BY REV. WILLIAM MATHESON, CHESLEY, ONTARIO.
Preached in Toronto on Sabbath, 5th February, 1922, in Reformed Presbyterian Church there, on occasion of the lamented death of the Pastor, Rev. Samuel Dempster.
“And the king said unto his servants, Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?” (2 Sam. iii. 38).
SAUL had fallen, with Jonathan and other members of his house, on Gilboa. David had been acknowledged king by many of the children of Israel at Hebron. Ishbosheth, Saul’s son, had been acknowledged king by those remaining loyal to the house of Saul. So long war had been waged between the two parties. Abner had proved himself the loyal follower of Saul’s house and the able leader of its hosts. Yet in his heart questionings had been going on, for he was not certain that the kingdom was not David’s from the Lord. Then arose a situation which forced the issue, for he desired to do the right and to advance the welfare of Israel.
Ishbosheth charged him with going in to Rizpah, Saul’s concubine. This was to charge him with aiming to secure the throne for himself. There was revealed in Ishbosheth the same weakness that manifested itself so painfully in his father before him. He was a selfishly jealous-minded man. His concern was not for the welfare of Israel so much as for his own honour and prestige. Here he was ready to accuse his most faithful and tried friend of plotting his overthrow. Whatever it was to cost to Israel, Ishbosheth would defend his personal interests. Now were Abner’s eyes opened to the utter unfitness of this man to reign over the Lord’s people. Now the reality of Jehovah’s having chosen David as king came home to his heart. Nor was he slow to act. He made clear to Ishbosheth what his mind now was, and he moved with determination and energy to unite the people of Israel under David.
Thus Abner showed his innocence of the charge laid by Ishbosheth and his goodwill toward Israel. Arrangements were soon made with David for the establishment of his royal authority over a united Israel. In Abner David discerned a whole-hearted Israelite, and now a promising counsellor and a faithful friend. His loyalty to the reigning house of Saul was rooted in integrity of heart toward Israel, and, indeed, toward Israel’s God. But David’s hopes in Abner’s help were soon dashed to pieces through the vindictive treachery of Joab. Here again was a man with whom merely personal matters weighed to the embittering of his soul against such as crossed his path. Excusing himself by the death of his brother Asahel, who had fallen by his own fault at Abner’s hand in battle, he traitorously slew Abner, and in such a way as to involve the reputation of the king. Thus was David constrained to let the people know his deep grief at Abner’s death.
and the high regard in which he held him. With unfeigned respect he honoured him in his burial, and in song lamented his untimely death. A man of single aim for Israel’s welfare, according to his ready discernment of the Lord’s will, David ascribed to him this high and noble character, “Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?”
This day, my dear friends, we are gathered together under the shadow of a deep grief. Your beloved pastor has been taken from you, and you are this day shepherdless. I feel for you. I mourn with you the removal of a prince and a great man in Israel. Yet I am glad to hold the conviction that no one would be readier to reprove me, were it possible, than your late pastor if I were to use this opportunity of addressing you only in extolling his many virtues and those characteristic excellencies whereby he so warmly attached to his person those who had the honour and privilege of his intimacy, as we have. Therefore, we shall endeavour to reach some clearness of insight into the secret of true greatness. “What is it that makes anyone a prince and a great man in Israel?” is our question to-day. As for the personal application to the one whose loss we so keenly feel, that is left for you to make it.
The first and fundamental essential to true greatness in anyone is an undivided heart. It is with this principle we have to do to-day. It does not matter what sphere of life a man may be moving in; it does not matter what line of business in life a man may be following; it does not matter what condition a man has to face of poverty or wealth, of squalor or of cleanly and well-ordered comfort, of mountains of difficulty to climb or of manifold opportunities opening up before his eyes, except there be an undivided heart no man can attain unto greatness; and granted that there be an undivided heart, greatness is assured. To the undivided heart the very conditions which confound and stumble others become the very means to greatness. In Abner we see what it is to have an undivided heart. His whole heart was devoted to the welfare of Israel. His own interest was bound up in the interest of Israel. When he transferred his allegiance from Ishbosheth to David he did not change his aim. He simply recognised that he was mistaken in seeking Israel’s welfare by supporting the house of Saul. He readily discerned Jehovah’s purpose to establish the throne of David. Nor did he consider his own honour or prestige, and so manoeuvre for a rich reward from David for his transferred allegiance. There are those who might call him fickle-minded or even worse. With that he had nought to do. He looked beyond mere persons to something on which his heart was so united that he forgot his own personal aggrandisement. Had he concerned himself with what might be said or thought of him, or with his own personal advantage, he would have shown the hesitancy that comes of a divided heart. Indeed, we may consider that it was on the simplicity of his heart that the artful Joab played to his destruction.
From an undivided heart flows steadfastness of aim, clearness of insight, loyalty of purpose, definiteness of counsel, determinateness of action, and persistency of energy. Now, these are
qualities that we must sadly confess are manifested more notably by men of the world than by the people of God. This arises from the fact that the worldling is more whole-hearted than the child of God. In the child of God the flesh lusteth against the Spirit and the Spirit against the flesh. But in the worldling there is no such division. So it is that our Lord Jesus Christ urges upon us the example of the children of this world, not that we should go in their direction, but that we should be whole-hearted in His service even as they are in the service of this world.
We come to consider from what an undivided heart proceeds. It proceeds from some object before our minds, to which we so give up our hearts that our entire life is devoted to it. To reach this object our whole thought is so directed that other things that appeal to others, and would appeal to us were it not for this object, are not allowed to interfere. Every influence and suggestion is now judged of in the light of this one object. Whatever may be in line to help us reach it is welcomed, but all else is put aside. Things that may seem hard and severe to those whose hearts are not so united appear quite in order to the one whose heart is undivided upon the object sought after. This is to be noted in the lives of all great men. When such a course is followed to obtain a corruptible crown, the heart of the wise is saddened. Yet how common a thing it is to see men give themselves up in this way to gain wealth, fame, popularity, power, or some other object of a merely carnal character. Such attain greatness according to the object they seek, but they can never so become princes or great men in Israel.
A prince and a great man in Israel is one who can say: “I have set the Lord always before me.” He has a heart united to fear the Lord. This is the secret of the Christian’s undivided heart. The living God is the great overpowering reality of his life. So was it with Joseph: “How can I do this great wickedness (commit this great evil) and sin against God?” So was it with Elijah: “As the Lord God of Israel liveth before whom I stand.” So was it and must it be with all who are princes and great men in Israel. This is declared in the Book of Psalms, “O God, my heart is fixed.” And when thus a man’s heart is united his life must bear some likeness to the life of Moses, of whom it is written that he endured as seeing Him who is invisible. His life is a life of faith. The worship of God is the principle that controls him in all his goings.
