II.
(Continued from p. 292.)
IN the end of 1731, or beginning of 1732, a minister from England, the Rev. James Davidson, of Dedham, in Essex, was on a visit to the North of Scotland, and was on his way to one of these communions. He and those with him were crossing the ferry in the ferry-boat, on a cold winter morning, when his eye lighted on a boy at the far end of the boat, very serious and earnest. He could not at that time get near enough to converse with him, but he was struck with the sight of one so young, who had neither shoes nor stockings, nor covering for his head, but who seemed to be intent on spiritual things. Some one had mentioned to him that there was a remarkable boy in Cromarty (our friend Andrew Lindsay), and it struck him at once that this must be the boy. He kept his eyes on him when they reached the place, and noticed how, during the services, he listened with great attention and evident delight, “looking steadfastly at the minister, as if he would eat up every word.” It so happened, also, that a lady who was sitting near was led to speak to him. “That little boy is a distant relation of mine, though he knows it not. I know his mother is a poor widow. It would therefore be reckoned a favour done to me, if, after the solemn work of these days is over, you would take occasion to call for him, and inquire into the rise of his concern about salvation; and if your report concerning him please, I have some thoughts of bringing him to my own house, and putting him to school.” All this made the minister resolve to seek him out on his return to Cromarty.
I might have mentioned that his mother sent him to school, poor as she was; but an attack of smallpox injured his sight, and left him almost blind of one eye. This misfortune made his appearance ungainly rather than attractive. Mr Davidson soon found him out, in his mother’s house, at the foot of the Chapel hill, and got into conversation with him. He asked, “How came it to pass that you went so far from home last week to hear sermons, when the season was so cold, and you had neither shoes nor stockings?” The reply given was, “There is a report abroad that Christ is to be found in sermons, and I desire to know the truth of that report.”
Mr Davidson then put other questions, not from any suspicion of his sincerity and honesty, but to draw out more fully the thoughts of his heart about the state of his soul. “I hear that you attend the Grammar School in this place, and I know likewise that it is usual with school-boys to desire a pretence for absenting themselves from their books. Now, if this be the case with you, you are making your religion a colour for your aversion to your book, which must needs be a great sin. Deal plainly, therefore, and be sure you say nothing but the truth. Was it indeed as you say, a desire to know the truth that Christ is to be found in sermons that made you go from home?” His reply was unhesitating—”As far as I know myself, this is my case. I am sure that I am in a state of nature, but want the affecting sense of it; and I go to sermons to get a deep sense of the misery of my natural condition. For I have heard my minister say, that unless a person both saw, and likewise was affected with, the misery of his state by nature, he could not prize Christ.”
Mr Davidson said, “What if the Lord hath promised to work that affecting sense of sin?” He replied, “I could wish to learn if there be any such encouragement in the Bible.” At this time Andrew Lindsay did not understand clearly the way in which God, by His Word and Spirit, convinces of sin, and leads to Christ; he was trying to feel a great deal, and to make some change on his heart. But Mr Davidson directed him to John xvi. 8-11, and explained the words to him, as containing a summary of that gracious work which the Holy Spirit effects in the hearts of the elect. Apparently he had not noticed that passage before, for (said Mr Davidson, in relating the story) he took the Bible out of my hand, and read as if he had found a treasure; especially when I told him that all this grace was conveyed in absolute promises (that is, promises which did not depend on anything in us) whereby there was encouragement for one in his case.
The next question brought out an answer which at first seemed very strange, but which was soon explained, and it is well worth the attention of every young soul that has only the form of godliness. The conversation went on thus:—
“Do you ever pray?” “No.” “Do you go from home to attend sermons at Communion-seasons, and yet not bow a knee to God in prayer?” “I do bow my knees; but though this be my practice five times a day, and some days six or seven times, yet I do not call it praying to God, for I am out of Christ, and therefore want the spirit of prayer.”
