The “I Will” of Invitation
Matthew xi. 28–30
“Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Rest! Rest! this weary world, and all therein, are seeking rest! It may he that men little know what their hearts, in deepest truth, are craving, hut in all cases, it is Best.
For rest, the warrior draws his sword — for rest, the merchant toils behind his desk; for rest, the sailor ploughs the waves — for rest, the shepherd tarries by his flock; for rest, the young man mingles in the dance — for rest, the widow weeps in misery alone; the heart is full of craving; and hither and thither does it turn for rest. ‘T is true, heart-cravings are not alike in all; this one seeks rest in honor, and this in wealth; this in love, and this in hate; some would find it in grasping all things, and some only in being let alone; but so it is, that ever since man departed from his God, whether he be found in solitude or in a crowd, probe to the very bottom of his heart-longings and exertions, and he will be found to be in pursuit of rest.
And where will he find it? It is a part of earth’s cursCj that in some form or other it is ever claiming the sweat of the brow throwing forth thorns and thistles and that it can afford to man no rest. Arise ye and depart for this is not your rest,“’ is the voice which flowers and fruity as well as thistle and thorn have for all the sons of men. In us,” say all created things when used, even to the uttermost, man finds no abiding rest. There remaineth a rest for the of God”
And for them there is also a present rest; amid earth’s turmoil, the shaking of its thrones, and principalities, and powers, there appears one with soft and gentle voice and look, avIio proclaims Himself a king — the prince of peace — the giver of rest to all who will be the subjects of His kingdom, which was not of this world, but from above. Oh, let it be observed how distinctly Jesus declared that his kingdom was not of this world, for that if it were, then would his servants have fought. It would have been easy for Him to muster under His banner all the J ews from Dan even unto Beersheba; and the history of the siege of Jerusalem shows us, how desperately they would have fought. Had Jesus undertaken at that time to restore the kingdom unto Israel; and had He been willing to assume the headship of it to Himself, the country would have rushed to arms, and there is little doubt but that it would have been freed.
This repudiation of earthly sovereignty we find all through the life of Christ, and incidentally it comes before us here.
Had Jesus been an earthly Sovereign, about to set up an earthly kingdom, and an earthly court. He would have attracted to Himself such as would have conduced to His earthly honor, to His profit, to the stability of His throne. The monarchs of this world try to attract to their courts those who are famous for learning, wisdom, and art; they like to be surrounded by the influential and the rich; but the blessed Jesus tried to attract to Himself the wretched, the outcast, and the sad; from such were to be drawn the noblest courtiers for a spiritual throne. This is what we find Jesus doing here; yea, this is what He is doing even now; still saying, as He did of old, Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’’ Christ proposes Himself as an object of attraction now; He will be one of repulsion hereafter, when he utters those tremendous words, Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels.” It is an awful thought; He must necessarily be so; there is no such thing as Christ’s mere toleration of any one hereafter; the mighty power that is in Him must act; those who rejected Him, and would not be drawn by Him, shall not be able to abide with him; Christ must then exercise a throwing-off‘ power; it will be no longer, Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden;” but, “Depart into the land of unrest forever, to labor, and to be heavy laden evermore.”
May no reader of this book ever hear such words as those; rather may each have rest in Jesus here; and finally enter into the rest which remaineth for the people of God.
Let us first of all see (1.) Who the laborers and HEAVY LADEN ARE; (2.) then we shall see Who
HELPS them; and (3.) lastly, What is their rest.
All ye that labor and are heavy laden’’ embraces a wide field indeed. This voice passes over the troubled waves of human life wherever they are surging; it is the only voice that can say, Peace, be still!” And where, in the world, do we find any rest apart from the hearing and yielding obedience to this voice? Nowhere! man is ever being urged on in the hope of obtaining satisfaction; he always has, as he thinks, a point in which he will obtain rest, but when he reaches that point, he finds that there is unrest on the crest of the wave, as well as in the trough of the sea: that man never continueth in one stay; he finds that the utmost he has done is to surmount one of the many hills that are around — the fancied rest is further on; — he must gird up his loins and climb again. OhJ. With what weary, heated spirits are men seeking after rest; and the bustle and toil of life seem such that they have no ears for hearing the meek and lowly voice of Jesus, saying, Come unto me, and I will give you rest,” — not always rcstfrom earthly toil, but rest in earthly toil; calm repose, even though the ship in which you sail be tossed about upon the waves. Adam entered upon unrest when he hid himself in the trees of the garden, from the presence of the Lord; and he transmitted that unrest to us. Best can only be had in restoration, and that is what Jesus offers. — I will give you rest.”’*’*
Cain, as a rejecter of atonement by blood, and a persecutor unto death, of the one by whom such atonement was held and acted upon, is presented to us, as put into a position of permanent unrest. Behold thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth, and from thy face shall I be hid; and I shall bo as a fugitive and a vagabond upon the earth; and it shall come to pass that every one that findeth me shall slay me.” Cain’s doom, in its fearful, typical aspect was not Who are the laborers here invited by the Lord? Steir*’“’ says, that icomcovreg (kopiontes) the laborers, is subject to a necessary restrictionj and connects itself with TrecjyopTcgixEvoL {pephortismenoi) the heavy laden, as rw rrvevpari (to pneumati) in spirit, does with tttw-Xol (ptohoi)” poor, in the Sermon on the Mount. It means not here, according to its usual meaning elsewhere, those who labor simply, and strain their energies, for such vehement personal labor and exertion, as long as it is fruitlessly put forth, effectually hinders from coming to the only source of re-invigoration; but it means, according to the proper and original idea of the word, those who are exhausted and spent, who, pressed down by their burden, can bear it no longer. Though He may call all, yet is His call heard only by those who feel their burden, and would be freed from it: this is the mediating link between the offer and acceptance of salvation.’’ We agree to this; but between the laboring and the heavy laden, we think we see a distinction — possibly two classes; possibly in the labor and the oppression of the burden, we have two phases of the same misery. We shall speak of the laboring and the heavy laden separately; alas! the combination of them both is only too easily within our reach.
And, first: some there are who are laboring after God’s peace; they want justification; the consciousness of pardon; they have attained to a knowledge of need;
thus to be cut short. “And the Lord set a mark upon Cain, lest anyfinding him should slay him.” We subsequently find Cain building a city, — an attempt, perhaps, to invalidate the curse, in which he, doubtless, never could succeed.
* See “Steir on the Words of Christ.” they are, and must be, restless until that need he supplied. The history of the Church of God is full of instances of the hard labor of His people, while they were endeavoring after rest, and ere they found it in His Son. Let us, first, take the case of Luther, which, together with that of Brainerd, we shall give with but little condensation, as we wish to exhibit in full, the working of their troubled minds. D’Aubigne tells us that: —
As lie is going from his father’s house, at Mansfelt, to Erfurtb, he is overtaken by a violent storm, the lightning flashes, the bolt falls at his feet. Luther throws himself upon his knees; his hour is perhaps come. Death, the judgment, and eternity summon him with all their terrors, and he hears a voice which he can no longer resist. Encompassed with the anguish and terror of death, as he says himself, he makes a vow, if the Lord delivers him from this danger, to abandon the world, and devote himself entirely to God. After rising from the ground, having still present to him that death which must one day overtake him, he examines himself seriously, and asks himself what he ouht to do. The thouo’hts that o o
once agitated him now return with greater force. He has endeavored, it is true, to fulfill all his duties, but what is the state of his soul? Can he appear before the tribunal of a terrible God with an impure heart? He must become holy. Lie has now as great a thirst for holiness, as he had formerly for knowledge. But where can he find it, or how can he attain it? The university provided him with the means of satisfying his first desires. Who shall calm that anguish, who shall quench the fire that now consumes him? To what school of holiness shall he direct his steps? He will enter a cloister, the monastic life will save him; oftentimes had he heard speak of its powers to transform the heart, to sanctify the sinner, to make man perfect. He will enter a monastic order. He will there become holy; thus will he secure eternal life=
Luther enters the monastery, and to mark his complete separation from the world, sends back to the university his ring of Master of Arts; there, in that monastery, he endures the greatest humiliations; he is made the mendicant of the order; but he stoops to all; for he is in search of holiness and peace, and to disobey would in his mind be sin. When Luther had become a reformer, and had declared that heaven was not to be obtained by such means as mortifications, fastings, and watchings, lie knew very well what he was saying. “I was indeed a pious monk,” he wrote to Duke George of Saxony, and followed the rules of my order more strictly than I can express. If ever monk could obtain heaven by his monkish works, I should certainly have been entitled to it. Of this, all the friars who have known me can testify. If it had continued much longer I should have carried my mortifications even to death, by means of my watchings, prayers, reading, and other labors.” Luther did not find in the tranquillity of the cloister, and in monkish perfection, that peace of mind which he had looked for there. He wished to have the assurance ot his salvation — this was the great want of his soul. Without it there was no repose for him. But the fears that had agitated him in the world pursue him to his cell. Nay, they were increased. The faintest cry of his heart re-echoed loud beneath the silent arches of the cloister. God had led him thither that he might know himself, and to despair of his own strength and virtue. His conscience, enlightened by the Divine word, told him what it was to be holy, but he was filled with terror at finding, neither in his heart nor in his life, that image of holiness which he had contemplated in the Word of God. The monks and divines of the day encouraged him to satisfy the Divine righteousness by meritorious works. But what works, tliouglit ho, co.ii come from a heart like mine? How can I stand before the holiness of my judge with works polluted in their very source? “I saw that I was a great sinner in the eyes of God,” said he, “and I did not think it possible for me to propitiate Him by my own merits.” A tender conscience inclined Luther to regard the slightest fault as a great sin. He had hardly discovered it before he endeavored to expiate it by the severest mortifications, which only served to point out to him the inutility of all human remedies. “I tortured myself almost to death,” said he,” to procure peace with God for my troubled heart and agitated conscience, but surrounded with thick darkness, I found peace nowhere.”
