Sickness and Bereavement
The popularity Tvliich Mr James now achieved was too sudden and too triumphant to be without its perils. His genial, generous heart, which had not been soured by adversity, was likely to be too much elated by the noisy excitement and indiscriminating admiration which his eloquence had at last awakened. I shall not anticipate in this place the analysis and review of his personal religious history, which will come later in this book; but it is important just to say, that the severe physical suflfering which laid him prostrate in 1817, and the loss of his wife early in 1819, derive their chief significance from the crowded congregations which now filled his chapel, and the vehemence and delight with which he was flinging himself into the religious activities of the country. His nature was too ardent for him not to be in danger of mistaking the emotion of the orator for the spiritual afiections of the Christian, and the ardour of genius for apostolic consecration and zeal. His was a temperament in which enthusiasm was easily excited, but in which enthusiasm was only slowly transformed into a profound and settled passion. Suffering was necessary to discipline and mature the higher elements of his nature, and to prevent him becoming a mere rhetorician, with an insatiable craving for popular applause. And suffering came. In what form and with what severity he himself narrates: —
LIFE OP JOHN ANGELL JAMES.
Autobio- In the year 1817, it pleased God to visit me with a most giap ca g^gj.yjjjg bodily illness, in the form of a low fever, which deprived me of the use of my limbs for a considerable time, and left me so enfeebled that I was nine months out of my pulpit. The affectionate sympathies of my beloved flock were called forth in a very delightful manner, and in the best manner too. Prayer-meetings were held during the time of my danger to intercede with God for my recovery, and much wrestling supplication went up to God on my behalf. In looking back upon that time of trial, I feel much cause for deep humiliation that I had not a livelier enjoyment of true religion. Generally speaking, I was at peace; but my feelings were not quite so happy as might have been expected. There was great danger, and I had no very painful anxieties about my spiritual safety, but I had not those exalted joys which many experience. I was always of a nervous temperament. It has through life been the besetting fault of my constitution. I have ever been prone to look on the dark side of events, and to prognosticate by my fears, rather than my hopes. Nor did it produce “afterwards” in such abundance as it should “the peaceable fruits of righteousness.” I have learned from that time the melancholy fact, that nothing promises more in the way of spiritual improvement, and pays less, than bodily sickness. The recovery to health furnishes such a source of delight, that we are very apt to be wholly taken up with that. Existence was never such a joy to me as when I was recovering. I went to Malvern for change of air — it was a fortnight before midsummer — the weather was very fine, and amidst the beauties of that lovely spot, health in a continuous stream flowed back into my exhausted frame. Every day I could walk further than the day before; so that I had a vivid .idea of a resurrection, though, of course, not of the resurrection. I was, I confess, too much taken up with the delight of animal and rational existence, and far too little mth my spiritual life. I see the need of watchfulness and prayer, lest the religious benefit of bodily affliction be lost on recovery in the pleasures of restored health. It is now most deeply humbling to me to think how little I have been benefited by the judgments of God.
“0 my heavenly Father, I am astonished that Thou hast not Autobioeither inflicted upon me still heavier strokes, or ceased to smite at ^^P’“*^’^* all.” I have a thousand times feared lest I should not honour God as I ought in affliction. I am greatly affected by pain, a poor, timid, cowardly creature. I can never cease to wonder at God’s infinite forbearance towards me. I believe my life was spared in answer to prayer. The earnestness of the people in supplication was remarkable. The chief part of my usefulness, both as a preacher and an author, has been since that illness.
Before finally returning to Bii-mingham he stayed some time at Editorial. Teignmouth, whence he wi’ote with exuberant gratitude and joy to his friend the Kev. Joseph Fletcher of Blackbm-n, afterwards Dr Fletcher of Stepney. He also wrote from Blandford to the deacons of his church immediately before his return to work. These letters are inserted here as illustrating the immediate effects of his severe illness on his own heart.
“Teignmouth, Devon, A ugust 2, 1817.
“And am I again addressing my dear friend, my very friend Fletcher, whom I love with an afifection which I cannot exjjress, and whom I expected no more to greet till I welcomed him to his eternal home, whither I lately thought myself so rapidly hastening 1 ‘What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits? Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits: who forgiveth all thine iniquities, who healeth all thy diseases, and redeemeth thy life from destruction!’
“Indeed he has redeemed my life from destruction, for I was at one time on the very borders of the grave. Eternity seemed just at hand, and the Judge waiting at the door. It was an awful, but not a terrible season. The gloom was thick, but not impervious. Flesh and heart appeared to be failing; but God was near, and then the broad, black shadow of death lost its power to alarm and terrify. My brother made you acquainted with the particulars of my disorder, so that I have no need to enter into detail now. Your first letter reached Bu-mingham at a season when the fervent strains of your friendship would have been too much for my weak frame. I should have almost dissolved beneath their ardour. It was very long before I was permitted to read the expressions of your regard. How shall I repay you for your afi”ection! When I assure you of the strength of mi, friendship, I do not seem to have returned anything equivalent to the value received,
LIFE OF JOHN ANGELL JAMES,
because my soul, with all its love, weighs light on many accounts to yours. Well, I can only give what I am, except it be the assurance, that, if my heart were a thousand times more worth acceptance than it is, it should be yours in the bonds of purest friendship.