“Was it your ordinary practice, in years past, to attend sermons as in these days.” “If I except the last half-year of my life, my ordinary way was to hear sermons but once or twice in the year, and when I did hear I grew so weary before sermon ended as to leave the church and go to play.” “How comes it, then that you now attend on the week-days, as well as on the Lord’s Day?” “I can give no account of it but this, that as I formerly had no heart to come at any time, so now I dare not keep from hearing.” “Have you at any time conversed with your minister?” “No. What would he think if a poor boy like me should presume to go to him? I had not come to you if you had not called for me. It is true, indeed, I once asked A. W., your acquaintance, how I might know if I was glorifying God, and he told me that to obey God’s commandments was to glorify Him.”
I daresay Mr Gordon would have rejoiced had Andrew come to see him. It was a mistake in him to keep away, for ministers should be like Christ, who always welcomed any who came to ask about salvation. But let us hear what followed. After musing a little, Andrew looked up and said. “I think I can now answer my own question; for though it be true what the man told me, yet I think fallen man cannot glorify God but by believing in Christ, and then obeying the Law in the strength of Christ.” This last answer, so much above his years, occasioned the question to be put, “How he came by all that knowledge?” His answer was in a sentence, viz., “I am hearing Mr Gordon preach”—as if he would say, My knowledge bears no proportion to the great advantages which I enjoy. It was easy to observe that, instead of being puffed up by knowledge, he was rather ashamed of not knowing more.
Mr Davidson advised him to be earnest in secret prayer, for obtaining the grace freely promised in John xvi. 8-11; to continue his attendance on public ordinances; to be obedient to his mother, that so religion might suffer nothing by him; to ply his studies vigorously, that his schoolfellows might see that praying and progress in learning might stand well together, yea, that the only sure way to true prosperity is to be truly religious.
He then wrote to the lady who had requested him to call on Andrew, and acquainted her with the “kindly nature of the boy’s concern about his salvation”; at the same time advising her not to take him away from Mr Gordon’s lively ministry to the place she intended, but rather to help him in some other way. She thereupon sent cloth for his better clothing; for his coat had many a hole and patch in it. He was asked, “Were any one to give you a coat, would you see it to be sent to you from God?” “No,” said he, “for I know no God; I see no God; that is my misery! I am without God, and cannot come to God!” He uttered these words with such feeling that Mr Davidson was forced to turn aside, moved and melted at the boy’s earnest and ingenuous sincerity. A little after when the clothing was given to him, he continued some time silently musing, and then said—”I am sure none but God could put it into the heart of that gentlewoman to send me such a gift; yet this God I know not.”
Six months after the last conversation, Mr Davidson was once more in Cromarty. He did not fail to inquire about the lad in whom he had been so deeply interested, and who, in the meantime, had got out of the miry clay on to the Rock (Ps. xl. 2), Mrs Gordon, the minister’s wife, said, “If the boy talked to you now, he could mention the love of Christ to his soul.” “Upon this” (says he) “I asked Mr Gordon his judgment of the poor boy; and though Mr Gordon was a man cautious in commending professions of religion beyond most men, yet here is his reply to that question—I admire his knowledge in spiritual things. He comes to my closet once a week, and tells me what Christ has said to him, and what Satan hath said to him, and how he has been exercised in regard to both, with as much exactness as a man on his journey would note down the inns that he calls at.” The good people about the place were now his companions, and the boy showed great discernment in regard to their spiritual state.
On hearing such a testimony from such a man, Mr Davidson was anxious to have another interview with him. He sent for him; and they walked out together. There was no melancholy about him now; he was cheerful; there was a manifest change in his very countenance. Andrew told him that he was now in Christ! and here is the conversation that followed:—”Well, my boy, that is a privilege indeed, a privilege which many pretend to, but few experience. However, if you can give satisfying answers to a few questions, I think I shall have reason to form a judgment of charity concerning you. I will, therefore, begin where I ended with you when we last met together. You said you were sure of your being in a state of nature, but wanted the affecting sense of it. Now, what sight and sense have you had of your natural condition?”