And this leads us to notice the character of true worship. How there can be the supposition of true worship where there is not absolute surrender to His will it is difficult to understand. Worship there can not be where there is not obedience. He who yields himself unto the Lord with an undivided heart, finds no place for his own will as over against the will of God. He has surely learned the perversity of his own will, so that he can not presume to find place for it, especially in the matter of the formal approaches to God, which we call worship, even beside the will of God. But we must observe that it is only in Christ Jesus that we can come to
that knowledge of God that makes an undivided heart. All the reasonings of philosophers and theologians are but in vain, so far as leading us to know the living God is concerned. We may have beautiful ideas of what God must be and definite thoughts of what He cannot be, and yet have nothing more than a figment of our own imagination. Such thoughts may go far in influencing our lives, but can never unite our hearts in the fear of the Lord. The living God reveals Himself in and through Jesus Christ, and Him alone. So it is declared, “Whosoever denieth the Son, the same hath not the Father.” This honour belongs unto the Son of God as the Mediator of the Covenant of Grace. So we hold that He alone can be a prince and a great man in Israel who has an undivided heart as fixed on the living God incarnate in Jesus Christ.
It is true that God revealed Himself to His people before the Son of God came in the flesh. Yet it is to refuse to Christ His full honour when men teach the possibility of knowing the living God out of Christ. Since the fall all God’s revelation of Himself to man has centred round the promised seed. With ever-increasing clearness and fulness God’s revelation of His will is presented to us. The matter of purity of worship must grip the undivided heart of the servant of God. Therefore he moves with careful, reverent steps within the bounds wherein he knows he has the mind of the Lord. Beyond those bounds lie the open spaces where will-worship may have free play. To the truly undivided heart those spaces are uninviting, for within the limits wherein we do justice to the sovereign claims of God is freedom to be known and nowhere else. “There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.” Even so it is with will-worship.
It is true enough that the pure simplicity of New Testament worship does not appeal to the carnal mind. That would be to make it self-contradictory were we to have it so. “God is a Spirit, and they who worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth.” So while it remains that the natural man discerneth not the things of the Spirit of God—they are foolishness unto him, for they are spiritually discerned—it must remain a problem insoluble to the world how the undivided heart delights in the pure simplicity of spiritual worship, and contemplates with pain the entertaining and ornate programme of service so popular in these days with those who give free play to their own will rather than wait upon the Lord. Revelation of Himself in the Scriptures prepared the way for the identification of Jesus of Nazareth as the Incarnate Son. It is true, therefore, that even His servants of old the revelation of God was only through the Son.
This is a matter of great importance. The whole question of our outlook on life and of our prospects for eternity turns upon the place we give to Jesus Christ. If we fail to honour Him as we ought, to give to Him the absolute homage of our entire being, it simply means that we have not the undivided heart of a true believer. He claims not only that His sheep know His voice and
follow Him, but He also declares that they will not follow a stranger, because they do not know the voice of strangers. Such is the place He must get with us. We will not move in any direction except at His bidding, simply because we are jealous for His honour as our Lord and Master. Of His very murderers it is declared that had they known Him they would not have killed the Lord of Glory. Yet they were accounted guilty. They had the Scriptures whereby to identify Him, but, prejudiced by various considerations, they would not receive the simple testimony of the written Word. And when He sent forth His ambassadors He put that very written Word into their hands, opening their understanding to understand it. Every question that meets us going through this world—and many a problem faces us these times—must be answered according to its bearing upon Christ according to His Word, if we are to answer aright. If our heart is undivided, happy, indeed, are we, for there is no test upon this question like the test of the times we are passing through.
This leads me to observe further that it is from the Cross of Calvary that the light must shine upon us to unite our hearts in and unto Christ. The revelation of the Divine character may properly be said to be summed up in two statements: “God is love” and “God is light.” There are those who try to put such a meaning on terms as to embrace all under the one statement, “God is love.” This is popular to-day. It is impossible, and it is disastrous. Men may as well deny our reason itself as eternal justice, which is the real principle underlying all rationality. Our Lord Jesus Christ clearly shows how evil-doers shun the light. Men know what is to be shunned by evil-doers, were it possible. Evil-doers fly from justice. So in the Cross of Calvary we behold two principles displayed in all their glory. There is the principle of love, and there is the principle of justice. These two are never in opposition, for they cannot be in the very nature of things. The fruit of their union in the life is righteousness. To vindicate justice that we by sin have outraged, and to manifest love that we have set at nought, Christ died on Calvary. His death on Calvary reveals what God thinks of justice. He reveals there what Justice is. There also love is shown forth.
The more we ponder the facts of the death which Christ accomplished at Jerusalem the more grievous will we find our fall into, and bondage in, sin to be. It is impossible that a more awful exhibition of the character of justice can be made than was made on Calvary. What awful words, “Awake, O Sword, against my Shepherd and against the man, that is my fellow, saith the Lord of hosts, smite the shepherd!” There can be no hope, absolutely none, for the guilty, for the one who must appear in naked guilt before the judgment throne of Christ. Only in Him who died on the tree, giving His life a ransom for many for the remission of their sins, is there refuge from the holy wrath of God, revealed from heaven against all unrighteousness of men. It is in this that the true view of moral law is to be had. Our modern Socialism, which is permeating Protestantism through and
through, knows nothing of this. The question asked by them is, “What is the use or benefit?” Not “Is it just?” The one is mere animalism. The other is true morality. The one is the rule of fallen man, as Satan charged against Job. The other is the rule of the truly moral life, the child of God. Thus as we look in our confessed guilt to the Lord Jesus Christ, “The Lamb of God who taketh away the sin of the world,” for pardon, and our hearts are united under the power of His redeeming love and of His inviolable justice, there takes place that change without which none can enter His kingdom. We are created anew in Christ Jesus into good works. The undivided heart in which He reigns becomes ours, and we become children of the day and not of the night any longer. According as He becomes more and more unto us, and we grow in clearer views of His Person and character, we are changed into His image again in the actual practice of our lives. The two foundation principles of our moral agency, love and justice, become the controlling principles of our lives. But surely as we ponder these things in the light of His death, we find ourselves overwhelmed with a growing sense of our unlikeness to Him and the impossibility of our salvation from sin except by Him.
And this leads us on to the question of how this great change—a new creation—is wrought in us. It is herein that the undivided heart becomes ours. Christ is the object of our trust. He is at the door with His overture of peace through the propitiating efficacy of His blood. His very presence points to our danger and our need as sinners. But with heart set upon the creature, revelling in the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, the pride of life, we regard not His earnest entreaties. The day of our visitation is upon us, but we know it not. We can’t discern the force of His warning and appeal. We would let Him pass utterly away and ourselves pass out into the blackness of darkness. But the light breaks in; we begin to see the force of His call unto us; we ponder His word in the secret of our souls. As we ponder the light shines more brightly, and though we dread it as it exposes our naked guilt before Him, we cannot escape it. And in our helpless need and guilty bondage no salvation can we know to rest in until we behold the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. We are saved by grace—the sovereign grace of the living One, against whom we sinned. As thus beholding Christ, the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world, we cannot but believe in Him and He is made of God unto us our wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption. But when arose the light upon our minds? Verily, not from the exercise of our own wills. It is the work of the Spirit of God who reproves the world of sin, of righteousness, and of judgment. And whence came that great change, when we began to rejoice in Christ as our God and Saviour—when a new principle of life possessed us? This is the regenerating power and work of the Holy Spirit. And whence come those clearer views of the truth as it is in Jesus—of His person, character, and work? Surely from the Spirit of God, whose it is
to take of the things of Christ and show them unto us, that we may be sanctified. So the undivided heart of the Christian is so, as fixed on the living God, incarnate in Jesus Christ, and unveiling His heart on the Cross, and so fixed by the power of the Holy Ghost through the word of the truth of the Scriptures.