So fierce was this inward strife, that on one occasion Luther, overwhelmed with sorrow, shut himself up in his cell, and for several days and nights allowed no one to approach him. One of his friends, Lucas Edemberger, feeling anxious about the unhappy monk, and having a presentiment of the condition in which he wns, took with him some boys who were in the habit of singing in the choirs, and knocked at the door of his cell. No one opens, no one answers. The good Edemberger, still more alarmed, breaks open the door. Luther lies insensible upon the floor, and giving no signs of life; his friend strives in vain to recall him to his senses; he is still motionless. Then the choristers begin to sing a sweet hymn. Their clear voices act like a charm on the poor monk, to whom music was ever one of the greatest pleasures; gradually he recovers his strength, his consciousness, his life.
While this fierce struggle was going on, there comes a new actor upon the scene. This is John Staupitz, vicar-general of the Augustines for all Germany. This man, who had undergone much the same course of conflict as Luther, although probably not with such severity, had found peace to his soul in simple faith in Christ; he is now destined to help Luther on to the peace of God, though an humbler instrument is designed to complete the work. Staupitz comes to the convent of Erfurth to make the usual inspection; when there, he exhibited much kindness to those monks who were under his authority. One of these brothers soon attracted his attention; he was a young man of middle height, whom study, fasting, and prolonged vigils had so wasted away, that all his bones might bo counted. Ilis eyes, that in after years were compared to a falcon’s, were sunken; his manner was dejected; his countenance betrayed an agitated mind, the prey of a thousand struggles, but yet strong and resolute; his whole appearance was grave, melancholy, and solemn. Staupitz, whose discernment had been exercised by long experience, easily discovered what was passing in his mind, and distinguished the youthful monk above all who surrounded him. He had had to struggle like Luther, and therefore could understand him above all; he could point out to him the road to peace which he himself had found Luther’s heart found an echo in that of Staupitz. The vicar-general understood him, and the monk felt a confidence toward him that he had as yet experienced for none. He unbosomed to him the cause of his dejection, described the horrible thoughts that perplexed him; and then began in the cloister of Erfurth those conversations so full of wisdom and of instruction. Up to this time no one understood Luther. One day, when at table in the refectory, the young monk, dejected and silent, scarcely touched his food. Staupitz, who looked earnestly at him, said at last, “Why arc you so sad, brother Martin T’ Ah,” replied he, with a deep sigh, “I do not know what will become of me.” “These temptations,” resumed Staupitz, “are more necessary to you than eating or drinking.” These two men did not stop there; and ere long, in the silence of the cloister, took place that intimate intercourse which powerfally contributed to lead forth the future reformer from his state of darkness.
“It is in vain,” said Luther, despondingly to Staupitz, “that I make promises to God; sin is ever the strongest.”
“O my friend,” replied the vicar-general, looking back on his own experience,” more than a thousand times have I sworn to our holy God to live piously, and I have never kept my vows. Now, I swear no longer, for I know I can not keep my solemn promises. If God will not bo merciful toward me for the love of Christ, and grant me a happy departure, when I must quit this world, I shall never, with the aid of all my vows, and all my good works, stand before Him; I must perish.”
The young monk is terrified at the thought of Divine justice. He lays open all his fears to the vicar-general. He is alarmed at the unspeakable holiness of God, and His sovereign majesty. “Who may abide the day of his coming, and who shall stand, when ho appeareth?”
Staupitz resumes * he knows where he had found peace, and he will point it out to the young man. “Why,” said he, do you torment yourself with all these speculations and these high thoughts? Look at the wounds of Jesus, to the blood He has shed for you: it is there that God’s grace will appear to you. Instead of torturing yourself on account of your sins, throw yourself into the Redeemer’s arms. Trust in Him — in the righteousness of His life — in the atonement of His death. Do not shrink back. God is not angry with you, it is you who are angry with God. Listen to the Son of God. He became man to give you the assurance of Divine favor. He says to yon, “You are my sheep, you hear my voice; no man shall pluck you out of my hand.”
But Luther does not find in himself the repentance which he thinks necessary for salvation, and replies: “How can I dare believe in the favor of God, so long as there is no real conversion in me? I must be changed, before Ho will accept me.”
His venerable guide shows him that there can bo no real conversion so long as man fears God, as a severe judge. “What will lie say then,” asks Luther, “to so many consciences to which a thousand insupportable tasks are proscribed in order that they may gain heaven
Then he hears this reply of the vicar-general, or rather he does not believe that it comes from man; it seems to him like a voice from heaven, “There is no real repentance except that which begins with the love of God, and of righteousness. AVhat others imagine to be the end and accomplishment of repentance is, on the contrary, only its beginning. In order that you may be filled with the love of what is good, you must first be filled with love for God. If you desire to be converted, do not be curious about all these mortifications, and all these tortures. Love Him who first loved you i”
Luther listens — he listens again. These consolations fill him with joy till then unknown, and impart new light. “It is Jesus Christ,” thinks he in his heart. “Yes, it is Jesus Christ himself, who so wonderfully consoles me by these sweet and healing words.” These words indeed penetrated to the bottom of the young monk’s heart, like the sharp arrow of a strong man. Guided by this new light, he begins to compare the Scriptures. He looks out all the passages that treat of repentance and conversion. These words till then so dreaded, to use his own expression, “arc become to him an agreeable pastime, and the sweetest of recreations. All the passages of Scripture that used to alarm him, seem now to run to him from every part, to smile and sport around him.” “Hitherto,” exclaims he, “although I carefully dissembled the state of my soul before God, and endeavored to express toward Him a love which was a mere constraint and a fiction, there was no expression in Scripture so bitter to me as that of repentance. But now there is none so sweet or more acceptable.”
Although Luther had been consoled by Staupitz’ words, he nevertheless fell sometimes into despondency. Sin was again felt in his timid conscience, and then all his previous despair banished the joy of salvation. “0 my sin! my sin I my sin!” cried the young monk one day in the presence of the vicar-general, with a tone of profound anguish. “Well! would you only be a sinner in appearance,” replied the latter, “and have also a Saviour in appearance?” “Know,” replied Staupitz, with authority, “Know that Jesus Christ is the Saviour even of those who are great, real sinners, and deserving of utter condemnation.”
It was not alone the sin he discovered in his heart that agitated Luther: the troubles of his conscience were augmented by those of reason. If the holy precepts of the Bible alarmed him, some of the doctrines of that Divine book still more increased his tortures. The truth, which is the great medium by which God confers peace on man, must necessarily begin by taking away from him the false security that destroys him. The doctrine of Election particularly disturbed the young man, and launched him into a boundless field of inquiry. Must he believe that it was man who first chose God for his j)ortion, or that God first elected man? He wished to penetrate into the secret counsels of God, unvail Ilis mysteries, see the Invisible, and comprehend the incomprehensible. Staupitz checked him 5 he told him not to presume to fathom the hidden God, but to confine himself to what He has manifested to us in Jesus Christ. “Look at Christ’s wounds,” said he, “and then you will see God’s counsel toward man shine brightly forth. Wo can not understand God out of Jesus Christ. In Him, the Lord has said, you will find what I am, and what I require. Nowhere else, neither in heaven, nor in earth, will you discover it.”
The vicar-general did still more. He showed Luther the paternal designs of Providence in permitting these temptations and these various struggles that his soul was to undergo. He made him view them in a light well calculated to revive his courage. “It is not in vain,” said he to him, “that God exercises you in so many conflicts: you will sec that He will employ you as His servant for great purposes.”
Thus the struggles of Luther prepared his heart to understand the word of God. The soil had been ploughed deep, and the incorruptible seed sank into it with power. When Staupitz quitted Erfurth, a new dawn had risen upon Luther!
But the work was not yet finished. The vicar-general had prepared the way: God reserved its accomplishment for an humbler instrument. The conscience of the young Augustine had not yet found repose. His body gave way at last under the conflict and the tension of his soul. He was attacked by an illness, that brought him to the brink of the grave. This was in the second year of his abode in the convent. All his distresses, and all his fears were aroused at the approach of death. His own impurity, and the holiness of God again disturbed his mind. One day, as he lay overwhelmed with despair, an aged monk entered his cell, and addressed a few words of comfort to him.. Luther opened his heart to him, and made known the fears by which he was tormented. The venerable old man was incapable of following up that soul in all its doubts as Staupitz had done; but he knew his Credo and had found in it much consolation to his heart. He will therefore apply the same remedy to his young brother. Leading him back to that Apostle’s creed which Luther had learnt in early childhood at the school of Mansfeldt, the aged monk repeated this article with kind good nature:” I believe in the forgiveness of sinsT These simple words, which the pious brother pronounced with sincerity in this decisive moment, diffused great consolation in Luther’s heart. “I believe!” he repeated to himself ere long on his bed of sickness, “I believe in the forgiveness of sins!” “Ah!” said the monk, “you must believe not only in the forgiveness of David’s and Peter’s sins, for this even the devils believe. It is God’s command that we believe our own sins are forgiven us.” How delightful did this commandment seem to poor Luther! “Hear what
St. Bernard says in his discourse on the Annunciation,” added the aged brother:” The testimony of the Holy Ghost in thy heart is this: ‘ Thy sins are forgiven thee.’”
From this moment light sprung up in the heart of the young monk of Erfurth. The word of grace had been pronounced, he had believed in it. He disclaims all merit of salvation, and resigns himself confidingly to the grace of God, in Jesus Christ.
This is the story of the famous Martin Luther, the solitary monk that shook the world he was preeminently a laborer after spiritual peace, but, like all others who attain to peace, he found it not in toil, but in simple resting upon Jesus.
So common is this laboring after rest for the soul, that we shall give yet one or two more instances of it. It may be that the reader has himself found peace; if he have, he will have no objection to go over the battle-field again; perhaps he knows of some one who is toiling for peace, but has found none; then we shall have had the pleasure of furnishing him with instances to his hand, by which he can prove to his toiling and heavy laden friend that no toil after Christ will give peace, that it is in rest in Him that peace is to be had.
The next hard laborer that appears upon the scene is the celebrated David Brainerd, the missionary to the Indians; lie too must tell the tale of his stragglings and final peace.
Some time in the winter of 1732 I was something roused out of carnal security, by I scarce know what means at first; but was much excited by the prevailing of a mortal sickness in Haddam. I was frequent, constant, and sometimes much melted in duties, and took great delight in the performance of them; and I sometimes hoped that I was converted, or at least in a good and hopeful way for heaven and happiness, not knowing what conversion was. The Spirit of God at this time proceeded far with me; I was remarkably dead to the world, and my thoughts were almost wholly employed about my soul’s concerns; and I may indeed say, “Almost I was persuaded to be a Christian.” I was exceedingly distressed and melancholy at the death of my mother, in March, 1732, but afterward my religious concern began to decline, and I by degrees fell back into a considerable degree of security, though I still attended secret prayer frequently.
