good others receive is good for the body. It enables them to accomplish the kind of good that we ourselves would want done—or at least ought to desire. Plutarch says that Solon enacted a law whereby any citizen could prosecute someone who wronged their neighbor, just as if they had been personally wronged. His reason: "There is no good that one man has in a commonwealth, but it is another man's as well."
In the church, this is even more true. As Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 3:22:
"Whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas, or the world or life or death or things present or things to come—all are yours. You are Christ's, and Christ is
God's." If you are godly, then you share in the gifts and graces of all the godly in the world. Whatever they have or do, it belongs to you spiritually.
In fact, even what is evil will ultimately serve your good.
Paul cites this as a reason for peace among the Corinthians. Some said, "I follow Paul," others "I follow Apollos." Paul says, in effect, "Why argue about who to follow? They're all yours! All their excellence is the shared inheritance of each one of you."
One reason people quarrel so often is that they wrongly believe someone else's good is their own loss. So they must either seize it for themselves or diminish it in others. But such thinking reveals a petty and impoverished spirit. A truly enlarged soul is satisfied in the infinite goodness of God—and because that infinite good is their portion, they can rejoice in the good wherever they see it. Even if the blessings pass through winding paths or unexpected channels, they still flow back to the same Ocean of goodness that fills the believer's heart. Therefore, they can rejoice in the good their brethren possess, bless God for it, and do what they can to promote it.
Surely such a person will be full of peace and love.
The Fifth Unifying Principle:
My good is more in the public than in myself.
The strength, safety, and beauty of a cabin on a ship does not lie in the paneling or painted trim of the cabin, but in the strength and seaworthiness of the ship as a whole.
It is because we are so inwardly focused—so privately spirited—that there are such bitter contentions among us. If we were more public-spirited,
these conflicts would vanish. When I read about the selflessness of many heathens, I am ashamed of how selfish many professing Christians are.
Paulus Aemilius, upon hearing of the death of his children, responded with courageous composure: "The gods have heard my prayer—that calamities should fall upon my family rather than upon the Commonwealth." The public-mindedness of this man made him a beautiful and noble example. It is said of him that he treated even those he had conquered with kindness and generosity—advocating for their causes as if they were his own allies, close friends, or family. Those who are truly public-spirited tend also to be sweet-spirited and peaceable people.
The Sixth Unifying Principle:
What I would want others to do for me, I will strive to do for them.
Would I want others to bear with me? Then I will bear with them. Would I want others to show kindness to me? Then I will show kindness to them.
Would I want others to treat me with love and respect? Then I must treat them likewise. Would I want others to live peaceably with me? Then I will live peaceably with them.
This rule—doing unto others as I would have them do unto me—is a law of justice, the kind of justice that keeps peace. The Roman Emperor
Alexander Severus greatly admired this Christian ethic. When dealing with common soldiers who did wrong, he punished them. But when addressing men of honor and dignity, he often needed nothing more than this gentle rebuke: "Do as you would be done by."
Chrysostom, in his 13th sermon to the people of Antioch, applies this same principle: After Christ had spoken of many blessings, He concludes,
"Whatever you would have others do for you, do for them." As if to say, "Let your own will be your law." Do you want to receive kindness? Then
bestow kindness. Do you want mercy? Be merciful. Do you want to be praised? Then praise others. Do you want love? Then love. Be your own judge; be the lawgiver of your own life. If you hate something being done to you, do not do it to another. Can't endure being reproached? Then do not reproach. Hate being envied? Then do not envy. Hate being deceived? Then do not deceive.
The Seventh Unifying Principle:
It is as honorable to yield my will in humility as it is to prevail in argument.
Many people in anger will say, "I'll get even with him." But I'll tell you a better way: forgive him. By yielding and pardoning, you demonstrate mastery over yourself—and that's greater than mastery over someone else.
In Numbers 14:17–19, Moses appeals to God: "Let the power of my Lord be great... pardon, I beseech You, the iniquity of this people." In this way,
Moses seeks not only divine forgiveness but demonstrates true spiritual greatness.
Two famous philosophers, Aristippus and Aeschines, once fell into conflict. Aristippus went to Aeschines and said, "Shall we not be friends again?" "Yes, with all my heart," Aeschines replied. Aristippus added,
"Remember, although I am the elder, I sought for peace." "That is true," said Aeschines, "and for this I will always acknowledge you as the better man—for I began the strife, but you began the peace."
The Eighth Unifying Principle:
I will never engage in conflict unless peace is the goal.
No war is good, no matter how just its cause, unless its aim is peace.
Bellum minime bellum—war is least like war when it seeks peace. A soldier who sheds blood without aiming at peace is a murderer. The swords and
banners of soldiers ought to bear this motto: "Thus we seek peace." Even Hercules' club was said to be carved from an olive branch—the symbol of peace.
The Ninth Unifying Principle:
No one will be my enemy unless he is more an enemy to himself—or to God—than to me.
If a man offends me out of weakness, it is his affliction. He is not an enemy to himself or me. He mourns his fault, and I will pity him in his mourning. He is more grieved for what he has done than I am for what I have suffered.
If he offends willfully and knowingly, he is a greater enemy to himself than to me. When Hugh Latimer was cheated in a transaction, his friends told him how he had been defrauded. But Latimer mourned for the man who had deceived him. "He has the worst of it," he said.
