“Pure religion, and undefiled before God and the Father, is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.”—James 1:27.

Religion has, in all ages, occupied a considerable portion of man’s attention—and it is fit it should: it is fit that, in a world created by divine power and supported by divine goodness, God should be worshipped; and man is the only creature on the face of the earth that can worship him: it is fit, therefore, that he should be, as some have expressed it, the High Priest of the creation, to offer up the grateful tribute of praise from all his works. Hence religion of some sort has been found in every age, or nearly so, and every nation. Atheism seems to be unknown, unless it be in individuals; and even their sincerity may be a matter of question. Atheism, however, has, in almost every age and nation, been considered with abhorrence; and it is fit it should. But though this general testimony be borne to religion, it is a melancholy fact that, owing to human depravity, the religion of God has been greatly corrupted, greatly debased from its pure original; the religion, as it has been called, of heathenism, is little if any thing else than a corruption. The religion instituted by God himself among the Jews degenerated, in their hands, into little other than formality and hypocrisy; it is true there were godly individuals among them, but religion, in the hands of the great body of the people, was greatly debased. The same causes produced the same effects under the Gospel; no sooner did the religion of Jesus Christ, all spotless as it was, fall into the hands of men, more especially of corrupt minds, than it became debased and corrupted. Yes: even in the apostles’ own times this was the case; and the apostles, inspired as they were, could not preserve the churches from the infection. Some, with whom Paul was acquainted, laboured much to corrupt the doctrine of Christ, and he set himself against them; others with whom James was more particularly acquainted, corrupted the pure practice of Christ and the church, and James laboured to set himself against them. They were mere speculatists that James wrote against; men who had got a sort of religion in theory, but which was uninfluential; they talked much of faith, but could say to their poor brethren, Be ye warmed, be ye filled. Their religion is compared, for its transitory effects, to a man that shall see his natural face in a glass, and who goeth away and straightway forgetteth what manner of person he was. James did not mean to depreciate the importance of faith in Christ, any more than Paul; but he meant to insist on some of the essential fruits of it: “Show me thy faith,” says he, “without thy works, and I will show thee my faith by my works.” I think I must offer a remark or two, before I enter into the subject, explanatory of the passage, “Pure religion, and undefiled before God and the Father,” and so forth.

We may remark, first, that what the apostle here speaks is not to be considered as a definition of religion, including the whole of it, but as a declaration of some of its essential branches. The apostle does not mean to tell us that the whole of true religion consists in visiting the fatherless and the widow, nor even in keeping ourselves unspotted from the world. If this were considered as a perfect definition of religion, as including the whole of it, we should find it deficient and inconsistent with other parts of Scripture. Here is nothing said of repentance towards God, nor of faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ—nothing of the knowledge of God—nothing said of the love of God—nothing of the fear of God—nothing of obedience to the institutions of Jesus Christ—nothing of various other religious duties which the Scriptures especially inculcate: but, understanding the passage as a definition of some of the essential parts of religion, and some of its first fruits, there is a fitness in the language. It was suitatble and desirable that the apostle should insist on those fruits, to such persons and at such a time, when they substituted theory in the place of practice.

We remark, in the second place, that, by the epithets which the apostle uses, “pure, undefiled,” and the like, it is implied that there is such a thing as spurious religion—that there is such a thing as a something that shall go by the name of religion, which is not pure, which is not undefiled, which will not bear the test of the eye of God, which will not be found to be undefiled before God and the Father; and, what is more, it is implied, that whatsoever is called by the name of religion, if it operate not in the way of compassion and nonconformity to this world, is not that religion which will bear the test of the last day. Compassion to the necessities of the poor, and a nonconformity to the present world, are the great marks of that religion which will bear the divine scrutiny.

But we pass on; and let us, in discoursing on the subject, first notice those things wherein pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is said to consist.

Secondly, show that this has been and still continues to be, a distinguishing characteristic of true religion.

