A CAREFUL study of the Shorter Catechism of the Westminster Divines has revealed an orderly logical method in the treatment of the various subjects dealt with. Prof. Mitchell, in his introduction to his “Catechisms of the Second Reformation,” says:—”The Catechisms of the Westminster Assembly, and especially their Shorter Catechism, may be regarded as, in several respects, the most remarkable of their symbolical books, the matured fruit of all their consultations and debates, the quintessence of that system of truth in which they desired to train English-speaking youth, and faithful training in which, I believe, has done more on both sides of the Atlantic to keep alive reverence for the old theology than all other human instrumentalities whatever.” The Shorter Catechism was approved by the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland in 1648 as a “Directory for catechising such as are of weaker
capacity.” As there were giants in the land in those days we need not smile when we read the description of those for whom it was intended. There is one thing about the Shorter Catechism of note; one requires a long and accurate training to appreciate its admirable treatment of some of the great matters of the Christian faith. It opens nobly with the answer to the question—“What is man’s chief end?” “Man’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him for ever.” Carlyle, who wrote many a foolish sentence, has spoken wisely in regard to this noble answer. “It is a sad and terrible thing,” he said, “to see men and women professing to be cultivated, looking round in a purblind fashion, and finding no God in this universe. And this is what we have got; all things from frog-sparon—the gospel of dirt the order of the day.’ The older I grow—and I now stand on the brink of eternity—the more comes back to me the sentence in the Catechism which I learned when a child, and the fuller and deeper its meaning becomes—‘What is the chief end of man?—To glorify God and enjoy Him for ever.’ No gospel of dirt teaching that men have descended from frogs through monkeys can ever set that aside.”
Another answer of outstanding merit is that given to the question, “What is God?” “God is a Spirit,” is the answer, “infinite, eternal, and unchangeable, in His being, wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness and truth.” Dr Charles Hodge has said of this answer—“It is probably the best definition ever penned by man on the great subject with which it deals. There is a majestic sweep in the definition in keeping with the august theme dealt with.” Dr Mitchell, of St Andrews, who was an authority on the subject, points out in his “Catechisms of the Second Reformation,” “that the answer is an abridgement of section one in Chapter II. of the Confession of Faith and the ultimate answer of the Larger Catechism to the question, What is God? To which the answer is given—“God is a Spirit, in and of Himself infinite in being, glory, blessedness, and perfection; all sufficient, eternal, unchangeable, incomprehensible, everywhere present, almighty, knowing all things, most wise, most holy, most just, most merciful and gracious, long-suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth.” Dr Mitchell adds—“The answer to the same question in the Shorter Catechism is composed of the Scriptural definition, ‘God is a Spirit,’ with the incommunicable attributes arranged in the same order as they were by Rogers [in his “Chief Grounds of Christian Religion set down
by way of Catechising”], but in adjectival form, and the communicable in substantive form almost as they had been given by Egerton [in his “Brief Method.” The well-known story so often repeated of George Gillespie’s connection with this notable answer it appears is apocryphal. We again quote Dr Mitchell—”Though in Scotland, as elsewhere, this Catechism has been, and deservedly so, the most popular of all the productions of the Assembly, it was the one with the elaboration of which the Scotch Commissioners had least to do. Henderson had left and had died before the Confession was completed. Baillie left immediately after it was finished, and took down with him to Scotland a copy, the first edition of it, without proofs. Gillespie, after repeated petitions to be allowed to return home, received permission to leave in May 1647, when the proofs for the Confession had been completed, but while the debates on the Larger Catechism were still going on, and the answer to the question, ‘What is God?’ with which his name has been traditionally associated, had not as yet been adjusted for that Catechism, much less for the Shorter One. Even Rutherford had been seized with a fit of home-sickness, and wrote that he did not think the elaboration of this Catechism of sufficient importance to detain him from his college and his flock at St Andrews. At any rate, though persuaded to remain till it had passed, so to speak, the first reading, he does not seem to have left his distinctive mark on it. Not the faintest trace of that wealth of homely imagery, which enriches the MS. Catechism attributed to him, is to be found in the Assembly’s Shorter Catechism” (Catechisms of the Second Reformation, pp. xxvi., xxvii). In a footnote Dr Mitchell further refers to Gillespie as follows:—”Even three months after he left London all that he was able to report to the Scottish Assembly respecting the Catechisms was that the divines ‘have had no time yet to do anything in the latter (i.e., shorter), but here is the copy of the greater, which is almost complete'”. Tradition, no doubt, has associated the name of George Gillespie with the answer to the question, ‘What is God?’ and the recent editor of Henderson’s Sermons has made a similar claim for him [Alexander Henderson]. But so far as the ‘Minutes’ enable us to judge, the answer to that question, even in the Larger Catechism, was not moulded into the shape in which we now have it till after Henderson and Gillespie had returned to Scotland. It still remained in somewhat the same form which it bears in the earliest
Catechism drafted by the Assembly, and in the catechetical manuals of Cartwright and Ussher.” From all this it would appear that we must give up the pleasing tradition of George Gillespie’s connection with this noble answer, but this does not in any degree rob the answer of its commanding majesty.