“It was a great disappointment that you could not preach our charity sermon; but I could as little bear the thought of your being at Birmingham in my absence as you could. Do not multiply beyond absolute necessity your engagements. I am often filled with anxiety on your account, lest a life so valuable should be prematurely shortened by the intenseness of its labours. Do, my dear friend, spare yourself all you can. Learn to say, No. I am aware of the difficulty of this in your case, but it is a duty you owe your wife, your children, your church, your God. In your present situation, uidess you are very careful, your strength will consume away like a candle lighted at both ends. I do not wish you to be less in earnest in what you do; oh no! Can we be too earnest in the cause of immortal souls and the eternal God? Never, never did the Christian ministry appear to me so dread a thing as now. To stand between the living and the dead is indeed no light matter. We all want more of the spirit of our office, more of that temper which dropped from the eyes of our great Master in tears of grief upon the lost souls which crowded the miserable city below Him. Let us be more spiritual, more heavenly. This is what I want; what more than ever I will seek.
“I have removed to this place nearly three weeks, and think I am somewhat better for the breezes and the baths of Teignmouth; but I am still much enfeebled. Some remains of my disorder yet hang about my frame. When I shall again become the echo of mercy’s life-giving accents, I know not. I have read the Scriptures and prayed in public, and probably, should my strength in any measure increase, may attempt to preach in a week or two. I expect, however, that it will be long before I shall be able to fill the measure of my ministerial duties.
“You know how much pleasure a letter from you gives me, and therefore I hope it will not be long before you gratify me. This is the third I have written since my illness. The first was to a beloved brother, and the second to my church. Mrs James unites with me in affectionate regards to Mrs Fletcher; and beHeve me most truly yours,
“J. A. James.”
TO THE DEACONS OP THE CHT7RCH ASSEMBLING IN CAKR’s LANE,
BIEIUNGHAM.
“Blandford, November 6, 1817.” My dear Brethrkn, — Although you were addressed in common
SICKNESS AND BEIIEAVE^[ENT.
with the church in the pastoral letter I transmitted from Teigiimouth,* stUl I think it due both to yoxir office and the persevering fidelity with which you have discharged its duties, especially during my late affliction, to forward an epistle exclusively directed to yourselves. The alarming illness with which it pleased God to visit me, and the long relaxation from all pastoral care with which it has been followed, necessarily threw the whole weight of our church atfaiis upon you; and I am induced, no less by justice to your excellent conduct, than to my own grateful feelings, to take this opportunity of exjressing the deep sense which I shall ever cherish of the value of your services. Could I have anticipated an absence of nearly eight months from my beloved flock, I should unquestionably have felt some degree of solicitude for their harmony and satisfaction; through the blessing of God, however, upon your dihgence, prudence, and foresight, the peace of the society has never been interrupted, nor its prosperity at all impaired. This, my dear friends, in a church of such magnitude as ours, is not a little to accomplish. During the absence of the shepherd, either the sheep are apt to stray, or wolves to creep in. Neither of these evils, and principally through your vigilance, has troubled the church in Carr’s Lane. Receive, then, my best and warmest thanks for a course of judicious conduct, which both the church and its pastor know how to appreciate. If I had room, I would also exyress at more length than I have it in my power to do at present, the approbation with which I have ^iewcd the whole tenor of your official behaviour. I am sorry to say, from an extensive survey of our independent churches, that deacons have not unfrequently been the torment of the minister, and the bane of the congregation. A mean and unworthy lust of power, a busy and meddhng disposition, which loves to intrude into things beyond the line of its appropriate sphere, have multiplied in modern times the character of the Diotrephes of antiquity. It has ever been the happy lot of the church in Carr’s Lane, and of its present minister, to be lilest lith deacons who know how to support their office with dignity, without pride — with authority, without usurpation — vaih activity, without officiousness.
“One end I had in view in addressing you, is to announce, what I am confident will be no unpleasant intelligence, the time of my return. I expect, if nothing unforeseen prevent, to be at home on Wednesday evening or Thursday by dinner time. I have been in some doubt whether to preach on the first Sabbath, but, on the whole, I am inclined to think I may as well attempt it, as it will be attended with little more agitation than appearing even as a hearer in my ovm. pew. I wish no notice to be given, nor, indeed, much to be said about the * This letter I have not found.
LITE OF JOHN ANGELL JAMES.
matter. I must now conclude with most fervent wishes for your individual comfort, and earnest prayers for our collective prosperity as a church, and that by any means I might have a prosperous journey by the will of God, to come unto you, for I long to see you, to the end ye may be established, that I may be comforted together with you by the mutual faith both of you and me. — I remain, dear brethren, your affectionate pastor,
“J. A. James.”
A still heavier trouble soon followed. Mrs James, who had nearly sacrificed her life by her loving attentions to her father in his last illness, now, by her devotion to her husband, sank into an illness which terminated in her death. “I had one proof,” writes Mr James in the autobiography, “that however little I had improved my own personal affliction, God did not say, ‘Why should you be stricken any more’ The drain upon my wife’s strength, never’ very robust, which that long illness of mine occasioned, enfeebled her constitution, and she fell into a consumption. During a period of four months she wasted away, and departed to be with Christ on the 27th January 1819. After what I have said of her merits when speaking of my marriage, I need not enlarge here. A more pure-minded, disinterested, gentle, and noble-minded woman rarely dwelt in our world. Oh, how much I owe to her!”
The Carr’s Lane Church Book has the following touching minute in reference to Mrs James’s death: —
“The church, and more especially the pastor, sustaiaed a heavy and afflictive loss on January 27, 1819, in the decease of Mrs James, than whom a more estimable or a more esteemed minister’s wife has rarely been granted for a blessing to a Christian society. Earnest for piety, and alike exemplary for prudence, meek, gentle, conciliatory, she raised the highest admiration in all who knew her; and it was admiration founded on the basis of affection. Few are the names of departed saints over which more tears have been shed than on that of Frances Charlotte James; and rarely has the tribute of affection been more fully deserved or more promptly paid. ‘The remembrance of the just is blessed.”’