Let us consider, in the first place, the things wherein pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is said to consist. In visiting the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and in keeping ourselves unspotted from the world. Visiting the fatherless and the widows in their affliction—This is the exercise which immediately calls for our attention. The fatherless and widow, my brethren, are represented in the Scriptures as the objects of Heaven’s peculiar care—God is pleased to represent himself as the Father of the fatherless and the Husband of the widow. He is pleased to represent himself as the avenger of the fatherless and the widow. Beware, says Jesus, that thou oppress not the fatherless and the widow, for if they cry to me—which intimates that the oppressed must cry to some one—they must cry for help somewhere to be redressed; and if they cry to me I will hear them, and will avenge their wrongs. Thus the Lord assumes the character of Patron, Friend, and Avenger, of the fatherless and the widow. If this be the case, it must follow that to partake of that disposition, that compassionate disposition that loves to visit them, to participate of their griefs, to alleviate their sorrows—is to be of the mind of God; and it must be pure and undefiled religion: it is the very essence of true religion to be of God’s mind. This was the object, you know, of our Lord’s prayer in the 17th of John: “That they all may be one, as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee.” I entreat they may be one in us. God was the friend of the fatherless and the widow—Jesus was the friend of the fatherless and the widow; and he prays that we may be one, or of the same mind and the same spirit; and this is the essence, I say, of pure and undefiled religion.

Again: the fatherless and widow, we may remark, are, perhaps, more than any other persons, exposed to oppression and hardship; they have no spirit, they have no power to resist the encroachments of the mighty, and, generally speaking, are overrun,—trodden under foot. Often have I witnessed myself the fatherless and the widow trodden down like children in a crowd, even where there was no particular ill-will against them, where there was no special malignity or design to do them harm; yet they were like, as I have said, little children in a crowd which overlooked them, and so trod on them without knowing scarcely who they were Thus it is with the fatherless and widow in a vast variety of situations. Now, if they are in this unprotected state, and subject to grief, and oppression, and hardship, it becomes especially our duty and our honour to espouse their cause—to feel for them—to visit them in their affliction—to know their wants—to alleviate their sorrows. A sturdy beggar will meet you at every corner of the street, and din your ears with his wants; but the fatherless and the widow are pining, and, perhaps, half perishing, in their lonely habitations—go visit, go search, go find them out. “The cause that I knew not,” said an excellent man, “I searched out.” Yes; to visit the fatherless and the widow is, therefore, to visit those that are most exposed to oppression, that are least under protection.

But once more: the fatherless and the widow are objects of compassion at all times, but especially in times of affliction; “to visit the fatherless and widow in their affliction.” Ah! that is a time of affliction, when, bereaved of their only earthly friend, when the man that has felt, that has cared, that has laboured, that has wept with them, is now no more—has gone to his long home, to his Father’s house! Is not that, think you, a time of affliction, when the house, the garden, the spot that knew him will know him no more? Is not that a time of affliction, when he no longer stands by, to take his children by the hand, and to provide their food? It is. Visit them in this their season of affliction.

The hand of God is often added, too, to this bereaving stroke; many a destitute family is left exposed to trials and afflictions—peculiarly so. While under the visitations of God, let them enjoy your assistance; go and alleviate their griefs; and if to all this you know of any oppression or hardship, if you know of any that have not been kind or attentive, any who have been unkind or unjust to them, visit them, counsel them, relieve them; be a friend and a helper to those who have no other helper.