“I saw, 1st, That the very bent of my heart was contrary to God, and especially to the way of salvation by Christ. 2nd, That I could no more deliver myself out of that miserable condition than pull the sun out of the heavens. 3rd, That not only my former life was a track of sin, whilst I had no concern about my salvation; but also, that my very best things, even all my praying, reading, and hearing, with all my other religious duties, were wholly defiled with sin. And, 4th, Notwithstanding all this, I found so strong an inclination in my heart to establish a righteousness of my own, that the Lord was at pains to cast it down; yet I endeavoured to raise it up again. Besides, I saw my heart committing spiritual whoredom every day, being taken up with vanity, and so continually running away from God. And the sight of those things so affected me, that I had no rest, night nor day, till delivered by Jesus Christ.”
“When Christ works any such deliverance, he speaks powerfully to the heart; has he dealt so by you?”
“Yes; for the following Scriptures were powerfully sent home, by the application of the Holy Spirit, to my soul: ‘I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with loving-kindness have I drawn thee.’ (Jer. xxxi. 3) ‘I will make an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure mercies of David.’ (Isa. lv. 3.) ‘I have given thee the heritage of them that fear my name’ (Isa. lxi. 5.) ‘I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee’ (Heb. xiii. 5.) “How do you know that the Lord set home these promises; and that neither Satan nor your own heart have imposed upon you?”
“Sometimes Satan discovers himself; as when he would, by perverting the word, draw me into sin, or divert me from duty; and, for the most part, I find that all his attempts to pervert the word have a tendency either to puff me up with pride, or sink me with discouragement. Whereas, when the Lord speaks, I find it a seasonable word. I am in some strait, and then He speaks; I find it suitable to my very case, and quickening the spiritual life that I find in my soul.”
“What do you understand by the spiritual life in your soul?” “I must own that when I was last with you, I had no thought of obtaining spiritual life from Christ; all I wanted was an interest in Christ. I fear the most part of those who attend public ordinances have no concern about this; at least, I must own that it was so with me. But when Christ made me see the glory of His Person as now in heaven, I found this life; and the glory of Christ I saw to be so great as that no words of mine own set it forth as I saw it—only this is certain, that I looked upon all my happiness to be so wrapt up in Christ, that I thought nothing of the world. And, though I cannot express the actings of spiritual life in my soul as I feel it, yet I am helped a little to conceive of it by the water that is in the little springs betwixt this place and Cromarty. [They had walked out four miles from the town.] These springs, as you know, though small, yet have water in them: so I find a little life in my soul. The water in some of these springs is covered with grass and weeds; so is the sight of this life hid from me at times by the power of sin. But as the water appears on a man’s removing the weeds with his hand, so does this life by a new manifestation. And as the water continues in these springs now in August, when great pools are dried up, so I hope this life will continue in my soul for ever—or, once in Christ, for ever in Christ!”
He was then asked about some other things. “If good people that are rich should call on you, and take notice of you, would it not make you proud?” He replied—”To my shame I must own that Satan did so far prevail for some time, that I thought of taking up a profession of religion in order that such persons as you have named might take notice of me, and be kind to a poor boy. But, fool that I was, I did not then know Christ; for now above all things. I am made to abhor by-ends. It is indeed rich mercy to deliver a poor boy like me from hell, and give me heaven; but what is deliverance from hell, or the happiness of heaven, to Christ Himself? As in marriage, if the love is right, the person, not the portion, gains the heart.” He added—”I have been taught to give over my heart to Christ’s management, because I found that it would not manage for me. My sins, my unbelief, and everything, both for time and eternity, I made over to Him; so that now, I value it not, though nobody should take notice of me. The Lord Jesus Christ I take for my all in all; and this is the bargain I was taught to make with Him.”
In all this there was nothing about him like affection, nor assuming. He seemed dead to the things of time. He was a bright example of real humility. He was further asked—”What says the world of you?” “They say I am mad in minding religion when so young. But I repent that I have spent so much of my time, even almost fourteen years, in the ways of sin. Some say I am uncharitable in thinking the few will go to heaven; but I take this as persecution for the sake of Christ, and am praying, after my poor way, for the salvation of my adversaries, a thing I knew nothing of formerly.”
