COLIN MACKENZIE, 4 South Erradale, Gairloch, aged forty-nine years, died on 29th March last. He spent many years in the south, lived without God and without hope in the world, culpably neglectful of the things of eternity; but the Spirit of the Most High strove with him at times. At length failing health compelled him to return to his native parish, and for a period of nine years he was confined to bed, suffering very severe pains—so severe at times that he himself was afraid he would lose his reason.
It was apparent to those who knew him intimately that his trouble proved a spiritual blessing to him. He once mentioned with much solemnity and pathos that he had often, day and night, suffered from such excruciating pains that he was afraid he would be deprived of his reason, yet that that was but a trifle compared to the smallest part of a grain of the wrath of God on the conscience for a single moment. His very countenance bespoke the reality of what he said. He often referred with pleasure to a visit paid him by the Rev. D. Macfarlane, Dingwall, then of Raasay, and the late Rev. D. MacDonald, Shieldaig. When not completely prostrate with sickness and pain, he read much, and confessed the benefit his soul received therefrom. The things of eternity seemed to bulk much in his conversation.
The following are extracts from letters written by him to (1) a sister, (2) a friend, and (3) an acquaintance.
(1) Sister—
28th December, 1900.
As the New Year is fast approaching us, I write a line to wish you all a happy one when it comes. May it be a year of blessings, both temporal and spiritual; and may we all be of one mind in praising God for His goodness to us during the year that is about to pass away, and ask His grace to guide us in all things during the coming year, should God spare us to see it.
As to my own case, I am glad I am a little better than I have been for some time past, but I can’t get out of bed, so I must wait God’s time. He has promised to make all things new, so I must be a new creature in Christ Jesus, or cast away eternally, for there is not one half inch of goodness in me that would recommend me to a holy God, so I must plead the efficacy of the blood and its power to save to the uttermost. . . . Oh, that He would create in us that wonderful love that casteth out slavish fear and selfishness; and create in our hearts that holy fear of God that would over-rule every other power within us, to pray more earnestly for ourselves and for the salvation of others; and it is Himself alone that can give us the increase. “These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God, that ye may know that ye have eternal life.” (1 John vi. 13.)
18th March, 1903.
During the whole winter I had sorrow upon sorrow, and altogether out of tune for writing. It was pain in my head I complained most; but the God that comforts His people and those that are cast down, comforted me by sending relief and ease from the severe pain I suffered. It takes a hot furnace to purge me before I can be made anything like gold or silver (Malachi iii. 3), for there is nothing but dross and corruption. In the midst of all my trouble I had the anchor of my soul cast on the Rock that the storms of time and tribulation can never move. Nevertheless, because of the weakness of the links of the chain of my faith, I was afraid it would break, and my poor soul would have broken on the rocks. But if we put our trust in God, He will not let us be tempted above that which we are able to bear.
“In the world ye shall have tribulation,” &c. All the promises are precious to His own, more especially the comforting words spoken by our Lord Himself when He was on earth. “How shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation, which at first began to be spoken by the Lord.” . . . Don’t forget to bring your boys and girls to the throne of grace. I believe my deceased mother did remember us at the throne, and I hope that, in some measure, her prayers may be answered. May God grant us the spirit of prayer, for they that worship Him must do it in spirit and in truth. Amen.
May the God of love increase our love to Himself, and to our fellow-creatures as ourselves, is the earnest prayer of your imprisoned brother.
29th December, 1903.
If we abide in Him and continue faithful to the end, the victory will be sure, and the glory that shall be revealed shall be enough to compensate for all the bitter trials and sufferings of the present time.
(2) A Friend—
30th April, 1903.
I received your letter a few weeks ago. Thank you very much for the words of comfort and consolation it contained. We need all the help we can give each other in so important a matter as life eternal, as the seed of that life must be planted in our hearts here below, and bring forth fruit through eternity. That word eternity makes me tremble between hope and fear to think of a state that never ends. Happy are they who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. . . .
There is much need for prayer and supplication to God that our poor west coast should not be forsaken. . . . I am glad to say I am not worse myself. The Lord is good to me. He has been with me in six troubles, and in the seventh I hope He will not leave me.
(3) An Acquaintance—
8th January, 1905.
My cup of temporal blessings runneth over. I cannot help expressing my gratitude that you would remember a poor guilty prisoner like me.
Though I am a prisoner of God’s kind providence, yet I praise His thrice holy name that my bitter cup is mixed with His loving kindness; and He not only bestows upon me of His liberal bounty, but in a wonderful way permits me to enjoy a fair share of the good things of this life.
A few weeks ago I was very much depressed and low in spirit, but now my hope seems to have revived a bit, and my confidence in God renewed. Yet I must confess I make little, if any, progress on the way to Zion. I find my old enemy—the carnal mind—is still alive, and at times makes me cry out in despair of ever reaching that city of refuge. Oh, that my Redeemer would suffer me to crawl at His feet, and eat of the crumbs that fall off His table; and as a poor worm would find refuge under a stone, so would my soul find a place of refuge under His wings. Then I would have confidence that He would not crush me, because He will not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax.
Pardon me for talking, in my own illiterate way, of things too wonderful for me, of which I know so little. It would become me best to repent not only of my old sins, but of every-day thought, word, and deed, and come again and again to be washed in the fountain open for sin and uncleanness.
The praying people, particularly in that part of the parish in which Colin Mackenzie resided, miss him much. May Jehovah build up Zion!
D. M’K.