ou take from
him of his wrong? If he confessed his wrong only in general ambiguous
terms, if he did it either lightly, or without any sense or sorrow for it,
if he did withal excuse and extenuate his fault, and never ceased,
notwithstanding of all his confession, to do the like wrong when occasion
offered, would you not think this a mockery, and would it not rather
provoke you than pacify you? Now, when you take words in so real and deep
significations in your own matters, what gross delusion is it, that you
take them in the slightest and emptiest meaning in those things that
relate to God? And I am sure the most part of men's confessions are of
that nature which I have described,--general, ignorant, senseless, without
any particular view, or lively feeling, of the vileness and loathsomeness
of sin, and their own hearts. Whenever it comes to particulars, there is a
multitude of extenuations and pretences to hide and cover the sin, and
generally men never cease the more from sinning. It puts no stop in their
running, as the horse to the battle. Today they confess it, and tomorrow
they act it again with as much delight as before. Now, of this I may say,
"Offer it to thy governor, and see if he will be pleased with thee," or
let another offer such an acknowledgment of wrong to thee, and see if it
will please thee, and if it will not, why deceive ye yourselves with the
outward visage of things in these matters that are of greatest
soul-concernment? Should they not be taken in the most inward and
substantial signification that can be, lest you be deceived with false
appearances, and, while you give but a shadow of confession, you receive
but a shadow of forgiveness, such a thing as will not carry and bear you
out before God's tribunal? Therefore we must needs take it thus, that
confession of sin is the work of the whole man, and not of the mouth only.
It is the heart, tongue, and all that is in a man, joining together to the
acknowledgment of sin, and God's righteousness, therefore it includes in
it, not only a particular knowledge of our offences, and the temper of our
hearts, but a sensible feeling of the loathsomeness and heinousness of
these. And this is the spring that it flows from,--a broken and contrite
heart that is bruised under the apprehensions of the weight of guiltiness,
and is embittered with the sense of the gall of iniquity that possesseth
the heart. Here, then, is the great moment of confession and repentanc