(To be continued.)
Robert Moffat: Pioneer South African Missionary.
(Continued from p. 378.)
IN 1819, Robert Moffat was married to Mary Smith, in Cape Town, and on the 20th January 1820, they began their northward journey. In writing home to her parents, Mrs Moffat describes the desolateness of the Karroo. “Since leaving the Hex River,” she says, “we have been in a perfect desert, called the Karroo, and in the last ten days never saw but one house till last night, about two hours’ ride from here. . . . We have scarcely seen any grass for a fortnight. . . . After 48 days they reached the Orange River. They came to their destination, Lattakoo, on 25th March, thus being over sixty days on the journey. The earlier missionaries at this station had their own difficulties, but at the time Moffat reached the place a commodious place of worship, capable of containing about four hundred persons, had been built, and also missionary houses.
On 12th April 1821, their first child was born, Mary, who afterwards became the heroic wife of Dr Livingstone. In 1821 Moffat had gone to Griqua Town to endeavour to restore some order there among the mixed races of Griquas (half-breeds), Hottentots, Bushmen, and Bechuana, but in May 1821 he returned to Lattakoo, on the banks of the Kuruman River, near which his home was to be for the next forty-nine years.
Mrs Moffat, writing in August 1822, after they had been fifteen months at work, says:—”We have no prosperity in the work, not the least sign of good being done. The Bootuanas (Bechuanas) seem more careless than ever, and seldom enter the church. Their indifference seems to increase, and instead of rejoicing, we have continually to mourn over them. Our consolation is derived from the promises of the immutable Jehovah. We walk by faith and not by sight. How mysterious are His works, and His ways past finding out. In almost every other part of the world to which
the Gospel is sent, some of the people receive it gladly, but here the blessing is withheld. Five years have rolled on since the missionaries came, and not one soul converted, nor does anyone seem to lend an ear. All treat with ridicule and contempt the truths which are delivered.” Moffat was almost heart-broken with the thieving propensities of the people—tools from the workshop, oxen and sheep from the kraal were all regarded as fair game by the natives.
Moffat set out in 1823 to visit the Bangwaketse, a tribe which lived two hundred miles to the north-east of Lattakoo. These people were constantly quarrelling with the Batlhani, among whom Moffat had settled. Mothibi, the chief of the Batlhani, warned Moffat not to go, and on Moffat expressing his purpose to proceed, Mothibi forbade any of his men to accompany him. Moffat set out on the journey with some of his own men, and had not gone far when rumours reached him of the dreaded Mantati, so named after their chieftainess. At length, on receiving indubitable evidence of the advance of the dreaded, maddened Mantati, Moffat retraced his steps, and reported the danger to Mothibi. Moffat and the chief men met to discuss what should be done. Mothibi thanked Moffat for being so hard-headed and obstinate in pursuing his journey, otherwise they would not have had this timely warning. Fear fell upon the people and suggestions were made of flight into the Kalahari desert. Moffat dissuaded them from this course; he set off to Griqua Town, and the chief of the Griquas readily promised help. A Pitso, or Public Assembly, was now called, and about a thousand men, representative of five Bechuanana tribes mustered. Every warrior was armed with a shield, a number of spears, a battle axe, a bow and a quiverful of poisoned arrows. The chief spoke first, and was followed by speeches from some of the warriors. At the close, Mothibi addressed them again—”Prepare for battle, O warriors! Let your shields be strong, your quivers full of arrows, and your battle-axes as sharp as hunger.” The air was rent with acclamations, and one would have thought that nothing would daunt these warriors. The Griquas were long in coming, and the scouts had brought word that the Mantati were moving swiftly towards Lattakoo. The Mantati were reckoned to be fifteen thousand strong, while the opposing force only numbered about 100 Griqua horsemen and 500 Bechuanas. When the warriors met the Mantati fought bravely, but bravery cannot defy the deadly rifle bullet, and
at last they were broken, leaving between four and five hundred dead on the field. Of the Griqua not one was killed, and only one wounded; of the Bechuanas, one man lost his life while too eagerly seeking for plunder. Moffat did his utmost to restrain the Bechuanas from killing the Mantati women and children, and was to a great extent successful, though his own life was endangered by attacks from some of the wounded enemy. The plan of conquest that had thus fired the Mantati was shattered on the stricken field at Lattakoo. After this they turned their faces northward. For Moffat and his mission, as well as for Cape Colony, this victory was of great importance. All the people from the chief downwards recognised that Moffat had been their deliverer. Henceforth the people, if they did not accept his teaching, looked up to him as their father.
