AS one by one those who are termed “the salt of the earth” are called away to their eternal happiness, and notice is taken of their departure and their memory treasured in these pages, it brings our faults home to us in that we have hitherto neglected one of the brightest and most valiant for the truth that in our day lived in the Highlands—namely, Norman Munro, missionary, Staffin, Skye.
This worthy man was born in Colbost, in the parish of Duirinish. Early in life he left his native soil, and served his time in one of the yards on the banks of the Clyde as a ship carpenter. Up to this period he lived like the rest of the fallen race, without God and without hope in the world; but, that the purpose of God according to election might stand, when Norman was on one of his yearly visits to the island where he was born, and where many at that time were called from darkness into God’s marvellous light, the arrow of conviction entered his benighted soul. What instrument the Spirit took to awaken this sinner to a sense of his dreadful state we could not ascertain; but the neighbours knew that he attended the meetings of the old soldier and servant of Jesus Christ, Norman Macleod, under whom the awakening began at Unish. The young carpenter was now experiencing what an evil and bitter thing it is to sin and to be exposed to the wrath of God. On his return to his old companions the situation was not so easy for him as it used to be. Their conversation was a source of pain to him, and he used to long for the time when he could throw from him his tools and get to a corner where he could pour out his complaint to Him who regardeth the groaning of the prisoner.
When he got away from his work, he now sought the society of those who feared the Lord and that thought upon His name, such as Margaret MacPhee, of whom he used to speak with veneration till his dying day. In her house he met that great scholar and loving saint, Dr. John Duncan. He used to tell what Margaret MacPhee said to him about Dr. Duncan—”When Dr. Love died I thought the Lord left us and there would be nothing for us in His house, but when my pet came I got feasts as I used to get.” With her also he met first with the late Mr. Macdonald, Shieldaig, and John MacCounel, a worthy elder, in whose house they used to hold meetings. After he served his time he went as carpenter on board one of the liners, and on his return he stayed for some time in Greenock, where he sat under the much honoured minister of the Middle Church, Mr. Kenneth Bayne, of whom he used to say, “Dear Mr. Bayne would give soul refreshing drinks to his flock.”
After he married he returned with his family and settled for some time at Unish in his native parish. At that date there were quarterly question meetings held in the parishes of Snizort and Kilmuir. At those meetings Norman took an active part along with the worthy catechist of Uig, Ronald Macdonald, and Angus Munro. Mr. Roderick Macleod was then minister at Snizort, and Mr. Christopher Munro at Kilmuir. For these worthy ministers and men he had the greatest regard. In after years one would hear him, in addressing the people of Kilmuir, use these words, “Oh, fellow sinners, if lost, what an account you will have to render at the bar of judgment, although you would never hear of the gospel, but what you heard from Mr. Munro in my presence.”
He used to walk from Unish to Kilmuir, a distance of over 20 miles, and often told that he never felt tired but on one occasion, when, on his return, without food, he felt so weak when he came to Uig that he could scarcely walk. Mrs. Clow met him at the door as she was going away to Portree, and told him to go in and get some food before proceeding on his journey. “It was a favour from the Lord that she met me,” he would say, “for if I had continued my journey I would be found dead on the road. He did not carry much flesh on his bones, although he always complained of the flesh in his nature, as the carnal mind is opposed to the Spirit. He was truly a man like the Spartans, at war from his youth. In every duty in which he engaged one would understand the knowledge he had of the sinfulness of our nature as he cried to the Lord to destroy sin in the heart. The emphasis he laid on sin we cannot convey in these lines, but those who heard him well remember how in his broad Skye dialect he would say “am peacadh.”
On Sabbath he rose very early, and would say that he could not understand how a child of grace could sleep long on that day. As he thought in his heart, he was not afraid to express himself. Like Knox he feared not the face of man. When his companions were called away by death he resembled the Psalmist when he said “I am like the sparrow on the house top alone;” and to the end of his life one would hear him groaning and saying to himself, “My companions are gone leaving me mournful behind them. In the long winter nights when a friend would visit him he would speak of the times they had together, naming places like Carning-hill. As a Friday speaker he was always brief, and could put much matter in few words, while he was very lively in his remarks. Some will remember how he and David Johnston, another worthy man, who has also gone to his rest, would take up the attention of old and young.