But it is written from the lips of the Lord that “Many that are first shall be last and the last first.” There shall be a reversal of earth’s judgments at the final assize, when the secrets of all shall be revealed. It is then that men shall see what the service of the Lord means. It is required of a steward that a man be found faithful. It is not for the servant to choose his own method or sphere of labour. The word of reconciliation is committed unto him, even the faith once delivered unto the saints. He is called to sow the good seed of the Word where it may please His Master. His aim is to seek not his own glory, but the glory of Him who sent him. He may pass hence as among the least, but be found at last amongst the greatest. The widow’s mite was more than the abundance of the rich when cast into the treasury of the Lord. So shall it be. Where the undivided heart is that values all things only as they bear on His glory, there is the “all the living that a man hath” cast into the treasury of the Lord. It is not done to enrich Him. It is not done to enrich the doer. It is done from constraint of the love of Christ, and as far short of His due to whose grace the redeemed must remain overwhelmed in debt for ever. It is the nature of grace to be satisfied with simple acknowledgment of the debt as utterly beyond payment. You know, my dear friends, the witness of the ministrations, walk, and conversation among you of your late pastor. It was the witness of an undivided heart. May it be ours to follow in the footsteps of that faith. This, I believe, that he, among the last on earth, desiring not to be among the first, shall be among the first on high.
The Waldenses.
THE history of the Waldenses cannot fail to strike a chord of deepest sympathy in the hearts of all true Christians. Protected by their mountain fastnesses in the north of Italy, they have lived in the old faith—the faith of the Apostles—the faith which we ourselves hold; so that, as witnesses for the Truth, they form a link between the days of the Apostles and the present time. After serving centuries of unparalleled persecutions by the Church of Rome, they were prepared in a remarkable way, under Dr. Gilly, Canon of Durham, and General Beckwith, for their final emancipation in 1848.
It is well that the hearts of a new generation in Scotland should be stirred by the recital of the cruel persecutions which this faithful people endured on behalf of the truth, and the wonderful deliverances which God wrought for them.
During several centuries they passed through some thirty separate periods of persecution. Of the last of these Miss F. Markham, in her most interesting story of “The Church of the
Valleys,” which appeared in recent numbers of The Protestant Woman, writes as follows:—
“Over the horrors of the great massacre of April, 1655, we must draw a veil—the hand would fail to write them, the tongue to utter them—horrors unnameable, inconceivable, such as have never been surpassed, nay, more, seldom equalled, even by savages, barbarians, and cannibals. Even Leger, the historian, whose pages throb with sickening details, cannot, dare not, attempt to chronicle all that might be told. Swift death, in however awful a form, was merciful compared with the horrible tortures to which, not men only, but women and young maidens, the aged, and helpless little infants were subjected. Surely the deeds of those days were planned in hell—and their judgment awaits the awful disclosures of the Great White Throne.
“As Leger writes his record he says: ‘My hand trembles, so that I can scarce hold the pen, and my tears mingle in torrents with my ink, while I write the deeds of these children of darkness.’
” . . . And the martyrs of the valleys might have lived, might have escaped the appalling agonies of which we cannot bear to hear, had they been willing to deny their Saviour, to be untrue to Whom was worse in their eyes than the uttermost anguish of mind and body.
“The awful story rang through Europe, but it was in England that it awoke the keenest sympathy. Cromwell ordained a fast, opened a fund for the survivors, and sent letters to all the Protestant princes of Europe, and also to the King of France and the Duke of Saxony—letters penned by the poet Milton, who also wrote the immortal sonnet in which the woes of the Vandois saints are for ever commemorated:—
” ‘Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold—
Even them who kept Thy Truth so pure of old.’
“It is little wonder that, after a blow so terrific, the stunned and agonised Waldenses should have seriously contemplated the abandonment of the valleys drenched with martyr blood.
“But from this step Leger sought earnestly to withhold them. Rather, he counselled, should they ‘rebuild their Zion, in the faith that the God of their fathers would not permit the Church of the Valleys to be overthrown.’ History has proved that he was right.
“But not yet were their sufferings over, not yet was Truth to triumph; for another half century was their story to be written in blood and tears before it should culminate in victory and peace.
“A few sentences from the introduction to the piteous appeal of the Waldensians addressed to the Protestants of Europe at this time gives us more insight into the deep desolation of their hearts.
” ‘Our tears are no longer water, they are of blood; they do not merely obscure our sight, they choke our very hearts. Our hands tremble and our heads ache by the many blows we have received.’
“But what of Janavel, the hero of Rora? He did not perish
amid the butcheries of the great massacre. God had further work for him to do. Nor did his wife and daughters die by the hands of the soldiers. Among the few spared, evidently for deep reasons on the part of the crafty marquis, they were carried away captives. A letter was addressed to the bereaved husband and father, exhorting him to renounce his heresy as the only means of saving these loved ones from the death of fire; while, for himself, he was assured that a price would be set on his head, and, when taken, no torments should be spared to punish him.
“The answer of the hero peasant for himself was couched in the following terms:—’There are no torments so terrible, no death so barbarous, that I would not chose rather than deny my Saviour. Your threats cannot cause me to renounce my faith; they only fortify me in it.’ They reveal the true character of the man, the deep secret of his heroism. But we can only wonder at the depth of devotion to his Lord, at the splendid reality of his faith, when we hear him add:—
“‘Should the Marquis di Pianezza cause my wife and daughters to pass through the fire, it can but consume their mortal bodies; their souls I commend to God, trusting that He will have mercy on them and on mine, should it please Him that I fall into the Marquis’ hands.’
“Truly, when a spirit like this had survived the appalling massacres, and could calmly face a future so terrible, the seeming conqueror must have felt he was, after all, defeated.
“So, in truth, he was. He might murder and torture in thousands, but he could not quench, by the utmost ingenuity of cruelty, the undying faith of these Waldensian saints. Death they could face, and that of the most appalling character, but denial of their Saviour was impossible to them, so fully were they trusting in Him.
“More than two hundred years ago the last remnant of this persecuted people was driven forth from their country; Rome rejoiced that the ‘heretical’ Church had been cast out root and branch. To-day we look on the map of Italy and see not only that that people are in the peaceful possession of their native valleys, but that they have studded the peninsula and its adjacent islands with churches, from which the light of the glorious Gospel of Jesus Christ is radiating into the darkness of Popish superstition and corruption! Then, the united armies of Savoy and France poured their thousands into the Waldensian Valleys to conquer a few mountaineers, and failed; now from these same valleys has gone forth a little band, with weapons ‘not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds.’ They have pushed their outposts to the most southern point of Sicily, determined not to retreat till the whole kingdom has been won for Christ.”