About the 15th of April, 1732, I removed from my father’s house to East Haddam, where I spent four years, but “still without God in the world though for the most part I went a round of secret duty. I was not exceedingly addicted to young company, or frolicking, as it is called. But this I know, that when I did go into company, I never returned from a frolic in my life with so good a conscience as I went with; it always added new guilt to me, and made me afraid to come to the throne of grace, and spoiled those good frames I was wont sometimes to please myself with. But, alas! all my good frames were but self-righteousness, not bottomed on a desire for the glory of God.
About the latter end of April, 1737, 1 removed to Durham, and began to work on my farm, frequently longing, from a natural inclination, after a liberal education. I became very strict and watchful over my thoughts, words, and actions; and tliouglit I must be sober indeed because I designed to devote myself to the ministry, and imagined I did dedicate myself to the Lord.
Some time in April, 1738, I went to Mr. Fiske’s, the pastor of the church at Haddam, and lived with him during his life. And I remember he advised me wholly to abandon young company, and associate myself with grave elderly people, which counsel I followed; and my manner of life was now exceedingly regular, and full of religion, such as it was; for I read my Bible more than twice through in less than a year; I spent much time every day in secret prayer and other secret duties; I gave great attention to the word preached, and en deavored to my utmost to retain it. So much concerned was I about religion, that I agreed with some young persons to meet privately on Sabbath evenings for religious exercises, and thought myself sincere in these duties; and after our meeting was ended I used to repeat the discourses of the day to myself, and recollect what I could, though sometimes it was very late in the night. Again on Monday mornings I used sometimes to recollect the same sermons. And I had sometimes considerable movings of affections in duties, and much pleasure, and had many thoughts of joining the church. In short, I had a very good outside, and rested entirely on my duties, though I was not sensible of it.
After Mr. Fiske’s death I proceeded in my learning with my brother; and was still very constant in religious duties, and often wondered at the levity of professors; it was a trouble to me that they were so careless in religious matters. Thus I proceeded a considerable length on a self-righteous foundation; and should have been entirely lost and undone, had not the mere mercy of God prevented.
Some time in the beginning of winter, 1738, it pleased God on one Sabbath day morning, as I was walking out for some secret duties, as I remember, to give me on a sudden such a sense of my danger and of the wrath of God, that I stood amazed, and my former good frames that I had pleased myself with, all presently vanished; and from the view that I had of my sin and vileness, I was much distressed all that day, fearing the vengeance of God would soon overtake me; I was much dejected, and kept much alone, and sometimes begrudged the birds and beasts their happiness, because they were not exposed to eternal misery, as I evidently saw I was. And thus I lived from day to day, being frequently in great distress; sometimes there appeared mountains before me to obstruct my hopes of mercy; and the work of conversion appeared so great, I thought I should never be the subject of it; but used, however, to pray and cry to God, and perform other duties with great earnestness, and hoped by some means to make the case better. And though I hundreds of times renounced all pretences of any worth in my duties, as I thought, even in the season of the performance of them, and often confessed to God that I deserved nothing for the very best of them but eternal condemnation; yet still I had a secret latent hope of recommending myself to God by my religious duties; and when I prayed affectionately, and my heart seemed in some measure to melt, I hoped God would be thereby moved to pity me; my prayers then looked with some appearance of goodness in them, and I seemed to mourn for sin: and then I could in some measure venture on the mercy of God in Christ, as I thought, though the preponderating thought and foundation of my hope was some imagination of goodness in my heart-meltings, and flowing of affections in duty, and sometimes extraordinary enlargements therein.
Some time in February, 1738-9, I set apart a day for secret fasting and prayer, and spent the day in almost incessant cries to God for mercy, that he would open my eyes to see the evil of sin, and the way of life by Jesus Christ. And God was pleased that day to make considerable discoveries of my heart to mo. But still I trusted in all the duties I performed, though there ’was no manner of goodness in those duties, there being no respect to the glory of God in them, nor any such principle in my heart: yet God was pleased to make my endeavors that day a means to show me my helplessness in some measure.
Sometimes I was greatly encouraged, and imagined that God loved me, and was pleased with me, and thought I should soon be fully reconciled to God: while the whole was founded on mere presumption, arising from enlargement in duty, or flowing of affections, or some good resolutions, and the like. And when, at times, great distress began to arise, on a sight of my vileness, and nakedness, and inability to deliver myself from a sovereign God, I used to put off the discovery, as what I could not bear. Once, I remember, a terrible pang of distress seized me, and the thoughts of renouncing myself, and standing naked before God, stripped of all goodness, were so dreadful to me, that I was ready to say to them, as Felix to Paul, “Go thy way for this time.” Thus, though I daily longed for greater conviction of sin, supposing that I must see more of my dreadful state in order to a remedy; yet, when the discoveries of my vile, hellish heart were made to me, the sight was so dreadful, and showed me so plainly my exposedness to damnation, that I could not endure it. I constantly strove after whatever qualifications I imagined others obtained before the reception of Christ, in order to recommend me to his favor. Sometimes I felt the power of a hard heart, and supposed it must be softened before Christ would accept of me: and when I felt any meltings of heart, I hoped now the work was almost done: and hence, wdien my distress still remained, I was wont to murmur at God’s dealings with me; and thought when others felt their hearts softened, God showed them mercy; but my distress remained still.
Sometimes I grew remiss and sluggish, without any convictions of sin, for a considerable time together; but after such a season, convictions sometimes seized me more violently. One night I remember in particular, when I was walking solitarily abroad, I had opened to me such a view of my sin that I feared the ground would cleave asunder under my feet, and become my grave, and send my soul quick into hell before I could get home. And though I was forced to go to bed lest my distress should be discovered by others, which I much feared, yet I scarce durst sleep at all: for I thought it would be a great wonder if I should be out of hell in the morning. And though my distress was sometimes thus great, yet I greatly dreaded the loss of convictions, and returning back to a state of carnal security, and to my former insensibility of impending wrath: which made me exceeding exact in my behaviour lest I should stifle the motions of God’s spirit. AVhen at any time I took a view of my convictions of my own sinfulness, and thought the degree of them to be considerable, I was wont to trust in my convictions; but this confidence, and the hope that arose in me from it, of soon making some notable advances towards deliverance, would case my mind, and I soon became more senseless and remiss: but, then again when I discerned my convictions to grow languid, and I thought them about to leave me, this immediately alarmed and distressed me; sometimes I expected to take a large step, and get very far towards conversion, by some particular opportunity or means I had in view.
The many disappointments, and great distresses, and perplexity I met with, put me into a most horrible frame of contesting with the Almighty; and my wicked heart often wished for some other way of salvation than by Jesus Christ; and being like the troubled sea, and my thoughts confused, I used to contrive to escape the wrath of God by some other means, and had strange projections full of atheism, contriving to disappoint God’s decrees and designs concerning me, or to escape God’s notice and hide myself from Him. But when, upon reflection, I saw these projections were vain, and would not serve me, and that I could contrive nothing for my own relief, this would throw my mind into the most horrid frame to wish there was no God, or to wish there were some other God that would control Him. These thoughts and desires were the secret inclinations of my heart, that were frequently acting before I was aware: but alas! they were mine, although I was affrighted with them when I came to reflect on them: when I considered of it, it distressed me to think that my heart was so full of enmity against God, and it made me tremble lest God’s vengeance should suddenly fall upon me. I used before to imagine my heart was not so bad as the Scriptures and some other books represented. Sometimes I used to take much pains to work up into a good frame, and humble submissive disposition, and hoped there was some goodness in me: but it may be on a sudden, the thoughts of the strictness of the law, or the sovereignty of God, would so irritate the corruption of my heart, which I hoped I had brought to a good frame, that it would break over all bounds, and burst forth on all sides, like floods of waters when they break down their dam. But being sensible of the necessity of a deep humiliation in order to a saving union with Christ, I used to set myself to work in my own heart those convictions that were requisite in such a humiliation; as a conviction that God would be just if He cast me off for ever: and that if ever God should bestow mercy on me, it would be mere grace, though I should be in distress many years first, and be ever so much engaged in duty; that God was not in the least obliged to pity me the more for all past duties, cries, and tears. These things I strove to ray utmost to bring myself to a firm belief of, and hearty assent to; and hoped that now I was brought olf from myself, and truly bowed to the divine sovereignty; and was wont to tell God in my prayers, that now I had those very dispositions of soul that He required, and on which lie showed mercy to others, and thereupon to beg and plead for mercy to me. But when I found no relief, and was still oppressed with guilt and fears of wrath, my soul was in a tumult, and my heart rose against God, as dealing hardly with me. Yet then my conscience flew in my face, putting me in mind of my late confession to God of His justice in my condemnation. And this giving me a sight of the badness of my heart, threw me again into distress, and I wished I had watched my heart more narrowly, to keep it from breaking out against God’s dealings with mo, and I even wished I had not pleaded for mercy on account of my humiliation, because thereby I had lost all my seeming goodness.
Thus, scores of times, I vainly imagined myself humbled, and prepared for saving mercy.
While I was in this distressed, bewildered, and tumultuous state of mind, the corruption of my heart was especially irritated with these things following: —
1. The strictness of the divine law. For I found it w’as impossible for me, after my utmost pains, to answer the demands of it. I often made new resolutions and as often broke them. I imputed the whole to carelessness, and the want of being more watchful, and used to call myself a fool for my negligence. But when, upon a stronger resolution, and greater endeavors, and close application of myself to fasting and prayer, I found all attempts fail, then I quarreled with the law of God, as unreasonably rigid. I thought if it extended only to my outward actions and behavior, I could bear with it; but I found it condemned me for my evil thoughts, and the sins of my heart, which I could not possibly prevent. I was extremely loath to give up, and avow my helplessness in this matter; but after repeated disappointments, thought that, rather than perish I could do a little more still, especially if such and such circumstances might but attend my endeavors and strivings. I hoped that I should strive more earnestly than ever, if the matter came to extremity, though I never could find the time to do my utmost in the manner I intended; and this hope of future more favorable circumstances, and of doing something great hereafter, kept me from utter despair in myself, and from seeing myself fallen into the hands of a sovereign God, and dependent on nothing but free and boundless grace.