In 1874 he went as catechist to Eastside, where he went in and out among the people declaring to them the Word of Life. From there he had to go to Kilmuir the Sabbath the minister came to his end of the parish. Norman was a man who spoke to the consciences of sinners, and was not afraid to tell them what they were by nature and practice. On the east of Skye the bagnets for salmon fishing are left open on the Sabbath, and those employed are paid for the fish caught in these nets on the Lord’s holy day. Against this ungodly practice Norman stood in the Session and Presbytery, which brought upon him the displeasure of ministers and elders of latitudinarian principles, who were always willing to give Church privileges to the men thus employed; but a conscience void of offence towards God was more sought for by the soldier of Jesus Christ than the goodwill of men.
At the time that that Declaratory Act, which made enemies of friends and turned the Highlands into a cauldron of strife, was passed (1892) he raised his voice against it and warned the people of their danger. The time-serving party, on hearing that their plots were being exposed, first offered him a pension if he would retire and be quiet. On being told of their generosity he said, “I care nothing for themselves and their money. It was not they who opened my mouth, and they will not shut it. As long as the Lord will enable me I will seek to declare the truth.” Seeing that their offers or threats would not stop this troubler of their peace, the minister sent him one day to his own church and went himself to Norman’s place, and after the sermon on Sabbath gave out the following intimation:—”There are two ministers who left the Church of the Fathers going about the Highlands seeking to draw the people to themselves, and if they should come here I advise you all not to go to hear them. And I will give you two reasons why you should not go—first, they are against the crofters; and the second is, they are like Rehoboam, King of Israel, counselled by young men who are too rash.” On Norman’s return he was told what the minister had said on Sabbath. “Ah,” he said, “did he not bait the hook well for the carnal mind? He knew what would suit it.” After that Norman left them and joined with a number of the people of the Free Presbyterian Church. For some years he was able to go to communions here and there, and went as far as Glasgow to collect for a wooden church the people had put up for him. At the time of a Sacrament the ministers with a few of the “men” stayed in his house, and they may remember how he would entertain them. On one occasion on the Sabbath morning it appeared like rain, which, should it come, would inconvenience them, as they had to worship outside. At family worship in the morning he was asked to conclude, and among other petitions he used words somewhat like these—”Thou hast the clouds in Thine hand and Thou mayest make them empty themselves where Thou wilt. We are to-day to worship Thee in the open field. O that Thou wouldst send the rain where people are not in such circumstances.” Some worldly wise man may say that that was presumptuous, but those who are taught from above will receive it, knowing that the Lord giveth the spirit of adoption to His children, and those who were present had to see that the threatening rain passed away.
Years before he died he suffered very much pain in his back. In that state he would break out, as if speaking to death, “Ah, death, thou art strong: who can stand before thee?” and then cast down in mind, he would say, “I am afraid I will at last be a castaway.” On being told that the Lord had promised that He would not cast off His people, he would say, “I have been a great sinner, and if I get to heaven I will be with the greatest sinners saved by grace, such as Manasseh, Saul of Tarsus, and Mary Magdalene.” The last year of his life was a time of incessant prayer. Sometimes, as he sat in his chair, he would cry to the Lord to wash him from all sin and make him holy, and then would add amen only to begin anew. One who watched him night and day said to him one day, “You might not be saying amen, for you don’t stop although you say it.” But Norman was tuning his harp soon to begin to praise.
Three weeks before he died he wanted to know the price of an invalid’s chair, and said, “If they would wheel me to the church I think I would address the people yet.” Thus at the age of 94, and within a few weeks of his death, we see how his soul was in the work of his Master; but soon the pain returned, and he felt that his end was near, so he began like Joseph to give charge concerning his bones. His wife, who died some years before him, was buried at Uig, to which place he went while in health to see her grave. Now that he felt that the time when he should put off the earthly house of this tabernacle was drawing near, he told the family (consisting of two daughters) what they would do. The clouds of doubts were now clearing away, and one of his daughters said to him, “I am afraid you are going to leave us.” “Yes,” he replied, “I am going home with the saints to be for ever with the Lord.” On Sabbath he told them to go to church, but his end was now come and they could not leave him. Half-an-hour before he died he bade them farewell, and addressed himself to his journey, speaking of “the blood,” and saying “Set ye open unto me the gates of righteousness.” Thus slept a man who valued the blood and the righteousness of Christ ever since he was called by God to the fellowship of His Son. His mortal remains were laid beside those of his wife in Uig burying ground.
“Help, Lord, because the godly man
Doth daily fade away;
And from among the sons of men
The faithful do decay.”—Ps. xii. 1.
E. M’Q.