“The Church of the Vaudois has two special claims on our interest and sympathy, due first to her past history, and secondly her present position. She claims to be the oldest Evangelical Church in Europe.”
This ancient Evangelical people, having been thus marvellously
preserved, believe that God has kept them for a special work—to lead the way in the evangelisation of Italy. In 1848 they girded themselves for this great enterprise, and now they have outside their own valleys churches and evangelistic stations scattered over all Italy, with pastors, evangelists, colporteurs, Bible readers, etc.
There are numerous day schools, evening schools for adults, and Sabbath schools, which “send their irrigating streams into many an Italian home, and even hovel, and reach many children whose parents could not even be approached by the evangelist.”
“It is to the honour of this interesting people that, with the exception perhaps, of the little Moravian Church, they supply more missionaries and evangelists in proportion to their aggregate numbers than any other Christian community in the world. Is it unreasonable in them that, when they provide and prepare, by a long and elaborate training, qualified labourers for the great world harvest, the richer and stronger churches in other lands should help in contributing for their adequate support in the mission field? It is the old story, repeated in new circumstances, of Carey saying to Fuller and other friends, ‘I will go down into the pit if you will hold the ropes.’”
It is necessary to emphasise the fact that the Waldensians do not ask or expect help for the support of their own Church, but simply for the maintenance and extension of their mission outside the valleys. They give the men, many of them descendants of those who freely shed their blood in defence of the truth, but, being a small and poor community, they are obliged to look to others to help them with the means. And surely if any Church has a right to do this, it is one which, like that of the Waldenses, has twice as many mission stations as it has churches at home.
The Waldenses, however, are giving comparatively much themselves, and the contributions from the mission churches have largely increased during recent years, some of the churches being now self-supporting; but the needs of the work in the regions beyond are so great that Christians in other lands must come to their aid if they are to carry on the great work of Italian evangelisation, “for which they believe God brought them back to their native land, and did not suffer their name and their faith to be extinguished.”
Truly the claims upon the Christian people of Scotland do not grow less; but were they ten times as numerous as they are there would still be a very special call to help and encourage their Waldensian brethren, whose forefathers so nobly maintained the cause of truth through ages of popish darkness and persecution.
The Glorious Psalms.
SING me the Psalms, the glorious Psalms of old,
That sounded first upon Judea’s plains;
All other music lifeless seems, and cold,
Beside the melody of David’s strains.
Sing me the Psalms that echoed from the hills,
Those favour’d hills where Israel’s sons had birth.
Wake, wake each harmony the soul that fills
With rapture, more allied to heaven than earth!
Sing Psalms of praise, when victory is given
O’er outward foes, or over hosts unseen;
Jehovah Jah still reigns in earth and heaven,
As strong to save as He hath ever been.
Sing, when the earth is clad in softest green;
Join Psalms of gladness to the birds’ sweet song.
Praise Israel’s Shepherd, when his hand is seen
Leading thy steps the quiet streams along.
Sing, when all nature wears a snowy shroud;
When ice-bound fountains into torrents rush;
When azure skies are veiled behind the cloud,
Let wond’ring praises from thy Psaltery gush.
Sing me the Psalms, e’en when the burning tear
Tells of departure from the narrow way;
Oft David’s song was sad when he was here;
O’ershelmed with sin, he turned to weep and pray.
Sing, though affliction swelleth like a tide,
When deep to deep calls, in thine hour of woe;
Thine anchor’s safe within the Rock’s cleft side;
Billows may toss, but cannot overflow.
Sing David’s Psalms, when earthly lights grow dim,
And ev’ry conflict but the last is o’er;
Bid mourners join in the triumphant hymn,
That wings thy spirit to the heavenly shore!
The late Mr. John Cameron, Missionary, Tomatin.
JOHN CAMERON was born about the year 1845 at Monar, on the borders of Inverness and Ross-shire. While John was still a boy his father left that place, and took some land near Beauly. His mother was well known as a pious woman, and notwithstanding the change of place she continued for many years to be called “the woman of Monar.” She attended many of the communions in the surrounding parishes, and being a woman possessed of good gifts, mentally and religiously, and of an imposing appearance, she became well known to the other godly men and women in all the surrounding districts. John was her second eldest son. It does not require any proof to show that she would have done her utmost to teach her family their ruined state by nature, and the only way of salvation for the lost, viz., faith in Christ and Him crucified. But, like a few others, who had a godly upbringing, John continued self-righteous as a lad, and even as a young man, until the Lord’s time came.
While he was yet in his early teens he went to serve as a page boy with a certain gentleman, who later on made him his butler. In this capacity he served in families of the highest rank, both in
Scotland and in England. His tall and handsome appearance—he was over six feet, and erect as a reed—and an affable manner made him a great favourite with all his employers and their friends.
He had occasional strivings in his conscience since he was a boy—the Holy Spirit giving him many warnings and prickings of conscience—which made him, for the time being, very diligent in prayers and other religious duties in an effort to work out a righteousness which would satisfy his conscience. On one of these occasions he never gave up prayer for three years. These good impressions and many good resolutions vanished “like the morning cloud and like the early dew that goeth away,” and John became careless again. He told the writer once that, notwithstanding the great temptations to which he had been exposed at these times, the Lord kept him from immorality and drunkenness and many other sins to which he was often tempted. He adored the Holy Spirit’s restraining grace in his having been so preserved, and said: “No thanks to corrupt and sinful John Cameron for that.”
He was in his thirtieth year when the Holy Ghost convinced him of sin and righteousness and judgment. He was at service in London at the time. His sins now became a heavy burden that sank him into an horrible pit and miry clay. The light of the holy law of God, which he had transgressed every moment of his past life, and the awful wrath and curse of that law, made him feel the terrors of the Lord in his wounded conscience like hell fire. These terrors continued for some two or three years. At last he was almost giving up every hope that he would ever taste of the mercy of God through the blood of Jesus Christ. There were several godly ministers in London at that time, who preached the gospel in its purity, and the master whom he then served was a pious man who kept worship regularly in his house, and gathered in his servants to family worship morning and evening. It is to be feared that such masters are not often to be met with in our day. Alas! the loss to both masters and servants is incomprehensibly great.
While John was in distress of soul he went on a Lord’s day to hear a certain minister, whose name the writer does not remember, and his master went also. After the master came home, knowing John’s mental trials, he said to him: “Yon sermon was all for you, John,” but that sermon was not yet God’s message of mercy to John. He came to Scotland several times while in that distress, and heard Dr. Kennedy, Dingwall, and other true servants of Christ, but his bands were not loosed. At last the time to favour him came. We give his own narrative of the fact:—”I went one day into Hyde Park, London, feeling inwardly like a rebel of hell, and fearing that at any moment I might be cast into that woeful place; but I had not been very long in the park when the Lord revealed Himself to my soul in a most wonderful way, delivering me from all my fears. I saw hell dried up for me by the suffering of Christ, black and all as I was, and that I would never sink into it, because Christ paid all that
law and justice demanded of such a hell-deserving, sinful wretch as I was.” John came out of Hyde Park a new creation in Christ that day. He went there in great misery, and left it rejoicing in God’s salvation. He said that he now saw a beauty on the face of the material creation which he never saw before, and could join the Prophet in his song: “Sing, O heavens, and be joyful, O earth; and break forth into singing, O mountains, for the Lord hath comforted His people and will have mercy upon His afflicted.” He told the writer the portion of God’s word that gave him this wonderful relief, but it has escaped our memory, and others to whom John told it cannot recall it. From that day John’s path was like that of the shining light that shineth more and more into the perfect day.