2. Another grievance was, that faith alone was the condition of salvation; and that God would not come down to lower terms, that he would not promise life and salvation upon my sincere and hearty prayers and endeavors. That word, Mark xvi. 16, “He that believeth not shall be damned,” cut off all hope there; and I found that faith was the sovereign gift of God: that I could not get it as of myself, and could not oblige God to bestow it upon me by any of my performances, Eph. ii. 1 — 8. “This,” I was ready to say, “is a hard saying, who can hear it?” I could not bear that all I had done should stand for mere nothing, who had been very conscientious in duty, and had been exceeding religious a great while, and had, as I thought, done much more than many others that had obtained mercy. I confessed indeed the vileness of my duties; but then what made them at that time seem vile, was my wandering thoughts in them, not because I was all over defiled like a devil, and the principle corrupt from whence they flowed, so that I could not possibly do anything that was good. And therefore I called what I did, by the name of honest, faithful endeavors, and could not bear that God had made no promises of salvation to them.
3. Another thing was, that I could not find out what faith was; or what it was to believe, and come to Christ. I read the calls of Christ made to the weary and heavy laden, but could find no way that lie directed them to come in; I thought I would gladly come if I knew how, though the path of duty directed to were ever so difficult. I read Mr. Stoddart’s “Guide to Christ,” which I trust was, in the hand of God, the happy means of my conversion, and my heart rose against the author, for though he told me my very heart all along under convictions, and seemed to be very beneficial to me in his directions, yet here he failed, he did not tell me anything I could do that would bring me to Christ, but left me, as it were, with a great gulf between me and Christ, without any direction to get through. For I was not yet effectually and experimentally taught, that there could be no way prescribed whereby a natural man could, of his own strength, obtain that which is supernatural, and which the highest angel cannot give.
4. Another thing that I found a great inward opposition to, was the sovereignty of God. I could not bear that it should be wholly at Gods pleasure, to save or damn me just as lie would. That passage, Rom. ix. 11 — 23, was a constant vexation to me, especially verse 21. The reading or meditating on this always destroyed my seeming good frames; when I thought I was almost humbled, and almost resigned to God’s sovereignty, the reading or thinking on this passage would make my enmity against the sovereignty of God appear. And when I came to reflect on my inward enmity and blasphemy, that arose on this occasion, I was the more afraid of God, and driven farther from any hopes of reconciliation with Him; and it gave me such a dreadful view of myself, that I dreaded more than ever to see myself in God’s hands, and at His sovereign disposal, and it made me more opposite than ever to submit to His sovereignty; for I thought God designed my damnation.
All this time the spirit of God was powerfully at work with me; and I was inwardly pressed to relinquish all selfconfidence, all hopes of ever helping myself by any means whatsoever; and the conviction of my lost estate was sometimes so clear and manifest before my eyes, that it was as if it had been declared to me in so many words, “It is done, it is done; it is forever impossible to deliver yourself.” For about three or four days my soul was thus distressed, especially at some turns, where for a few moments I seemed to myself lost and undone; but then would shrink back immediately from the sight, because I dared not venture myself into the hands of God as wholly helpless, and at the disposal of His sovereign pleasure. I dared not see that important truth concerning myself, that I was “dead in trespasses and sins.” But when I had, as it were, thrust away these views of myself at any time, I felt desirous to have the same discoveries of myself again; for I greatly feared being given over of God to final stupidity. When I thought of putting it off to a more convenient season, the conviction was so close and powerful with regard to the present time, that it was the best time, and probably the only time, that I dare not put it off. It was the sight of truth concerning myself, truth respecting my state, as a creature fallen and alienated from God, and that consequently could make no demands on God for mercy, from which my soul shrank away, and trembled to think of beholding. And though sometime before I had taken much pains, as I thought, to submit to the sovereignty of God, yet I mistook the thing; and did not once imagine, that seeing and being made experimentally sensible of this truth, which my soul noAV so much dreaded and trembled at a sense of, was the frame of soul that I had been so earnest in pursuit of heretofore; for I had ever hoped, that when I had attained to that humiliation which I supposed necessary to go before faith, then it would not be fair for God to cast me off; but noAV I saw it was so far from any goodness in me to own myself spiritually dead, and destitute of all goodness, that on the contrary my mouth would be forever stopped by it; and it looked as dreadful to me, to see myself, and the relation I stood in to God, as a sinner and a criminal, and He a great Judge and Sovereign, as it would be to a poor trembling creature to venture off some high precipice. And hence I put it off for a minute or two, and tried for better circumstances to do it in; either I must read a passage or two, or pray first; or something of the like nature; or else put off my submission to God’s sovereignty with an objection, that I did not know how to submit. But the truth was, I could see no safety in owning myself in the hands of a sovereign God, and confessing that I could lay no claim to anything better than damnation.
But after a considerable time spent in such like exercises and distresses, one morning, while I was walking in a solitary place, as usual, I at once saw that all my contrivances and projections to effect or procure deliverance and salvation for myself, were utterly in vain. I was brought quite to a stand, at finding myself totally lost. I had thought many times before, that the difficulties in my way were very great; but now I saw, in another and very different light, that it was forever impossible for me to do any thing toward helping or delivering myself. T then thought of blaming myself that I had not done more, and been more engaged, while I had opportunity; for it seemed now as if the season of doing was forever over and gone; but I instantly saAV, that let me have done what I would, it would not more have tended to my helping myself, than what I had done; that I had made all the pleas I ever could have made to all eternity; and that all my pleas were vain. The tumult that had been before in my mind was noAV quieted; and I was something eased of that distress which I felt, whilst struggling against a sight of myself, and of the divine sovereiinty. I had the greatest certainty that my state was forever miserable, for all that I could do; and wondered, and was almost astonished, that I had never been sensible of it before. In the time while I remained in this state, my notions respecting my duties were quite different from what I had ever entertained in times past. Before this, the more I did in duty the more I thought God was obliged to me, or at least the more hard I thought it would be for God to cast me off; though at the same time I confessed, and thought I saw that there was no goodness or merit in my duties; but now, the more I did in prayer, or any other duty, the more I saw I was indebted to God for allowing me to ask for mercy; for I saw it was self-interest that led me to pray, and that I had never once prayed from any respect to the glory of God. Now I saw there was no necessary connection between my prayers and the bestowment of divine mercy: that they laid not the least obligation upon God to bestow His grace upon mo; and that there was no more virtue or goodness in them, than there would be in my paddling with my hand in the water, which was the comparison I had then in my mind; and this because they were not performed from any love or regard to God. I saw that I had been heaping up my devotions before God, fasting, praying, etc., pretending, and indeed really thinking at some times, that I was aiming at the glory of God; whereas, I never once truly intended it, but only my own happiness. I saw that as I had never done any thing for God, I had no claim to lay to any thing from Him but perdition, on account of my hypocrisy and mockery. 0 how difficult did my duties now appear from what they used to do! I used to charge them with sin and imperfection; but this was only on account of the wanderings and vain thoughts attending them, and not because I had no regard to God in them — for this I thought I had; but when I saw evidently that I had regard to nothing but self-interest, then they appeared vile mockery of God, self- worship, and a continual course of lies; so that I saw now, there was something worse had attended my duties than barely a few wanderings: for the whole was nothing but self-worship and a horrid abuse of God.
I continued, as I remember, in this state of mind from Friday morning till the Sabbath evening following, July 1 2th, 1739, when I was walking again in the same solitary place, where I was brought to see myself lost and helpless as was before mentioned; and here, in a mournful melancholy state was attempting to pray, but found no heart to engage in that or any other duty; my prime concern and exercise, and religious affections, were now gone. I thought the Spirit of God had quite left me, but still was not distressed: yet disconsolate, as if there was nothing in heaven or earth could make me happy.
And having been thus endeavoring to pray, though being as I thought, very stupid and senseless for near half an hour, then, as I was walking in a dark thick grove, unspeakable glory seemed to open to the view and apprehension of my soul; I do not mean any external brightness, for I saw no such thing; nor do I intend any imagination of a body of light, somewhere away in the third heaven, nor any thing of that nature; but it was a new inward apprehension or view that I had of God, such as I never had before, nor any thing which had the least resemblance of it. I stood still, and wondered and admired; I knew that I never had seen before any thing comparable to it for excellency and beauty; it was widely different from all the conceptions that ever I had had of God, or things divine. I had no particular apprehension of any one person in the trinity, either the Father, the Son, or the Holy Ghost; but it appeared to be divine glory that I there beheld; and my soul rejoiced with joy unspeakable, to see such a God, such a glorious divine being; and I was inwardly pleased and satisfied that He should be God over all forever and ever. My soul was so captivated and delighted with the excellency, loveliness, greatness, and other perfections of God, that I was even swallowed up in Him; at least to that degree, that I had no thought, as I remember, at first about my own salvation, and scarce reflected there was such a creature as myself.
I continued in this state of inward joy and peace, yet astonishment, till near dark, without any sensible abatement; and then began to think and examine what I had seen, and felt sweetly composed in my mind all the evening following. I felt myself in a new world, and everything about me appeared with a different aspect from what it was wont to do.
At this time, the way of salvation opened to me with such infinite wisdom, suitableness, and excellency, that I wondered I should ever think of any other way of salvation; and was amazed that I had not dropped my own contrivances, and complied with this blessed and excellent way before. If I could have been saved by my own duties, or any other way that I had formerly contrived, my whole soul would now have refused. I wondered that all the world did not see and comply with this way of salvation entirely by the righteousness of Christ.
The sweet relish of what I then felt continued with me for several days, almost constantly, in a greater or less degree, I could not but sweetly rejoice in God, lying down and rising up.
To this we may add an affecting account which Brainerd gives of one of his converts, who had been in much distress of mind, but was brought under the preaching of the word to a heavenly frame, composure of spirit, and entire resignation to the divine will.