“How do you manage with your comrades at school?” “Some of them, you know, are children of godly parents; and to them I say, when I see them playing the fool, Is this answerable to the good example you see at home? Others of my school-fellows now and then attend Communion seasons; and to them I say, Is it not sad that you return from such solemn ordinances nothing bettered by them? But I gain no ground; and, therefore, when they are mad on their play, I sit on a table that is in the school, and delight myself in communion with Christ. And the truth is, if I found not greater sweetness in His love than ever I found in my play, I would again turn to the ways of sin; for I was the ringleader of all sorts of wickedness that I was capable of, as is well known in the place of my nativity.”
“What if you were to die this night?” “Oh, I would be glad! Oh that the Day of Judgment was tomorrow! Sure am I of being for ever with the Lord.” Mr Davidson says that as he uttered these words, he observed in the boy’s countenance such a sensible joy as he never remembers to have seen the like at any other time. The joys of heaven seemed to be begun in his soul, when he looked forward to the Day of the Lord, and being for ever with Him.
Up to this time he had not partaken of the Lord’s Supper. On being asked, “Seeing you are so sure of being for ever with the Lord, why don’t you sit down at His table?” his reply was that his minister was a very wise, as well as a good man, and had never offered him a token; and he would not ask it until his minister saw his way clear to admit him. “Meantime,” he added, “I am resolved to continue to attend these Communion seasons, and to pray that, though I am not allowed to sit down with the Lord’s people, I may have communion with Himself.” But Mr Gordon by this time saw in him the grace of God so clearly that the boy was admitted to the Lord’s Table in his fifteenth year. And it was a high time to his soul.
Finding him converse much on heaven and the Day of the Lord, Mr Davidson asked him why he dwelt so much on that subject? “Because,” said he, “I can never be happy with a body of sin and death oppressing me, whilst I am absent from the Lord.” “But is there nothing that reconciles you to life?” “Yes, if the Lord sees that best, I would desire to live for some time that I may see what good order the Wonderful Counsellor will bring out of the confusions that are at present in the Church of Scotland. I would also live to see what provision He will make for my poor mother, and the orphans committed to her care. But this last desire has much of self in it, though it be lawful in its own place.”
While the mercy of God to the soul of this youth was in the mouths of many, Mr Davidson was one day asked by one who was studying for the ministry in the Church of Scotland, to relate the above, and was so amazed as to declare that but for the well-known truthfulness of Mr Davidson, he should have disbelieved it, the answers being such as no divine need be ashamed of. “Tis probable,” said Mr Davidson, “the boy will this day be at the house of the gentleman we are going to visit.” And so it fell out; for Andrew Lindsay had been engaged to serve the company at dinner. Accordingly, the student, getting an opportunity of conversing with him, said:—
“I am told, my boy, that you pretend to assurance of the love of Christ; and if so, I want to learn what your confidence is built upon.” “On the Righteousness of Christ.” “What do you understand by the Righteousness of Christ?” “His obedience to the Law of God, and particularly His dying in the room and place of His people; and in my room and place.” “You are descended of a race of men that have been enemies to the cause of God; and for your own part, you are an ill-favoured creature; yea, and what is worse still, you have been, as far as your years allowed you, the ring-leader in wickedness among your equals. What presumption, then, must it be in you to pretend to justification by Christ?” “All that you have objected against me is true, and much more: and last Lord’s Day Satan did cast all those things in my teeth. But the answer that the Lord gave me to all these objections is in Isaiah’s prophecy—’Neither let the son of the stranger say, The Lord hath separated me from His people, etc. (Is. lvi. 3-7.)’ “But these promises are made to such as take hold of God’s Covenant. How do you know that you have taken hold of God’s Covenant?” “By this: that what God has at heart in His Covenant, I have at heart. Now, God promises in His Covenant to make His people holy as He is holy; and I think I can appeal to Him that it is the desire of my soul to be as holy as the Lord hath promised to make His people by virtue of His Covenant.”
Another godly person, one of the company, hearing his answers, said—”But what if, after all your confidence, the Lord should send you to hell?” “What though He did,” replied Andrew, “seeing He hath plainly told me that He will never leave me nor forsake me, His presence would go along with me, and this would make hell heaven.” After this the company were silent, no one venturing to object anything more to the grace of God in him. His confidence was not built on the sand of his own feelings and character, but on the Lord Jesus and His righteousness alone.
(To be continued.)