Shortly after this his health became seriously impaired, and he gave up his situation and came home. He was not long in Scotland when he became known to the godly men and ministers, who began to ask him to speak to the question on the “Men’s” day. A person, now dead, who was present the first time that he spoke to the question, said that when he rose, on account of the expression on his countenance and the warmth with which he spoke, he made a great impression on the people, and that after the meeting many were asking who was the tall, black-haired young stranger who spoke so beautifully? They were answered that he was the son of the “Woman from Monar.” That was all they could say of him that day; but John soon became well known, and his gifts and graces won for him a high place among the “Men.” He became so well known and so highly appreciated as a public speaker that he was appointed a missionary at Strathpeffer by the Free Church as successor to that eminent man of God, Mr. Gilmour, the fragrance of whose memory remains still fresh to all who knew him. The Rev. Mr. Macdougall was then the minister of the Free Church at Fodderty, who showed John much kindness, which he never forgot. John used to speak of him as “the dear, godly man.” Mr. Macdougall was one of the faithful preachers of the gospel of Jesus Christ, as his published discourses reveal. Dr. Kennedy and he were bosom friends to the last. John referred often to these days in which he felt very happy in the fellowship of the godly men and women who, in those days, resorted to the Strathpeffer wells. But alas! the scene has changed there now; for instead of prayer meetings among the visitors Satan has turned it to a “Vanity Fair.”
But the evil time came on the once pure Free Church, in which God’s infallible truth became impugned by some of her professors and ministers, who were not only allowed within her pale to carry on their destructive work, but were even supported by her General Assembly. At last it became a conscientious duty to raise up the standard of truth which had fallen. So two ministers, a few students, many godly elders, and a large number of members and adherents refused to follow men any longer who had publicly departed from God’s Word and the Westminster Confession of Faith, and consequently a stand was made in 1893. John was one of the first who rallied to the standard. He continued stead-
fastly in his adherence to the position taken up then till the day of his death. Errors in doctrine or practice were fearlessly exposed and rebuked by him wherever or whenever he heard or saw such. This aroused old Adam in some, and many were glad the day he left the Free Church, that then was, and joined the Free Presbyterian Church.
He may have on several occasions spoken at fellowship meetings words which offended godly men and women, but that, the writer believes, arose not from a desire to give offence, but on account of a real desire to hold purity and decorum in the Church in every thing pertaining to doctrine and practice. That he was too sharp sometimes must be admitted, but his aim was always purity and peace. It flowed from zeal, like Peter’s, not always guided by knowledge and discretion. But all this sharpness disappeared before the end, and during the last three years of his life, at least, he became as meek as a lamb.
John Cameron was possessed of a good intellect and discernment. There is hardly any branch of literature or science on which he was not able to converse to edification, but his knowledge of the Bible was both comprehensive and accurate. His mind was saturated with its doctrines and principles. Experimentally, he knew the awful, condemning power of the holy law of God set forth therein, and also the exceeding preciousness and saving power of the gospel of Jesus Christ. In its green pastures he fed daily by faith, and trusted his all for time and eternity upon the sure word of the promises.
He had read very widely the best works of divines, both Scottish and English, and being possessed of a very good, retentive, and accurate memory, he could repeat their statements of doctrines and principles with striking correctness. To spend some time with him in private was both refreshing and entertaining. He would start some point of doctrine, and rehearse what so and so of the old divines taught about it, and desired then of his companion to let him know his opinion. If his own opinion should be asked first he would give it frankly, and should the other’s not agree with his he would ask for a truth to corroborate the different view taken. He never opposed, so far as the writer knew him, the clear declaration of the Word of God, but always thanked one for informing his mind on the light of truth.
The love and fellowship existing between him and Duncan and David Fraser were warm and enduring. This was to a certain extent true as regards others of the Lord’s people; but the writer spent many happy and profitable nights with these three, and realised the perfect concord that existed between them. The first time the writer met him after Duncan Fraser had gone to his everlasting rest he said: “Since our very dear friend, Duncan Fraser, has gone, I have often thought of the example set by Job’s friends, when they saw his suffering and misery, they sat in silence with him during seven days. I am afraid that sympathetic and tender spirit is rarely met with nowadays.” He felt very lonely in the world after dear Duncan Fraser was taken away, for he realised that a prince truly had fallen in Israel that day.
John was a fearless rebuker of sin, and many a transgressor was faithfully warned. He was at a certain place at a communion season, and after he came out of the church on the Sabbath he met a servant girl going to post a letter. He said to her: “I am very sorry that you are transgressing God’s commandment, which will assuredly bring a terrible retribution upon you if you repent not of it and forsake it, and nothing would make me warn you of this but love to your soul, the glory of God, and that I would not let Satan have one soul destroyed if I could avert it.” What effect this faithful and tender warning had, the great day will reveal. In the several places at which he was employed as one of our missionaries he was much loved by some on account of his teaching, and especially his faithfulness; while others disliked him for the sharpness of his expressions in rebuking sin.
At the Dingwall communion in February, 1920, he said to the writer when they parted on the public street: “I am of the opinion, my dear friend, that this will be the last time we will meet in this world, for I am having many warnings that my time here is drawing to an end. May the Lord be with you to uphold you and to enable you to be faithful unto the end.” It was the last time we met. To another friend he said: “I hope and pray that I shall not be left long in my last sickness to be a burden to others, but that the Lord will call me away in a short time.” This hope was realised to perfection.
He was always in the habit of coming from Tomatin to the communions at Inverness, which are held in January and June. In 1920 he came us usual to Inverness communion in June. It was noticeable that he was very happy and full of good cheer during the five days of the communion season. He stayed with his friend, Mr. James Campbell, for several days after, and was in a heavenly frame of mind. Every discerning person could observe that John was becoming ripe for his everlasting home, but none seemed to have thought that the end was so near. A friend went with him to visit some who were sick. After leaving one of these he said to his friend: “I enjoyed much of the Lord’s presence there.” The communion was to be held at Beauly the Sabbath immediately following Inverness solemnities, and John’s mind was not fully made up as to whether he should go or not. On Wednesday afternoon, after speaking for a good while to a friend about the person of Christ and His office as an Advocate with the Father, and how this office was set forth both in the Old and New Testaments, to the great comfort of his friend, he went up to his bedroom. When he came down he said: “I think I will go to Beauly, for I think I have a promise that I will get back safely.” He did get back safely. He attended all the services at Beauly on Thursday, but on Friday morning a severe pain struck him in the region of the heart. He desired to be conveyed to the railway station so that he might get back to Inverness. This was done, and he got back to James Campbell’s house. After resting a little while he felt better, would not allow a doctor to be called, and was quite cheerful and happy. He
retired early to rest, had a quiet night, and when his host looked into his room in the morning he was sleeping quietly. Half an hour later, however, the hostess heard a noise in his room, and hastening there she found John lying on the floor, at the bedside, groaning and almost lifeless. She called for help, but before she got his head lifted up he gave one groan and was gone. The doctor was at his bedside in four minutes’ time, and pronounced life extinct, and said it was heart failure of a very sudden kind—indeed, like a shot from a gun. “Be ye therefore also ready; for the Son of Man cometh at an hour when ye think not!”