When I came to discourse particularly with her,” Brainerd writes, and to inquire of her how she got relief from the spiritual distresses under which she had lately been, she answered, in broken English — Me try, me try, save myself: last, my strength be all gone,’ meaning her ability to save herself: could not me stir bit further. Den last, me forced let Jesus Christ alone, send me hell if he please.’ I said, But you were not willing to go to hell, were you?’ She replied,
Could not me help it. My heart would be wicked for all. Could not me make him good,’ meaning that she saw it was right she should go to hell, because her heart was wicked; and would be so, after all that she could do to mend it. I asked her how she got out of this case. She answered, still in the same broken language — By by my heart be grad desperately.’ (By and by my heart was exceedingly glad.) I asked her why her heart was glad. She replied Grad my heart Jesus Christ do what he please with me. Den me tink, grad my heart Jesus Christ send me hell. Did not me care where He put me: me lobe Him for all.’ (My heart was glad that Jesus Christ would do with me what he pleased. Then I thought my heart would be glad although Christ should send me to hell. I did not care where He put me; I should love Him for all — ) that is, do what he would with her. And she could not readily be convinced, but that she was willing to go to hell, if Christ were j)leased to send her thither, though the truth evidently was, that her will was so swallowed up in the divine will, that she could not frame any hell in her imagination, that would be dreadful or undesirable, provided it was the will of God to send her to it.” / The case of Simeon will supply another illustration. He says: —
It was but the third day after iny arrival at college that I understood I should be expected shortly to attend the Lord’s Supper. Without a moment’s loss of time I bought the Whole Duty of Man, (the only religious book I had ever heard of) and began to read it with great diligence; at the same time calling my ways to remembrance and crying to God for mercy; and so earnest was I in these exercises that within three weeks I made myself quite ill with reading fasting, and prayer. I next j)rocured Kettlewell on the Sacrament,” but I remember that it required more of me than I could bear, and, therefore, 1 procured Wilson on the Lord’s Supper,’ which seemed to be more moderate in its requirements. I continued with unabated earnestness to search out, and mourn over the numberless iniquities of my former life; and so greatly was my mind oppressed with the weight of them, that I frequently looked upon the dogs with envy; wishing, if it were possible, that I could be blessed with their mortality, and they be cursed with my immortality in my stead. I set myself immediately to undo all my former sins, as far as I could; and did it in some instpiTices which required great self-denial, my distress of mind continued for about three months, and well might it have continued for years, but God began at last to smile upon mo, and to give me a hoj)0 of acceptance with Him. The circumstances attendant on this were very peculiar. My efforts to remedy my former misdeeds had been steadily pursued, and in comparison of approving myself to God in this matter, I made no account of shame, or loss, or anything in the world. In proportion as I proceeded in this work I felt somewhat of hope springing up in my mind; hut it was an indistinct kind of hope founded on God’s mercy to real penitents. But as I was reading Wilson on the Lord’s Supper, I met with an expression to this effect: That the Jews knew what they did when they transferred their sin to the head of their offering.’ The thought rushed into my mind What! may I transfer all my guilt to another? Has God provided an offering for mc that I may lay my sins on his head? Then, God willing, I will not bear them on my own soul one moment longer. Accordingly I sought to lay my sins upon the sacred head of Jesus; and on the Wednesday began to have a hope of mercy; on the Thursday that hope increased; on the Friday and Saturday it became more strong; and on the Sunday morning (Easter Hay,) I awoke with those words upon my heart and lips, Jesus Christ is risen to-day! Hallelujah!’ From that hour peace flowed in rich abundance into my soul.”’*’’
Hewitson again, speaking of his conversion, says: — I am sure of this, that for a long long time I have been deceiving myself and making myself miserable Every day, through ignorance of the free, glorious gospel, while I imagined that I clearly understood its gracious character. For long the painful feeling still preyed upon my mind, that I must do some good works myself, or God would not accept me in Christ Jesus; and my misery was, that while Satan thus blinded my eyes, I found myself unable to do the good works that I would. Noav I see that the gospel is quite different — that it is free, and full, and wholly of grace.”
* Sec Carus’ Memoirs cf Simeon.”
And if we go back to the early history of the Churchy the confessions of St„ Augustine will supply another striking example.
The house he lodged in had a little garden in which he could always reckon on finding a quiet retreat.
Thither/^ says he the tumult of my breast hurried me where no man might hinder the hot contention wherein I had engaged with myself. What said I not against myself? With what scourges of condemnation lashed I not my soul that it might follow me striving to go after Thee!... Thus soul-sick was and tormented, accusing myself much more severely than my wont, rolling and turning me in my chain.’’
For ten years had he been groping after Christ, but all his struggles only left him more guilty and more selfcondemned. I cast myself down,” says he, I know not how, under a certain fig-tree, giving full vent to my tears; and to this purpose spake I unto Thee; — How long, Lord, wilt Thou bo angry? for ever? How long? how long? to-morrow, and to-morrow? Why not now? why not now Augustine was still speaking and weeping in the most bitter contrition of his heart, when suddenly there fell upon his ear from a neighboring house, a voice, as of a boy or girl chanting and oft repeating, — Take up and read! take up and read!” Checking the torrent of his tears, he arose, interpreting it to be no other than a command from God, to open the book and read the first chapter he should find. He snatched the volume of St. Paul, which he had brought with him to the garden, opened it, and his eye fell on that Scripture, — Put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lusts thereof.” “No further would I read,” says he; nor needed I: for instantly at the end of this sentence by a light as it were of serenity infused into my hearty all the darkness of doubt vanished away; I felt it scatter and descried the dawning day. .......
How hast thou loved us Father delivering up thy only Son for us ungodly! Well may my hope be strong through such an Intercessor; else I should despair. Many and great are my diseases Thy medicine larger still!.. Terrified with my sins and the weight of my misery, I was desponding, but Thou encouragest me, saying, Christ died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but to Him who died for them and rose again.” So I cast all my care on Thee, Lord, that I may live, — not with doubting, but with assured confidence do I love Thee, 0 Lord! Thou art my King; reign absolute in my heart And some years after this, we find him saying: “No Avant of deserving on my part, not even the lowest and most mortifying thoughts of my vileness and unworthiness, nor the highest and most enlarged notions of the excellence of the bliss in heaven, can cast me down from this high tower of hope.””’*”
Many a long century had passed away, when a boy at Oxford, Charles Wesley by name, began to be concerned about the conscientious improvement of his time, which had before been lost in idle diversions, and commenced diligently to observe the method of study prescribed by the statutes of the University. Others joined him, forming a little society, distinguished by
See “Milner’s Church History,” Vol. II; and “Memoirs of St. Augustine,” by Rev. J. Baillie. observance of the method of study, and of the sacramental observances and means of grace. A thing so extraordinary in that day as serious attention to study and religious worship, even on the part of a handful of boys, could not pass without observation and ridicule, and young Wesley and his friends, from their regard to the method of study, soon went by the slang epithet of the Methodists.” John Wesley, who was five years older than Charles, now four years a serious and devout clergyman of the Church of England, at this time returned to Oxford as a tutor, and joining the little society of Methodists,” became a master-spirit among them. Their earnestness and austerity in religion deepened to a wonderful extent, and exhibited itself in unbounded self-denials, charities, fastings, prayers, and labors, in all which they found no spiritual peace, yet persevered in spite of opposition, defamation, and contempt.
Four or five years had thus passed over the heads of these young devotees, when an indigent student entered as a servitor j defraying his college expenses by performing menial offices in the rooms of the wealthier young men in the university. This was George Whitefield, then eighteen years of age, both by nature and grace marked as the greatest beyond comparison of those among whom he moved as a menial. He was strongly attracted towards the Wesleys and their associates, by their earnest religious life, but from the poverty of his station dared not intrude himself upon their notice. But having been named to Charles Wesley by a poor woman whom he had employed on an errand of charity, he was sought out, and introduced to the little brotherhood, of which he became one of the most zealous members. It was among their rules, for example, frequently to interrogate themselves whether they had been simple and recollected, whether they had always prayed with fervor, on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday noon; if they had used a collect at nine, twelve, and three o’clock; duly meditated on Sunday, from three to four, on Thomas a Kempis; mused on Wednesday and Friday, from twelve to one, on the Passion,’ etc. I now began,’ says Whitefield, like them, to live by rule, and to pick up every fragment of my time, that not a moment of it might be lost. Like them, having no weekly sacrament at our college, although the rubric required it, I received it every Sunday at Christ Church. I joined with them in keeping the Stations, by fasting Wednesdays and Fridays, and left no means unused which I thought would lead me nearer to Christ. By degrees I began to leave off eating fruits and such like, and gave the money I usually spent in that way to the poor. Afterwards I chose the worst sort of food, though my place furnished me with variety. My apparel was mean. I thought it unbecoming a penitent to have his hair powdered. I wore woolen gloves, a patched gown, and dirty shoes. It was now suggested to me that Jesus Christ was among the wild beasts when He was tempted, and that I ought to follow His example; and being willing, as I thought, to imitate Jesus Christ, after supper I went into Christ Church walk, near our college, and continued in silent prayer nearly two hours, sometimes lying on my face, sometimes kneeling upon my knees. The night being stormy, gave me awful thoughts of the day of judgment. The next day I repeated the same exercise at the same place. After this the holy season of Lent came on which our friends kept very strictly, eating no flesh during the six weeks, except on Saturdays and Sundays. I abstained frequently on Saturdays also, and ate nothing on the other days (except Sunday) but sage tea without sugar, and coarse bread. I constantly walked out in the cold mornings till one part of my hands was quite black.”
This truly Romish course of penance and austerity finally exhausted nature, and threw him into an alarming illness which lasted seven weeks. This sickness Whitefield calls, in his journal, a glorious visitation.” The constant brotherly attentions of his fellow-ascetics, the Wesleys, with their maxims and citations, were ineffectual now to comfort or direct his mind. His course of externals, with the energy of the natural man which had much to do in prompting and sustaining it, was effectually broken up, and his thoughts communed with his own heart and the word of God. He spent much of his time in reading the Greek Testament, and in prayer. He gained more clear, truthful, and affecting views of his own sinfulness, and saw how hopeless was the effort to remove a sense of guilt by religious observances. One day,” he informs us, perceiving an uncommon drought and noisome clamminess in my mouth, and using things to allay my thirst but in vain, it was suggested to me that when Jesus Christ cried out, I thirst j His sufferings were near over. Upon this I threw myself on the bed and cried out, I thirsty I thirst! Soon after I perceived my load to go off; a spirit of mourning was taken from me; and I knew what it was truly to rejoice in the Lord. When I said those words, I thirsty I thirsty my soul was in agony;
I thirsted for a clear discovery of my pardon through Jesus Christ, and the seal of the Spirit. I was at the same time enabled to look up with faith to the glorious Lord Jesus as dying for sinners, and for some time I could not avoid singing psalms wherever I was.“”
These are but specimens of a vast multitude who are laboring after peace and rest; could we see all who are thus toiling, we should have to look upon hundreds of thousands; and very fearful indeed would be the anguish revealed. Could we see embodied all the various forms of toil, we should be surprised at the different loads under which men are struggling in their efforts to get peace.