I may remark, in the last place, the apostle seems to lay stress on the visiting them; “to visit the fatherless and the widow in their affliction.” There is such a thing as a sort of proud, unfeeling generosity: I have seen many a haughty man stand with an air of consequence at his own door, and give a penny, perhaps, at the solicitation of a clamorous beggar, who would never go and search out the abodes of the wretched, who would never find out deserving cases. I have known haughty characters who take pride in giving away, at their own house, when waited on there, who would not go into the abodes of the wretched, who would not deign to enter the door of the fatherless and widow; but the love of Christ cures this little pride—” the love of Christ constraineth us.” Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father makes us feel brotherly love to the poor and needy, and feel so on a footing with them as to enter into their habitations, and mingle our tears, mingle our souls with theirs; and there is a luxury in so doing, to which those who are strangers to pure religion must needs be strangers. Though it may not immediately relate to the specific object on which I now address you, yet I will, in the first place, say, as to visiting the fatherless and widow in general, these trying times, I am sure, render it seasonable. There is, likewise, in visiting the fatherless and widows in their affliction, great advantage—it is the best exercise; and, when done from principle, is a wonderful evidence of the purity of true religion—it is the very method that our Lord Jesus Christ had; he always took occasion to visit the wretched, and to relieve their outward wants, as the means of doing their souls good. This was his constant plan—to go about to do good to people’s bodies, taking occasion to do good also to their souls. It is worthy of notice, that all his miracles—all, however, that occur to my memory—were not only works of power, but of mercy; and herein they are distinguished from all those mock miracles and legendary stories which have been handed down to us from former ages: they were worthy of God—they were worthy of Him whose name was love—they were worthy of a Saviour whose soul was made of compassion. He went about doing good—healing all manner of diseases—visiting the fatherless and widow. We may copy that example in some degree: we cannot work miracles, but we may do good to the bodies of men as a mean of doing good to their souls. Much has been said of late years of communicating the gospel all around us through our towns and villages, and the like; it has appeared to me one important mean is, for serious, godly people to visit the sick as much as lies in them, and, by communicating, be it little or much, you ingratiate yourselves into their esteem, so that a word on their everlasting concerns can scarcely be other than well received; and that is the time that the conscience, if ever, is tender, by eternity being in prospect. A word of counsel, a word of prayer, a word of serious advice, becomes a word in season. Visit the fatherless and widow in their afflictions; hereby you may have larger opportunities of communicating the gospel of Jesus Christ. On this principle, I have admired those societies which have been established in London particularly. Visiting societies, only let them be conducted by wise, prudent, holy persons, and they may be, in the hands of God, a blessing to thousands.

To this may be added, that visiting the fatherless and widow in their affliction may do not only others good, but do ourselves good; it is the way to cultivate the life and the power of religion in our own souls. If a man never sees the distresses of his fellow-creatures, and fellow-christians, his heart will be comparatively hardened against them; it is by mingling tears with them—it is by hearing the tale of human woe, and dropping a tear of compassion, and communicating a little, or according to your ability, to their relief, that your own soul becomes gradually softened and assimilated into a spirit of tender compassion; it is by these means that the love of Christ and the spirit of Christ will be gradually predominant in our minds. A man may sit at home, and enjoy his house and its various accommodations, or he may amuse himself in his garden, or wherever he pleases: but, if he never visits the habitations of the needy, the springs of sensibility will be almost dried up. It is by seeing, feeling, mingling souls and views, that we become one—that we feel one for another, and become blessings one to another.

To this I may add that, by visiting the fatherless and widow in their afflictions, you have an opportunity put into your hands of mingling your kindness—of mingling your pecuniary kindness—with a tender feeling and compassionate expression of regard; and you do not know, if you never particularly noticed it, you do not know what a difference this makes. A guinea given with a frown is not of the value that a shilling is, given with a tear of friendship and brotherly love. A guinea communicated with a haughty frown, methinks, is enough almost to break the heart of those that receive it. No; go and carry it, and feel and communicate your heart as well as your property; hereby you will get good to your own souls, and will do good to the souls, as well as the circumstances, of those you relieve.

Finally, there are many who can only visit; there are many whose circumstances are themselves low, and in whose power it is not to do much towards the relief of the poor and needy in a pecuniary way. Perhaps I hear you say, I know a poor widow and fatherless family that are shamefully ill-treated, that are turned out of their little business which they had to maintain them; or that are oppressed by such and such an one. Ah, if I were a magistrate I would redress that widow’s case!—but you are not a magistrate. Well, but if I were wealthy I would relieve them:—but it may be you are not wealthy. Very well, if you can do nothing more, visit, counsel them; nay, if you but go there, and only join your tears with them, it will do them good; and if you pray with them it will do them good: you may, perhaps, ease many an aching heart. Yes: visit them, though your circumstances may be such as will scarcely admit of any thing more.

Fuller, A. G. (1988). The Complete Works of Andrew Fuller: Memoirs, Sermons, Etc. (J. Belcher, Ed.; Vol. 1, pp. 398–402). Sprinkle Publications.