John Cameron got what he hoped and prayed for, viz., that he should not be kept long on his bed of sickness at the end, but that he should be taken away without being troublesome to any. We have no doubt but the Lord did order the place of his departure exactly in accordance with John’s desire, for we are sure that he ended his earthly pilgrimage with the very friends with whom he would like to do so.
John Cameron held a unique place among the godly men of the Free Presbyterian Church, and his removal has left a vacant place which has not yet been filled. His presence at communion seasons has been much missed, but nowhere more than at Tomatin, where he laboured so long. He is now, we firmly believe, where love and joy reign undisturbed, and where the Lamb leads His people to fountains of the waters of the consolations that are at God’s right hand. “The ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs, and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.”
N. C.
Richard Dore’s Mistake.
REV. BERNARD GILPIN, in a small book, says a writer in the Gospel Magazine, gives an account of the life and some of the sayings of Richard Dore, a poor, good man, who, in his earlier days, was of Mr. Huntingdon’s congregation. After relating his call by grace and other features of his younger days, Mr. Gilpin goes on to say:—
“Before his acquaintance with the person he afterwards married, and at the very time he was under the strong hand of God in the beginning of his religious life, he had proposed to unite himself to one who, to use his own words, seemed ‘a quiet, innocent creature,’ but who was in truth a deeply designing hypocrite, and proved herself so by the profane ways she adopted in order to make him think her religious. Of these he was informed by someone who had detected them, yet his affections were so deeply entangled that he felt a sort of desperate determination to marry her, let the consequences be whatever they might, and began to make preparations accordingly. Just at that crisis he was reading in the Book of Proverbs, and these words struck to his heart as a message sent for his warning from God, ‘He goeth as an ox to the slaughter,’ etc. (Prov. viii. 22, 23). ‘These words struck me with a shivering at once. I was so terrified that I could
not speak, and when a friend came in to see me I could hear nothing about it. However, I was effectually cured, and never wished to marry that wicked woman afterwards.’ After this providential escape he began to feel himself too secure. ‘For I was so ignorant and careless that I never thought about asking the Lord how I should go on, and so after all I got a hypocrite for my wife. I became acquainted with another woman, and married her at once. I remember feeling afraid to pray about it lest I should be hindered. She was a member of Mr. Huntingdon’s church, and I thought that was enough, for the minister, thought I, has such good eyes that no one can deceive him. I supposed he could see through people all at once. I was no sooner married and he heard of it than I found out he knew I had been deceived in her, for he said to me of her, ‘There is no Christ there.’ This cut me like a dagger, but proved true, for in about three weeks the war began, which went on till her death nearly forty years after. As long as ever she lived I had nothing but a continual dreadful trial with her. It is impossible to tell of the things I went through. . . . And now these troubles are as if they had never been.’ (Richard lived for twenty years after the death of his wife—lovingly looked after by his only daughter, a gracious woman.)” Mr. Gilpin says, “This distressing dispensation is calculated to enforce upon us terrible but most useful lessons. It seems as if the Lord by suffering it may have designed with holy severity this good man’s treacherous departure from a beginning that was right. He had just been providentially delivered from a similar snare, when, instead of the exhortation finding place in his heart, ‘Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall,’ we find him immediately forsaking the Lord his Counsellor, and blindly relying on the judgment of men. At the same time, let us remember that a good man is not one who commits no faults and makes no mistakes, but one whose faults and mistakes are all overruled for good, and who in the end, through the fear of God, comes forth of them all.”
Al t=Urramach Aonghas MacMhaoilan.
RUGADH an duine ainmeil so ann Sano an Eilean Arraianns a bhliaidhna 1776. Anns a bhliaidhna 1803 chaidh e don Tighfhoiglam ann an Glaschu. Bha Doctair Love na ministeir anns a bhaile aig an am sin. Sann ga eisdeachdsan bha Aonghas a dol fhad sa bha e ann an Glaschu. Tha e gle choltach gun d’fhuair e buanachd mhor bho theagasc an duine ainmeil sin. Chaidh e do Dhuneidun a dhfhaoghluim na Diaghachd, agus bha e air a chuir a mach gu bhi a searmonachadh an t-soisgeil anns a bhliaidhna 1811. Bha e air a shuidheachadh ann an Lochransa s’ an Eilean sin anns a bhliaidhna 1812. Anns a bhliaidhna 1821 bha e air a shuidheachadh ann an sgire Chillemhoire. Anns a bhliaidhna 1843 dhfhaig e Eaglais na Stait, agus bha e searmonachadh da choimhthional ann am bith a chaidh a chur suas leis an Eaglais Shaoir. Chaidh a thoirt air falbh gu fhois Shiorruidh coig miosan an deigh an dealachaidh.
Bha moran ann an Arrainn air “an tiondadh bho dhordas gu solas, agus bho chumachd Shatain gu Dia” bho theagaisg, agus tha a chuine ur anns an Eilean sin gus an latha ‘n dingh. So an duine a theagaisg na shearmoinean a leanas. N. C.
Searmoín I.
“Oir pheacaich na h-uile, agus tha iad teachd gearr air glóir Dhé.”—
Romhanaich iii. 23.
THA eachdraidh an t-saoghail, co maith ri focal De, a dearbhadh, gu ‘n do rioghaich am peacadh air thalamh o thuiteam an duine. Ann an ùine ghoirid an deigh an leagaidh, dh’ eirich ceannaire agus àindiadhachd dhaoinne gu àirde co mòr, as gu ‘m ‘b’ aithreach leis an Tighearna gu ‘n d’ rinn e ‘n duine air an talamh, agus thog e doilgheas da ‘n a cridhe. Agus thubhairt an Tighearna, sgriosaidh mi an duine a chruthaich mi bharr aghaidh na talmhainn, araon duine agus ainmhidh; oir is aithreach leam gu ‘n d’ rinn mi iad.” Ciod air bith rabhaidhean a fhuair luchd-àiteachaidh an t-sean t-saoghail mu thimchioll an cionta, an cumart, agus am féum a bha aca air teicheadh o ‘n fheirg a bha ri teachd, tha e soilleir gu’n do chuir iad an neoshuim iad, agus gu ‘n do bhunaich iad a cruadhachadh anns a pheacadh, agus ag an-tromachadh an cionta, gus an robh an tiomlan diubh air an sgrios a bharr aghaidh na talmhainn leis an dìle, ach teaghlach Noah a mhàin.