And here will be a fitting place to say a word or two with reference to what is popularly known as ^Hhe revival“” in the present day. I quite believe that there are seasons when there are special manifestations of God“s Spirit; and at such seasons I am quite prepared to look for something beyond the experience of what we might call ordinary times.“” I quite believe that people may be what is popularly called stricken and that the peace of God may be obtained in a moment of time. But, whilst holding all this fully, I can not but object to the violence of many who are known as revival preachers“” (alas! that we are not all known as revival preachers!) and who in too many instances deal with indiscriminating force.
It is true that there is but the one j)anacea for all human guilt and woe, and that is the blood of Christ. The Come unto ME “” is the only hope; but we say, this mighty truth maybe abused as well as used. Yes! unthinking, unconscience-stricken men may be carried as it were off their legs by the torrent of the preacher’s energy; and be swept down the stream of the prevailing enthusiasm without being able to give a reason for the desire that is within them. We shall never be surprised at hearing that some who were thought to be savingly affected at the time of a revival have fallen off; we firmly believe that a sufficient number will remain as a solid increase to the church of God, to prove that the revival was no myth. It has been well observed, that the proportion of awakenings to conversions, is much the same as of blossoms to fruit. Who disbelieves in the existence or value of the fruit, because it has swelled, and ripened, from amid a quantity of blossoms which have come to nought.
We believe, we say, that there will be fallings off, and we believe that amongst these will be found many, who had so to speak, only been revived by man — galvanized, but not vivified. They heard a formula about finding peace in Christ but they knew not that they were at war with God — they heard about Gest in Christ,” but they knew not that they were heavy laden; they heard of His being a physician, but they knew not that they were sick — they knew not that they were wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked they thought that they had need of nothing; they needed to be counselled to buy of Him gold, tried in the fire, that they might be rich; and white raiment, that they might be clothed; and that the shame of their nakedness do not appear, and to anoint their eyes with eyesalve that they might see: Rev. iv., 17, 18.
There seems to be a crude and sweeping way of dealing with all souls alike, as though because there were but the one disease and the one remedy, therefore all should be treated in exactly the same way. We believe fully in the oneness of the disease and of the remedy; but Ave believe also in diversities of mental constitutions; and in processes of the Holy Ghost. It is possible that we may be met with the statement that conscience and faith — the two great elements in conversion — are independent of the mental constitution; and that, whatever a man’s mental constitution may be, he can be converted, if his conscience be smitten, and his faith be stirred — we firmly believe it — we hold that but scant intelligence is necessary to salvation but at the same time, when there is a mental constitution, it will work; it will show its peculiarities; it has often to be carried through certain processes; and we can not agree to ignore this method of the Spirit’s dealing, because by a speedily act of faith, so many have, thank God, found peace.
The tendency, in the present day, is to undervalue
* “I have seen Jesus,” said a poor imbecile, who for many years had been the terror of his neighborhood, but who under the Divine influence had become a mild and gentle creature. “I have seen Jesus,” was his only reply to those who inquired what had induced a change so wonderful. And as the years passed on, and the love of Jesus showed itself in his every act, this single testimony to the power of the cross, won many a stouter heart to yield to the blessed Redeemer.
“Does Jesus love foolish boy?” asked an idiotic lad of the superin-’ tendent of the Idiotic Asylum at Essex Hall. On being told that He did, the poor child could hardly contain himself for joy. “Jesus love, Jesus love me,” he cried, “nobody love foolish boy before;” and as his time passed on, the consciousness of the love of Jesus made even the lack lustre eye and grinning face of the boy to assume a look of intelligence, and his struggles to subdue the evil propensities of his wayward nature, showed that grace had indeed found a lodgment in his heart. — Revival Incidents. such spiritual work as is not rapid; and to think that souls must be converted as with the speed of a lightning flash.
It would be sad indeed for the church of Giod, if there were none who could sympathize with the laboring soul with its difficulties its struggles its burdens and its tears; if there were none skilled to enter into the intricacies and peculiarities of different minds; these men are also true evangelists; with the most professed revivalists, they cry of Jesus, Come unto me;” but with Him also, they note the ffiabor” and the burden of the soul. These men have to do with souls, which are like Israel in the desert; often skirting the promised land, and then doubling wearily away, yet entering in at last. It is through much tribulation that many enter into the kingdom of God; not perhaps the tribulation of outward suffering, but that of mental conflict.
It is not true, that the simple display of the great truth of free justification by the blood of Jesus, will at all times bring peace to the soul at once; there may be obstacles to the reception of that truth, which require to be cleared away; there may be processes of the Spirit required for doing that great work; and this must not be forgotten in the present day, when so many think that the chief truth to be insisted on is, that the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.“”
But whilst we thus plead for j)atience with laboring souls, and for skill rather than violence in their treatment, we state our full belief in the truth, that the way to deal with sinners is to set before them a present Saviour; it is the privilege of every Christian to say to the laboring soul not J esus will forgive yon, but J esus does forgive you.’’ There is amazing power in a present salvation; as long as we preach, Jesus %all forgive you we leave the soul with little or nothing to grasp. Why should we say, He loill forgive you Is it when He sheds more blood? Jesus will never die again. Ah! you know that. Well! is it when. He has more love to you? Why should He ever love you better than He does now? What reason have you for thinking that He will ever do so? Oh no! you don’t expect that J esus’s love to you will come in some wonderful way; you think He loves the poor sinner now.
Well then; is it when you are better than you are? Ah! even at the best, must we not be imperfect still?
But is it, when you have repented more? what a common thought this is; as if repentance could ever make us worthy; as if there were ascertain point, on the attainment of which Jesus would meet us, and pour over us His blood.
The sinner must be told that there is not a particle of hindrance in Christ; but at the same time we must endeavor to remove the hindrances which lie in himself; there is often, as it were, a laying on of the hand, and a saying, “brother Saul,” before the scales fall from the eyes.
But there are other laborers besides those who are seeking for pardon, for justification before God. There are laborers after sanctification after personal holiness, after riddance of the power of the old Adam; and, to such, as well as to those who are seeking after salvation, Christ gives this great invitation; to such He promises, with this great I will/”
It is highly possible, after having found justifying rest in Christ, to enter upon a state of deep need as regards sanctifying rest. We think we shall not go far wrong, if we say, that this has been the experience of almost every believer that has ever lived.
Vve may quote one instance by way of example; it is that of Sarah Martin, a well-known name in the roll of God”s most earnest laborers.
“In the autumn of 1810, I was led by my most merciful God to examine the great subject in earnest; and I became convinced, not only of the truth of Divine revelation, but also that my own crime in having rejected it, embodied guilt capable of every possible manifestation, when not held back by God himself. By the light of the Divine majesty, and by His law, I saw myself condemned, and I felt the justice of my condemnation; for not only had I violated that righteous and holy law, but I had added to it contempt of the blessed Gospel, and rejection of the Son of God. And yet such was the pity of my God, and such his tenderness to me, that in the immediate disclosure of these, my circumstances, he showed to me, as in the same glance, the mediator Jesus Christ, my Saviour, and forgiveness through Him.
For twelve months after this, my satisfaction was incomplete, and my happiness was held back, not knowing the extent of the promise, If thou return to the Almighty, thou shalt be built up / Job xxii. 23; therefore with strong confidence in my own imaginary power, and supposing all the while that God required it of me, I sought to advance, less by receiving from the fulness of Jesus than by providing something to bring. To this end I sought to satisfy my thirst for religious knowledge by reading theological works. The Bible was in-^ deed read formally, a few chapters daily, but not honored as the supreme source of divine knowledge; whilst my first expectation of advance was from religious books, to the reading of which late and early hours were devoted; and of every sermon I heard, I wrote an outline afterwards.
About the close of this year, I became increasingly bowed down in spirit with heavy disappointment, toiling hard and reaping no fruit; for in full acknowledgment and wonder at God’s power, in the change which he had wrought in my thoughts, principles, and habits, I had yet believed that it was required of me to take a distinct part in carrying forward the work of religion in my own life: nor was I made happy, until, in Divine compassion, the Almighty removed my error, by making it known to me, that to uphold and prosper Divine life in principle, and in its fruits, was His sovereign prerogative, as exclusively belonging to the Holy Spirit, as the first movement of the soul from spiritual death; and that in the plan of the salvation of a sinner, according to his eternal wisdom and purpose, was comprehended all I needed for persevering advance in godliness, as to knowledge and obedience. These happy views were suddenly opened to me whilst reading the ninth and eleventh of Romans. There, seeing salvation, not in its commencement only, but from first to last, to be entirely of grace, I was made free; and looking upon a once crucified, but now glorified Saviour, with no more power of my own than the pray ing thief had upon the cross, I also found peace. The declaration of Jesus Christy It is finished, was enough and I was graciously given to understand that contrition, love, and holiness, are the fruits of the Spirit, produced in a believer when looking unto Jesus. I read the chapters referred to much. On one memorable day, the words, It is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy,” were as heavenly music to my heart; for whilst experience had shown my utter destitution before God, I rejoiced to see my eternal salvation secure on the ground of God“s free and sovereign mercy, and realized the blessed promise, Thou shalt forget thy misery, and remember it as waters that pass away Job xi., 16. The high assurance, that Christ was mine, and with Him all things,” has never been withdrawn; but in all I have been called to resist, or conquer, or endure, or suffer, it has been a light from God not to be obscured, an ocean of comfort from the rock of my strength.“”
If we look a little at the circumstances of a man thus delivered from the load of guilt, we shall easily understand how it is that he enters uj)on a course of subsequent labor. When a sinner finds peace in the blood of Christ, he becomes a new man; old things are passed away, all things have become new; he is now a forgiven man; an illumined man; and he becomes also pre-eminently an assaulted man. Here are three sources of labor; and in each of them the soul can find no rest except in Christ.