If my heart rises up against someone for such a thing, it may still be out of love—for I oppose not the man, but his enemy—his own sin. He has wounded me slightly, but himself more deeply. I am grieved a little by the wrong, but more so for the wrongdoer's soul.
If his ways are enmity against God, then I oppose him for love of God— and only in such a way that shows I hate his sin more than I hate him. When
Servetus criticized Zwingli for being harsh, Zwingli replied, "In other things I will be gentle, but not in blasphemies against God." Let us keep our enmity within these bounds, and the peace of God will remain unbroken.
The Tenth Unifying Principle:
I would rather suffer the greatest wrong than commit the least sin.
If, when others wrong you, you respond by sinning in return, you are a fool. "He has pricked me with a pin," you say, "so I'll stab myself with a
knife in response." That is madness.
If we ensure that our response to suffering never involves sinning to get revenge, there will be far less broken peace in the world. Someone may be your enemy—but will you make yourself a second, greater enemy? Will you harm your own soul in retaliation? The worst that others can do is wound your body or reputation. But only you can wound your conscience.
No man in the world can force you to sin—except yourself. I will labour to doe good to all, but provoke none.
The Eleventh Unifying Principle:
I will strive to do good to all, but provoke no one.
A father does not even have the right to provoke his own child. As Paul exhorts in Colossians 3:21, "Fathers, do not provoke your children to wrath." If a man does not have that power over his child, he certainly doesn't have it over a friend, a neighbor, or even a superior.
Yet how many people take delight in provoking others! They say, "This will definitely make him angry—and I'll make sure he gets it!" Oh, what a wicked heart! Do you see this as a temptation for your brother, and yet will you place it before him deliberately? Do you not pray for yourself and for him, "Lead us not into temptation"?
We should consider it the greatest of afflictions—not just to suffer evil ourselves, but to be any cause of sin in our brother. And how much greater the evil, if we intentionally provoke him to sin!
If we must provoke anyone, then let it be in the way the apostle commands: "Let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works" (Hebrews 10:24). Let us not observe each other out of envy, faultfinding, or competition—as Hyperius says, leading to bitterness, pride,
hatred, and factions. Instead, let us observe one another for the sake of encouraging one another—to stir each other up toward zeal and goodness.
The Twelfth Unifying Principle:
Peace with all men is good; but peace with God and with my own conscience is necessary.
How does this help unify us with others? In two ways. First, by showing the value of peace with all men. Second, by leading the heart strongly toward peace with God and one's own conscience.
That kind of inward peace sweetens the whole heart and makes a man gentle toward everyone. A soul satisfied with God can endure hardships from without. But when there are breaches between God and the soul, or within one's own conscience, the spirit turns sour.
When Saul broke peace with God and with his own heart, he became irritable and cruel toward others. Before his apostasy, he was meek and patient—but now he was harsh and unstable. This is often the cause of bitterness in families and neighborhoods: private unrest with God or a wounded conscience.
The Thirteenth Unifying Principle:
If I must err, I would rather err by too much gentleness than by too much severity.
Human nature leans more toward harshness than leniency. But God will more easily excuse excessive kindness than excessive cruelty.
Those with sour spirits tend to imagine that God must be harsh too. The Spartans, being a warlike people, depicted their gods armed for battle. But Scripture says, "God is love." The Bible never says God is anger, or hatred, or even that He is justice itself—though He possesses all these perfectly.
Yet it delights to say, "God is love."
If God had intended everything in His church and in the world to be run with perfect strictness, He would have entrusted government to angels— beings who are pure, impartial, and righteous. But instead, He appointed men—whose judgment is often flawed, biased, unstable, and even guilty of the very sins they punish in others.
The Fourteenth (and Final) Unifying Principle:
Peace is never too costly—except when it costs righteousness or integrity.
It's often said, "Gold can be bought too dearly." So can peace—if we purchase it at the cost of sin or moral compromise. But anything short of that is a good bargain.
Suidas tells us that the Emperor Trajan would tear pieces from his own garments to bind up the wounds of his soldiers. Should we not, in the same way, be willing to suffer personal cost to bind up the wounds of the church and the nation? If we are willing to bleed for physical peace, how much more should we labor for spiritual unity?
Indeed, peace is a rich treasure—but we must never go so far for it that we leave holiness behind. In 2 Kings 23:13, Mount Olivet was renamed
"the Mount of Corruption" because of idolatry committed there. We must not allow our pursuit of peace to become spiritual corruption. We may give up peace to preserve truth, but we may not give up truth to preserve peace.
We are free to yield in matters that are personal—but never in matters that belong to God. Still, we must not be cowardly or self-serving in our yielding. That too is base.
If our concessions are driven by ignorance, fear, or laziness—not by wisdom or love—then our peace is disgraceful. But if, after prayer and examination, we find that our desire for peace comes not from avoiding
trouble but from a readiness to suffer when necessary, then we can proceed in faith.
If God would receive more glory and our brethren more benefit through our yielding, then—even at the cost of our own reputation or comfort—we are willing. And if, in our hearts, we know we are still ready to deny ourselves in other things for God's sake, then our concession is not weakness but wisdom. The peace we purchase in this way—through personal suffering but spiritual faithfulness—is never too expensive.C