Ach ged chuir an dìle as do luchd-àiteachaidh an t-sean t-saoghail gu h-iomlan, ach aon teaghlach, gidheadh, cha do chuir i as do ‘n pheacadh; oir bhunaich am peacadh ann an teaghlach Noah—seadh, lean an luibhre mhillteach so r’ a shliochd, o linn gu linn, gus an là an diugh. An uair a dh’ fhàs an sliochd so lionmhòr, agus a sgaoil iad a mach air aghaidh na talmhainn, ghiutlaim iad am peacadh ‘n an cridhe, ‘n an cuideachd, agus ‘n an caithebeatha, gach taobh a dh’ imich iad, gu iomall an domhain. Annas gach àite ‘n robh iad a triall, na gabhail comhnuidh, bha iad a toirt amach toradh searbh a pheacaich, agus a dearbhadh, le ‘n guth ‘s le ‘n gniomh, firinn na fianuis a tha ‘g innseadh dhuinn, gu ‘n do “thruail gach uile fheòil a slighe air an talamh:” gu ‘n do “pheacaich na h-uile, agus gu ‘n d’ thainig iad gearr air glóir Dhé.”
Ann an labhairt o na d’ briathraibh so, bheir mi fa’near—
I. An doigh anns an d’ thainig am peacadh a steach do ‘n t-saoghail.
II. Bheir mi oidheirp air a bhi taisbeanadh, agus a dearbhadh, gu ‘n do pheacaich na h-uile dhaoinne.
III. An seadh anns an d’ thainig na h-uile gearr air glóir Dhé.
Tha mi ‘n toiseach gu bhi toirt fa’near, an doigh anns an d’ thainig am peacadh a steach do ‘n t-saoghail.
- Annas a cheud àite, cha robh am peacadh anns an t-saoghail o thoiseach a chruthachaidh; oir chruthaich Dia an saoghail, agus na h-uile nithe a ta ann, saor o pheacadh. Cha d’ rinn Dia oibre faicsinneach na cruithachd gu h-iomlan ann an aon là, ach a
chuid agus a chuid, ann an sea laithibh, agus bha gach earrann do na h-oibre so, ‘n uair a thainig i mach a làimh Dhé, saor o pheacadh, a foillseachadh a ghloir féin, agus taitneach ‘n a shealladh. An uair a chriochnaich Dia obair a chruthachaidh anns an duine, dhealbh a reir a choslais féin, ann an iomhaigh mhaiseach a naomhachd féin, thug e bhreith so mu thimchioll gach ni a rinn e—gu robh e ro mhaith; agus tha bhreith neomhearaechdach so a thug Dia a mach, a dearbhadh gu robh oibre na cruitheachd gu h-iomlan saor o ‘n smal a bu lugha do thruailidheachd a pheacaidh. Mar nach fheud ni glan teachd o ni neo-ghlan, cha mho a dh’ fheudadh ni neo-ghlan air bith teachd uath-san a tha neo-chriochnach ann an naomhachd, agus a shúilean ni ‘s gloine na gu ‘m feud e amharc air aingidheachd.
Bha saoghal nan spiorad air a chruthachadh roimh an t-saoghal nadurra. Ghairm Dia aingil nam flaithheis gu bith an toiseach air a chreutairibh faicsinneach, agus uime sin, bha cothrom aig na h-aingil a bhi ‘n am fianuisean air toradh a chumhachd neochriochnach ann an oibríbh faicsinneach a làmh; agus tha na sgríobtuirean a’ teagasg dhùin gu robh iad air an lionadh le h-iongantas, agus le h-aobhneas, ‘n uair a chunnaic iad a chruitheachd fhaicsinneach air a gairm gu bith, agus glòir an Cruith-fhir, agus an cuibhrinn féin, a lealradh a mach tre oibríbh mòr agus iongantach uile. An sin “sheinn reulta na maidne le cheile, agus rinn uile mhic Dhé gairdeachas.” A nis, bha ‘n gairdeachas so a dearbhadh, nach robh súilean fiorghlan nan aingil a faicinn mearachd, na truaillidheachd air bith air feadh uile oibre Dhé. Chruthaich Dia an duine an toiseach ‘n a chreutair naomha, saor o pheacadh, saor o bhuaireadh spioraid, agus o an-shocair cuirp; agus chruthaich se e, mar an ceudna, ann an seilbh air tomhas árd do sholus, do shonas, agus do chomh-chomunn spioradail maille ris féin. Bha sith eadar neamh is talamh, bha soireann is sonas a comhdachadh aghaidh na cruitheachd gu léir; cha robh braon air bith do nadur searbh, no smal air bith do thruailidheachd a pheacaidh, r’ am faicinn no r’ am faireachdainn am meag oibre na cruithèachd gu h-iomlan. Ach,
- Thainig am peacadh a steach do ‘n t-saoghal trid cuilbheartachd na sean-nathrach. Tha na sgríobtuirean a teagasg dhùin gu soilleir, gu bheil ughdarras mòr aig an diabhul air thalamh. Tha e air a ghairm “Dia an t-saoghal so,” agus “uachdaran cumhachd an adhair, an spiorad a tha nis ag oibreachadh ann an cloinn na h-easumhlachd.” Tha e ‘g imeachd sios agus suas air aghaidh an t-saoghal an comhnuidh, agus a dol mu ‘n cuairt gun fhois, mar nathair lùbach, na mar leòmhan béucach, ag iarraidh eo a dh’ fheudas e shlugadh suas. Bha ‘m mortair so air a ghnàthachadh o thoiseach an t-saoghal, ag iarraidh a bhi mealladh agus a milleadh anama dhaoine. Cha ‘n fhad sùil mhiorunach an droch-spiorad fa’near e: agus air do ‘n nàmhaid so fhaicinn ann an staid eo naomh agus sona, bha e air a lionadh le farmad, agus chuir e roimhe, nam bu chomasach e, le cuilbheartachd, na le cumhachd, a tharruing a thaoibh a reir
eisimpleir féin, gu ceannaire an aghaidh Dhé. Cha luaithe a rúnaich an t-sean nathair an duine mhealladh, na thug e oidheirp air a rún mallaiichte chuir an gniomh; agus tha e soilleir gu ‘n do chinn leis a reir a thoil: tha focal Dé, agus staid bhronach an t-saoighail, a dearbhadh gu ‘n d’ thug namhaid an anama buaidh—gu ‘n d’ thug e ‘n ceud Adhamh ann am bruid—seadh, gu ‘n do thilg e sios e o onoir árd, gu inbhe iosal tràill. Bhuaire Satan an duine gu itheadh do ‘n mheas thoirmesgthe—do ‘n chraoibh a dh’ aithn Dia dha gu ‘n itheadh dhith fo phéin a bhàis; agus le itheadh do ‘n mheas so, thuit e féin agus a shloichd maille ris, gu staid peacaidh agus truaighe. Shuidhich Dia e ‘n a fhionain uasal, gu h-iomlan do shiol ceart; ach ann an úine ghiorid, chaochil e gu crìonach na fionain choimhich. Tha e soilleir gu ‘n d’ rinn an leagadh caochladh brònach air staid, air cridhe, seadh, air nadur an duine gu h-iomlan. Thuit e o ghràs, dhealaich iomhaigh a Chruith-fhir ris—”thainig smal air an òr, chaill an t-òr fior-ghlan a dhreach.” Air a cheart là anns an d’ ith Adlamh am meas toirmesgthe, thainig caochladh brònach a bhàis spioradail air anam, dh’ fhàs e ‘n a chreutair truailidh, buailteach do bhàis aimsireil, agus mar an ceudna do phìantaibh ifrinn gu siorruidh.