For be it observed, that the forgiveness of sins brings with it the impulses of love; the sap, flowing out of the stem of the vine into the branches, makes them shoot and bud; and man starts forward into a new set of activities; he feels he must be doing’’ for Christ. Now this new-born activity has to exert itself in the midst of old enemies and many obstacles. We must remember that the work of sanctification is progressive; the Canaanite is still in the land; and forasmuch as we cannot keep quiet owing to the impulse of love Ave have all our work made as hard as possible to us by our old enemies. Then commences hard toil; at one moment we are like men carrying a heavy load through a ploughed field; at another we are like those who have to elbow and push their way through a rude crowd; and yet, but a little while, and we are like the night- watchers, who have to guard a treasure from the midnight thief. Now, we seem to have dropped some good thing, and we have to stoop down and look for it; now we see some good thing a little farther on, and we have to try to attain to it; and thus, Ave labor, sometimes all day and all night long too.
Be it remembered that the Christian is an illumined man; the light gradually dawning upon his heart and conscience, reveals to him how much has to be purged out, what heights are to be attained; and as the light is ever growing stronger, so is it ever revealing more evil to be shunned, more holiness to be attained, and the soul responds to the teaching, and at each fresh light a fresh struggle begins.
We must also bear in mind that a soul thus circumstanced becomes especially assaulted. The strong man armed, who used to keep his goods in safety, will not see them taken away from him tamely. Why should he? I often think how unreasonable Christians are to expect quiet from Satan! If men are going to take away our property we try to hinder them; why should not the devil do the same? And so his assaults gather especially round the believer, just as the moths and insects of the night gather especially around the light.
All this being the case, can we be surprised, that many a believer is found laboring — laboring after holiness of character — after obedience — after spiritual attainment — after perfect freedom from the presence of, it may be, some particular sin? He is delighting in the law of God after the inward man, but he sees another law in his members; warring against the law of his mind, and bringing him into captivity to the law of sin, which is in his members. [Eom. vii. 22, 23.]
To such an one, the promise of Christ applies; to him is the invitation given, Come unto Me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’” And in truth there is a need that this should be pointed out to many in the Church of God. After having received Christ, they seem to lose Christ; they forget what the Apostle has written in 1 Cor. i. 30. But of Him are ye in Christ Jesus, who, of God, is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification and redemption. Yes, we are forgetting oftentimes that Christ is our sanctification, as well as our justification; and we are “terrified as to what appearance we shall hereafter make, even though our sins have been forgiven us, so that we are secured from the danger of being lost.
Dear reader, I know well that the believer is called to labor, that Scripture is full of imagery, which shows Him as one, all whose energies are called forth; I know he is a warrior [1 Tim. vi. 12], and a racer [Heb. xii. 1], and a workman [2 Tim. ii. 15]; still, it is his privilege ATIOH,
to have a quiet mind in Christ; we may be peaceful in our toil; we may be working striving, in the full assurance that we are accepted in the Beloved,”
We are very apt to lose ourselves in spiritual toil; we may easily be led away from Christ, while earnestly engaged in it; we may become so absorbed in the work, as to forget for Whom it is being done. And of this Satan will take immediate advantage; he will decoy us by holy things away from Christ; he will make us to be so taken up with our work, that we forget Him. We may thus be led far away from J esus; we shall in all probability be induced to look at frames, and feelings, and advancement in sanctification, as having something to do with our being saved; our short-comings will be suggested to us as causes of doubt, as to whether we are the Lord’s at all; and then, perhaps, will ensue a long, weary wandering back again, to find our first great spring and principle of hope — our Lord upon His cross. Is it not well known to every Christian, that one of Satan’s grandest aims is, to fix the eye on self? — to divert the eye from self,” when a man is living in sin, so that we may not know his vileness — to fix it upon self, when he has escaped from the power of sin, so that he may be brought into a state either of self-righteousness or despair. Let us be upon our guard; whatever we have to do, let us do it as in the presence of our Lord — of the One who said, Come unto me.” Thus, and thus only in the great work of Christian life, can we have rest. Yes, every day let us say, Return unto thy Best, 0 my soul, for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee Psalm cxvi. 7. Let us continually cast our eyes around, so that on no account the cross be allowed to be out of sight; and whatever may be our improvement in character and moral meetness for heaven, let our single hope of the possession of the beauty of holiness,” be the possession of the One perfect in all holiness, even Jesus Christ Himself.
And now, a word for those who might be described as the heavy laden.
We must be permitted to look at them as a class by themselves. No doubt, as we have already seen, the laboring ones’ are, in many instances, the heavy laden;’ but it does not of necessity follow, that all the heavy laden’ are ^laborers.’ No! there is something in the human breast, such a crushing weight of unforgiven sin, such a realized consciousness of impotence; it may be, also, such a sense of the rejection of former calls, that the heart refuses to try; the weight is so heavy as to crush and paralyze all hope.
Now Christ Jesus is prepared to deal with such a case as this: as He is ready to set at rest the laboring one, so is He ready to stimulate the energies of the one utterly bowed down; He will take man in every phase of his need; and thus there shall doubtless be, throughout eternity, varied specimens of his power.
I feel quite prepared to preach the full grace of Jesus to such an afflicted soul as this; let there be but a consciousness of sin, and a heavy suffering under it, and then, I believe, that although there be paralysis, still there is life; that this is a salvable creature; that he may be, so to speak, brought to J esus, like the palsied man, borne of the four. Moral consciousness is of inestimable price.
The best way to deal with such, is to show them that there is hope. Hope will make them lift up their eyes, and they shall see that there is a cross; then it may be that they will see that there is One hanging thereon; then, as they look, perhaps, they will try to drag themselves to Him who says, Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest
As in this work it is our aim to influence the mind of the reader by facts, as well as by statements of truth, let us here consider the case of a desperate offender, who sought Christ, and found Him, laden though he was with guilt. The story is from the man’s own lips, and is to be found in an admirable work on the Revivals in Ireland.’^
I came to Coleraine in 1832, the year of the great plague: God was then pouring out the vials of His wrath on His people, and many, fearing His righteous indignation, were turning to the Lord; on some the impressions then made were “the savor of life unto life,” hut when the plague was stayed, and fear of immediate punishment passed, many returned like the “sow to their wallowing in the mire.” So it was with me. My first great error was absconding from my apprenticeship; I stole my indenture and went to Belfast; my craft refused to admit me until I returned and served my time. Being of a proud, rebellious spirit I refused, and was led into sin, until completely under the dominion of “the world, the flesh, and the devil.” I went from step to step, not caring where my feet might fall. I soon outstripped my companions, and became a leader in debauchery.
* “A visit to the Scenes of the Ulster Revivals,” by the Rev. E. K, Elliott, M.A., Rector of Broadwater, Sussex.
I returned to Coleraine, and after a time managed to secure a good business, and have always been living in easy circumstances. I formed a marriage connection with a young woman, the daughter of Christian parents, and went to church with her putting on a hypocritical face; but her parents were very much against her taking. this step. For a while I continued an outward show of morality, as my wife was pious; at length I began to long for the pleasures of sin; I entered into company and became addicted to drink, and the indulgence of this habit led to crimes, the very mention of which makes me shudder. Of no one sin can I altogether acquit myself. An accident caused me to take the life of a fellow-sinner, while engaged in a most unlawful and unholy expedition. Once I took a car and drove down three miles to throw myself into the sea, and was found upon a rock with the waves dashing at my feet. I was noted as a drunkard, having drunk from fifteen to twenty glasses of whiskey at a time, and latterly obliged to have it at my bedside. No modest female would pass my factory after dark, unless protected, on account of the blasphemous language of my tongue, which I indulged in, even in common conversation; and when giving orders to my men I was always swearing, and was given over to a reprobate mind.
I often put out my wife and children in the clouds of night undressed. I smashed valuable furniture, and burned wearing apparel, on one occasion to the value of twenty pounds. At length my family left me, their lives not being safe in the same house. Several times, when intoxicated, and under delirium tremens, I attempted their lives; thank God I never succeeded in inflicting any very serious injury upon them. Whilst separated, I persecuted them in every way which a devilish ingenuity could devise. I affronted them in the public streets, and following them to the house of God, tore them from it. I feared neither God nor man; indeed I seemed as if I was determined to show to what depths of wickedness a man might go.
I was, I believe, God-forsaken; and men hated to speak to me even in anger. So low had I fallen, that even my debauched companions would scarcely appear with me in the streets, and my next neighbor, a gentleman of high standing, had given notice to leave his house on account of the annoyance caused by my horrible blasphemy and outrageous conduct.
During these years (twenty of servitude to the devil) God blessed me in temporal affairs, and knocked at my heart by opening up opportunities for reformation; and very often did He lay His hand upon me, but Satan had bound me. I was stiff-necked and rebellious, and would not hearken to God’s calls. On the Sunday previous to my conversion, I went to Portrush, and spent twenty-eight shillings that day in drink.
When the revival was mentioned, I mocked at it, and joined with some in saying that it was all delusion and humbug. I had gone on the previous evening to a meeting on “Fair Hill,” and disturbed the congregation by my blasphemy and disorderly behavior. I returned home quite drunk from Portrush, to frighten and keep my wife from public worship. Next week I spent ten pounds in intoxicating drink. During this time my son had been under convictions. The second night after the Revival had broken out in Coleraine, he attended a meeting held at the Market Hill, and was” stricken” down. A good woman came to me while I was reading the flimsy trash of the day — I think it was “Reynold’s Miscellany” Iliad at that time — she said, “Mr. Haltridge, kneel down and give God thanks, your son is stricken down.” I ordered her out of the way, and went to my bedroom and shut myself up for eight hours. They brought him and laid him on the sofa: I heard his cries. For twenty-four hours no one could tell whether he was dead or alive; but when God revealed Himself to him the first thing he said was, God be merciful to my wicked father.” I heard all this. My daughter attended meetings that were held in the schoolroom. She also was “stricken” down, and cried to God for mercy.
