(III.)
BADBEA, 6th March, 1845.
MY DEAR FRIEND,—I received your kind and much esteemed favour, and I am glad that you were not confined, as I was dreaming about you in sleep and awake.
I am not to mention any particulars, but to say that of His long forbearance I am in the body yet; after all my provocations, He bears with such a barren tree. Glory to Him who is called Jesus, who is saying, “Spare the sinner till I dig and dung about him with divers trials and chastenings.” This was the case with poor me from my youth, but still when He seeks fruit there is none; but wild grapes of mourning and fretting at His holy dispensations towards me. I am “as a bullock unaccustomed to the yoke.” Though I am in the school of affliction from youth, I am like the fig tree, having leaves, but no fruit. O, to be preserved from the curse, for after that it soon withered away, and the disciples beheld it. I am in danger to be in that condition, though you said in your letter (and so do other friends that know me not) that I was a happy man. If following the means of grace from my childhood would make me happy, I might be what I am not. But I feel it grieving me when I reflect on my way in the valley all my lifetime, and look to my steps in every tract of life, and have to say, “O, wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of sin?” I see to my sad experience that I was doing nothing all my lifetime with my profession, but fostering and making my corrupt nature fatter, to bring forth wild weeds, and Satan’s seed getting more root and more strength.
I envied you in many respects, and in that I am sure your labour was blessed to many, and your example. But for me, Satan will cast in my teeth that there was not a word that ever came out of my mouth that was blessed to any, although it is now nearly forty years since I have been making a noise in this house about the things of which I am so ignorant. Oh, to have a hold on the one thing needful! Oh, to get faith to lay hold of the Father’s Beloved!
I am grieved to hear that that eminent witness in this dark day is so low—I mean, William Macbeath. O, to be in his coat or room going to eternity! I heard by a letter from Castletown that he is a little better, and we have much need that the Most High would spare him. It is written in connection with one, “He was sick nigh unto death; but God had mercy on him, and not on him only, but on me also, lest I should have sorrow upon sorrow! And so we may say of worthy William.
Dear friend, you sympathised with me always in inquiring about my body and circumstances. You did not spare your means in looking after this Church, but I hope it is of the Lord’s doing. It is in your day the Church was to be built. This Disruption came on so rapidly, but the generation that will come after will get good of it.
My afflicted sister is spared, but still in the furnace. My love to you. O think of me in secret moments. Best wishes to A. Stewart and your sister. Please write me when you can, for I am lonely.—
I am, your attached friend,
JOHN SUTHERLAND.
(IV.)
BADBEA, 6th August, 1847
MY DEARLY BELOVED FRIEND,—I am ashamed of my long delay in writing you, but I am slow in every Christian duty. Many a letter was my mind writing you on my languishing bed. I can say conscientiously that yourself and Donald Mackay were my companions in my tribulation.
I went to Lybster when the Sacrament was there. I had great hopes of meeting you there, but was disappointed you could not come. I had a great desire to be with them at the Reay Sacrament, if the Lord would countenance me and my soul’s faculties. I went to Reay, and had a great desire to see you there; was making myself sure that I would have that pleasure; but I did not. George Macleod, Dalnaha, told me he was at your house when the Sacrament was at Bower, and that you were not able to countenance the reading Sabbath nights owing to the frailness of your body. I hope you are able to be with them just now at Olrig or at Watten.
John Grant (Breckachy) and I were stopping with Janet Macleod, Sandside. I find her always remarkably kind. Annie Sutherland and I came Monday night to Thurso. I left Thurso Tuesday and arrived here Wednesday night. I found my afflicted sister low, but not so low as when I came from Lybster. She was then so low that my niece and I would be attending her most of the night. I ought to state this as my apology for delay in writing, and not as complaining of the gracious dealings of the God of all grace, whose forbearance and longsuffering should forever suppress my murmuring, it being so apparent that He has no pleasure in my death, but rather that I should have life, making a free tender of Himself to me, a frail, sinful worm.
My dearest friend, try and be fervent for me at a throne of grace. I am now old and withered, like the mountains of Gilboah, where the mighty has fallen. I have no good mark, but that David Steven, Mr. A. Sinclair, and both Donald Mackay’s are inquiring for me. At times I will think that I am not wholly forsaken when I have that same. But when I think of them that I once had, who are now glorified, I am afraid that they will see me with the goats on the left hand. And oh, how it will aggravate my condemnation that I deceived them so that they were opening their bosom to me as if I were a new-born babe, when I am as I am! O the desolation in this day! And worthy Mr. Munro’s removal! crowned it. We are as if we were in another world after them, as dear Adam Mackay would say.
I thank you for being so concerned about me and my circumstances. I received your benevolent kindness by George Macleod in spring. I have had food and raiment. O for grace to be humbled at His footstool. I will be glad to hear from you.
Give my kind regards to Mr. John Macbeath. Tell him, “Fear not, worm Jacob”; it is written, “I will help thee.” Desire Mr. Macbeath to write me. My love to you, and your sister, and Alexander Stewart. My sister and niece join me, and I remain, my dearest friend, yours truly,
JOHN SUTHERLAND.