- An uair a thuit an ceud Adhamh, cha do thuit e ‘n a aonar; oir tre eas-umhlachd-san rinneadh mòran ‘n am peacaidh. Bha coimh-cheangal nan gniomh air a dheanamh ri Adhamh, cha b’ ann a mhain air a shon féin, ach air son a shloichd mar an ceudna; agus bha ceangal agus dàimh cho dlùth eadar e féin agus a shloichd, ionnas gu ‘n robh iad air am meas mar aon phearsa ann an sealladh Ard-Bhreitheamh na cruitheachd. Bha Adhamh agus a shloichd air am meas mar phearsa a bhiodh air a dheanamh suas do cheann, agus do bhuill, a bha ri seasamh na ri tuiteam le cheile. Nan seasadh an ceann, bha na buill ri seasamh; ach nan tuiteadh an ceann, cha ‘n fheudadh na buill gun tuiteam maraon. A nis, air do cheann a chiomh-cheangail—do ‘n cheud Adhamh—tuiteam, thuit na buill—thuit an cinneadh daonn’ uile maille ris anns a cheud seachran. Bha tuagh ceartais Dé a nis a cur ri freumh an stiuc, agus thuit an stoc agus na geugan le cheile.
Tha ‘n cinneadh daonn’ uile ann an dàimh dlùth ris a cheud Adhamh, cha ‘n e mhain mar an ceann—mar am fear-ionaid ann an coimh-cheangal nan gniomh—ach mar an ceud sinsear. Ciod a th’ ann an luchd-aiteachaidh na talmhainn uile, ach slioichd aon duine, ach clann an aoin phàranta; agus sin pàranta ceannaireach, a dh’ fhàg cionta agus truaighe mar oighreachd aig gach aon d’ a shloichd? Bha ‘n slioichd so ann an leasraidh Adhamh ‘n uair a thuit e, agus thuit iad maille ris, mar thug mi cheana fa’near; rinneadh iad uile ‘n an luchd-compairt do thoradh an leagaidh. Bha chraobh mhaith a nis air a deanamh ‘n a droch chraoibh, agus thòisich i gun dàil air droch thoradh a thoirt a mach. Mar dhearbhaidh air a so, tha focal Dé ag innseadh dhuinn, an uair a ghin Adhamh mac, gu ‘n do ghìn se e ‘n a iomhaigh féin. Bha e féin an toiseach air a dhealbh ann an iomhaigh Dhé; ach na deigh dha tuiteam, agus iomhaigh Dhé a
chall, ghin e mac ‘n a iomhaigh féin—’s e sin, ‘n a chreutair peacach, truaillich, cosmuil ris féin. Bha ceud-ghin Adhamh air a dhealbh ann an eu-ceart, air a bhreith, ‘n a chreutair truaillich agus ciontach, mar bha gach mac is nighean a thainig a dh’ ionnsuidh an t-saoghail, trid ginealacha gnàthaichte, o thois-each gus an là an diugh. “Co a bheir glan á neo-ghlan? Cha tabhair a h-aon.”
- Thug an leagadh caill mhòr agus eagallach air an duine. Chaill e iomhaigh Dhé, a dheadh-ghin, agus a làthaireachd spioradail—chaill e ‘bhas air nithibh neamhaidh, agus an comh-chomunn sólasach a bha aig ‘n a cheud staid, maille r’ a Chruith-fhear. Dhealaich sith r’ a choguis, solus r’ a inntinn, agus fois r’ a anam. Chaill e ‘n sealladh aoibhneach a bha aig’ air glòir, agus maise naomha na Diadhachd, agus a thoil-inntinn ann an seirbhis Dé, ann an dleasdanasaibh spioradail. Agus an deigh do ‘n t-sealladh a bha aige air glòir agus maise nithibh spioradail dealachadh ris, thòisich a ghràdh do Dhia air fàilneachadh agus air fuarachadh, gus an d’ fhuaraich e gu h-iomlan, gus an d’ éirich naimhdeas na h-inntinn fheolmhoir suas ‘n a àite. Thionndaidh cridhe an duine nis air falbh o Dhia; thréig e tobar nan uisgeachadh beò, agus striochd e gu toileach d’ a naimhdibh spioradail, a thug e gun dàil ann am bruid, fo dhaorsa na truaillichdeach. Rinn teachd a steach a pheacaidh do ‘n t-saoghail, nadur an duine gu h-iomlan a thrailleadh. Feudaidh duine tuiteam ann an làthaich, ‘s a bhi gu mòr air a shalachadh, agus gun an t-iomlan deth bhi salach, ach cuid-eigin a bhi fathast glan; ach cha ‘n ‘eil do chomh-flurtaechd aig a pheacaidh gu bheil cuid air bith dheth glan. Dh’ fhad am peacadh e uile mar ni truaillich, agus uil’ fhireantachd mar luideig shalaich. Dhall e shùilean, chruadhaich e a chridhe, leòn e choguis, thionndaidh e aignidhibh a dh’ ionnsuidh an dùsleach, agus rinn se e ‘n a thraill iomlan d’ a anamianaibh féin. Feudaidh duine leagadh fhaotain, ‘s a bhi gu mòr air a bhruthad, agus gun t-iomlan deth bhi brùite; na feuhaidh e aon d’ a bhuill a chall, agus na buill eile bhi fathast slàn fallan; ach dh’ fhad am peacadh an duine ‘n a chreutair leònta gu h-iomlan. “Tha ‘n ceann uile tinn, ‘s an cridhe uile fann. O bhonn na coise gu ruig an ceann,” tha e air a chomhdachadh thairis le luibhre mhillteach a pheacaidh. Tha a choguis air a truailleadh; agus tha a thugse, a thoil, agus aignidhean uile gun fhallaineachd spioradail idir annta. Dh’ fhad am peacadh an duine mi-dhiadhaidh agus gun neart—gun aon sràd do ghràs na anam, gun maith sam bith a gabhail comh-nuidh ‘n a fheòil, agus gun chomas ni maith sam bith a dheanamh. ‘S e so an staid bhrònach anns an d’ fhad an leagadh, cha ‘n e mhain euid do shlochd Adhamh, ach an siochd gu h-iomlan; “oir pheacaidh na h-uile, agus thainig iad gearr air gloir Dhé.”
(Bé Leantuin.)
Jesus Christ, who is to sit in judgment upon the secrets of all men, must be possessed of infinite knowledge, and therefore be divine.—Hodge.