I was generally under the infiuence of drink, and I drank to excess. I gave plenty to any that would go with me, especially did I delight to lead astray any that were endeavoring to escape the snares of Satan, openly ridiculing their fears of judgment, and defying God’s power. I shamed the most godless; and any who were bent on attending the house of prayer I endeavored to draw to the public-house. On one occasion I drank a bottle of brandy in thirty minutes.
On Thursday morning I got out of my bed at three a. m.; a very unusual circumstance with me, as I generally slept half the day from the effects of drink the night before. My brain was still reeling, when I seemed to be under some irresistible infiuence. I lifted a book, put it in my pocket, but with no aim or purpose; indeed, I did not then turn to see what it was, or most likely I should have thrown it aside. I wandered out of the house in a sort of somnambulism, not caring or knowing where I went, I was led to; here I sat down and took out the book — a Church of England Prayer Book — which I opened at Ps. lii. I began to read it, as I would have done anything I might have lifted. My usual reading for years had been the flimsy periodicals and highlyspiced novels of the day; but God was pleased to open the eyes of my understanding, and thus displayed to me, in its full danger and genuine colors, the ruin which my conduct had prepared for me. At verse 6 it declared, “Therefore shall God destroy thee for ever; He shall take thee and pluck thee out of thy dwelling, and root thee out of the land of the living.” It seemed as if the words had been written for me, they went like an arrow to my heart. I knew the sentence was just; I shut the hook and said to myself, “all is lost, there is no way of escape even if I sought to find one, and what remains for me hut weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth.”
Having come to this conclusion I determined to drink until I killed myself; and returning to town knocked up a tavern keeper at 4 a. m., and drank all alone until reason and thought were drowned, and conscience wholly silenced. I was taken home completely drunk, and lay until sober; and again repeated the dose until nine.
The prayers of my Christian wife were now about to be answered. She was a Christian from her youth up. I have often seen her at the bed-side praying; yet I have taken the pillow and thrown it at her, and at the same time I have lifted up my arm defying God to do His worst. My wife and daughter requested me to stay with them and go to the Wesleyan Chapel, as the new preacher had arrived on the circuit; they coaxed and flattered me, offering to give me anything I would ask in reason, if I would only stay at home one Sunday, and be social. I had ceased to attend a place of worship for a long time. If I did happen to go, I could not sit out the service, and usually came away in the middle of the discourse; but my wife felt so powerfully earnest this morning, that she even put her back to the door, and reasoned with me until I promised to go. I went, but cannot say I was more impressed than usual; I knew my lost state hut had not the ability to amend it, I had often formed good resolutions, confirming them with oaths, and as often I had failed to keep them. After service I returned home, took a little drink, and went to the workhouse to see an old servant, who was at the point of death. I was induced to say a few words to her about her salvation, and the efficacy of Christ’s finished work, and God’s love, and the truth of His words. She was quite surprised, as were several persons who were present, to hear one like me speak on such a subject, it was the devil quoting Scripture; but all unknown to myself it was a devil upon the eve of transformation.
The old woman asked me if I had undergone “the change,” but shaking my head I said, “I thought it was too late for me.” On my way home I met three old companions, who were about to have a social cup and smoke. They gave me a pressing invitation to join them; formerly it had required no asking, but unaccountably I now refused, though I had formed no resolutions to do good. I felt quite a new man after resisting the temptation.
I went again to the house of God with my wife and children. The preacher was a very young man just on trial, that being his first attempt at a sermon. He had chosen (Ps. xl. 2.) “He brought me up out of a horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings;” as he told me since, to show forth the goodness and loving-kindness of God in snatching sinners from destruction. He had gone on in this strain for some time, but suddenly stopping, he said he felt himself impelled to describe the horrors of the pit, and misery of the damned through all eternity. In his discourse he repeated the words, “wrath to come” three times; he said, “it will be the motto on the seal that closes the gates of hell, and still through the countless ages of eternity it will be wrath to come, never ending, still beginning.” These words suddenly seized me, and the thought came across my mind, “am I to be shut up there?” Big tears started into my eyes; I saw vividly before me the lake of fire, the smoke already wreathed about me; I felt as if I were sinking down, down, down; but I had fallen into the hands of a God of mercy. I covered my face with my hands, and ground my teeth to smother the prayer that unexpectedly made its escape. Oh, the goodness of God, He could not see me sink without putting forth His hand to save me. Still I resisted the strivings of the Holy Spirit, and determined not to let my weakness (so I called it) be seen by hundreds, who had heard me laugh at the influence of that Spirit who was now working in me. I opened the pew door, but not one foot would move; my limbs could not sustain my weight; I was chained there; the tears made way, and streamed down my face. When the sermon was over, the agony of my mind was dreadful; remorse for the past, and fear for the future, gave me to taste the torments of eternity, A hymn was given out to be sung. (It was the same hymn that was blessed to the conversion of an actress.*) I had stood up and was holding on by the pew, my book trembling in my hands, but at the second line I was prostrated, and was quite unconscious for two hours, reclining on my wife’s knees; I was sensible of a dreadful darkness — a crushing. sensation seemingly upon the chest and heart; I can give no idea of the agony I endured, and the kind of pain I suffered. Thank God the dayspring dawns after the darkest hour of midnight. By degrees I returned to consciousness, under a deep conviction of my undone state, my need of pardon, and a desire to flee from that wrath to come which had so impressed me, and a faint conviction that God would not cast me out.
I was again and again directed to cast my burden on the Lamb of God, who “loved me and gave Himself for me.” I heard the blessed words, “Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out and I knew that through Him alone could I make my peace with God. I tried to ask in faith, “Open Thou mine eyes that I may behold wondrous things out of Thy law,” but I could not lay the unction to my soul at once. Several friends made intercession for me, but I found no con-
* “Depth of mercy! can there bo
Mercy still reserved for me?
Can my God His wrath forbear?
Me the chief of sinners spare?” solation. One of those who prayed for me was a boy of fourteen years of age, named John Hall. He had found the Lord himself, and he was crying, “Lord reveal Thyself to Mr, Haltridge,^’’ My son then took one arm and a kind friend the other, and helped me home. I was not able to waflv; my feet refused to carry me; on reaching home I was laid on that sofa on which, a month before, my son was laid. That son now pleaded with God on my behalf, and repeated the promises to repenting backsliders, but the time was not yet fully come. I went alone to my chamber, and wrestling hard with God, urged all His promises. I prayed that He would grant me His Holy Spirit, to endue me with wisdom, and reveal to my understanding, “Christ as the hope of glory.” I prayed and read at intervals till four the next morning. Mind and body were exhausted in the awful struggle, when Christ the Physician applied the balm of Gilead to my weary soul. The “Sun of Righteousness had risen with healing in His wings,” and streaming the light into every corner of my heart, spoke comfort with the words, “Arise, go in peace, thy faith hath made thee whole.” Sorrow had endured for a night, joy came with the morning light.
I felt that sin had no longer dominion over me; the stronger than Satan had entered in to divide the spoil; my chains fell off; my heart was fixed; the salvation prepared by God in Christ, before the face of all people, had appeared to me. I knew my pardon was sealed in the Redeemer’s blood; and I could read my title clear to a mansion in the skies, for “the mouth of the Lord had spoken it.” I now felt such love to my fellow-men, that I thought I could stand on a mountain top, and take the whole world in my arms; and as Christ told His disciples to begin preaching at Jerusalem, so, when called upon, I gladly consented to speak at meetings held at the place which had been the scene of my former life.
It is now two months since I knew Jesus to bo the truth and the life,” and every day He grows more precious to my soul. I feel He is able to sustain me. I retain that consciousness of pardon and acceptance. I have found Christ to be “all in all,” and by the help of God’s Holy Spirit I have been enabled to “put off the old man,” to condemn “all vain things that charmed me most and though “when I would do good, evil is present with me,” I trust in God for grace and mercy to help me in every time of need.
When we read a case like this need any heavy laden man despair? Need we despair who desire to draw sinners to Christ out of the very deepest pits? not so! The great I will’’ of Jesus meets all the need, does all the work; He speaks it still, I will give you rest.”
And oh! dear readers, if there be indeed any necessity for urging upon you this coming to your Lord; let me beseech you by the earnestness of Christ. Was He in earnest to save, and shall not we be in earnest to be saved? Did He even sweat blood in the fearful hour of His agony, and drain the cup to its dregs, rather than that it should pass from Him, and with it the salvation of a ruined world? Then let it be seen that this bread of life has not been given to the dogs, or this pearl of great price been cast before swine. No! but let the multitude of toil-worn and heavy-laden men, who respond to this invitation of their Lord, show that they are alive to their best interests, that they appreciate the deeds of the mount, the garden, and the cross; that they are of the number of those upon whom the torch of wisdom has thrown its brightest beam, and upon whom the might of celestial strength has been unmistakably brought to bear.
Let our own necessities, which press upon us from every side, urge us nearer and nearer to the Christ, until we have touched Him and felt by the benefit which we ourselves have received that virtue has gone out of Him. Let us think of the glory of the results and let that, as with a hand of light, beckon us onward to the cross. Ho longer shall we be poor, pitiful cowards, always in bondage unto death; but our load having been removed, we shall spring upwards in our expectation of everlasting life. Ho more shall the judgment and eternity be words rendered awful by the fear of impending torment, but we shall learn to weave their cyphers into our hopes; no more shall we be the victims of a low task-master, who hastes us to fulfill our daily task of unreasonable toil, but we shall be the servants of the Most High God, and children of the Heavenly Father, the citizens of the celestial city, and the heirs of eternal glory.
If any reader of these lines is delaying, let him remember that time is speeding on; and that if this work be not done now, it may never be done at all. While graves are being dug, and years are rushing past, almost as quickly as the lightnings flash athwart the sky, is this a time to be careless, to slumber, and to sleep?
Remember that hell is up in arms to oppose you; that heavy yokes are being forged there to bind you, each year, more surely to your ruin. Remember that what a spiritual power puts on, that can a spiritual power alone take off; and that the bonds of Satan can be severed only by the Christ.
The remembrance of this, if sanctified by the Holy Ghost, will bring you to the cross, where your burden shall be rolled from your shoulders; and where, from having been the slaves of sin, you shall be numbered amongst the freemen of the Lord.