In 1824 Moffat set out again on a visit to the Bangwaketse, leaving his young wife with her two infant children at the mission station. News, fortunately false, was brought her of her husband’s death. She writes to him saying—”You know I dreaded your departure exceedingly. . . . I expected also to suffer a good deal myself from low spirits in my great solitude, but in this I was mistaken, having been remarkably composed and very seldom in a melancholy mood. When I feel it coming on I make great efforts to dispel it, and have been successful. I feel very thankful for the support I have had, and derive encouragement from it that all is well with you, and that your journey is under the smiles of our Heavenly Father. I have also great liberty at the throne of grace, for you and the cause of Christ.”
Moffat soon realised the unsuitability of Lattakoo, so at last he determined to move to a site eight miles up the Kuruman River. An agreement was made with the Batlhapí chiefs that five hundred acres would become the property of the London Missionary Society. The mission station lies about one hundred miles west of Vryberg, which is situated on the line running north from Kimberley to Bulawayo. In 1829 two messengers were sent from Umsiligazi, the formidable chief of the Matebele. At that time he was living in what is now known as the Transvaal. Moffat accompanied the messengers on their return journey, and was greeted tempestuously by the assembled warriors, dressed in their war kit. Then the chief came forward, followed by a number of men with bowls of food, and Umsiligazi, grasping Moffat’s hand and pointing to the food,
said—”The land is before you, you are come to your son.” Moffat exercised an extraordinary influence over this great warrior—the Napoleon of the desert, as he rightly calls him, and to whom he applied the words—”He dipped his sword in blood, and wrote his name on land and cities desolate.” The following incident will throw some light on Moffat’s influence over this remarkable man. Among those who accompanied Moffat was a man whose two sons had been carried captive a year before, and he had come in the hope of redeeming them. The father laid at the feet of Umsiligazi’s brother all that he had in the world to redeem his sons, but the poor father had to turn sadly away. Moffat, who saw the distress of the father, took the first opportunity of interceding for him with Umsiligazi, who instantly ordered his brother to accede to Moffat’s wishes. On his return journey to Kuruman, Moffat saw a woman rushing towards him over the veldt, frantic with joy. To keep her from coming into contact with the wagon wheels, Moffat sprang to the ground, when she grasped his hands, kissed them, and bathed them with her tears. She spoke not a word, but wept aloud for joy. Her freed son soon came up, and she instantly ran forward and clasped him in her arms. The news of the liberation of her son—the other had died—had reached her before the wagons appeared in sight, and she had spent the day on a neighbouring hill waiting for her lost son. This was Moffat’s first visit to the noted Matebele chief, but though he spoke seriously to him, no impression for the better could be seen.
Moffat had now so mastered the language that he set about translating the New Testament into Bechuana, and in 1838 he set off to Cape Town to have it printed, but it was found no printing office there was large enough to undertake such a big task. Moffat accordingly took the translation to England. It was while home on this occasion he met David Livingstone, whose name was destined to be written so largely on the face of Africa. He had his mind set on China, but the Opium War turned his thoughts to other spheres. He asked Moffat if he thought he would do for Africa, and Moffat encouraged him, with the result that Livingstone made up his mind to go to Africa instead of China.
It was not until December 1843 that the Moffats returned to Kuruman. They were deeply touched at the warmth of the welcome given them by the natives. The people kept coming in from the out-stations for weeks after their
arrival. Moffat circulated his translation of the New Testament, for, as he said himself—”I never see a Testament pass from my hands into those of a native without feeling that I am sowing seed which will be wafted by the Divine Spirit into no one knows how many hearts, there to bring forth fruit unto eternal life.”
Livingstone had the famous encounter with the lion in 1843 at Mabotsa, and he went to Kuruman to recuperate under Mrs Moffat’s motherly care. At Kuruman he met Mary Moffat, and soon afterwards they were married.
On 20th March 1870, Robert Moffat addressed his Kuruman congregation for the last time. It is said that nobody in the mission forgot that day’s service. Some of the older people remembered the coming of the missionaries, the younger generation had grown up under Moffat’s care. Scores of them acknowledged him as their spiritual father. With trembling voice he uttered his last appeal to them, and commended them to the care of the Good Shepherd. The last word spoken, the old man descended from the pulpit which he was never to enter again. A few days later Robert Moffat and his devoted wife left Kuruman. He could scarcely tear himself away from the scene of his joys and sorrows for well-nigh fifty years. The wagons were packed, but he could not give the command to go, but at last he summoned courage and the oxen were inspanned for their long southward trek. Then Moffat, now an old man, and his wife came out and slowly made their way through the crowd that thronged them to catch one word more from their beloved missionary, or a final touch of the hands of those they loved. As the long team started on its journey, the assembled crowds broke into weeping. It was a noble way of spending their lives, and who can tell how many will rise up in the day of judgment and bless them as the instruments in God’s hands in turning their thoughts to the Saviour of sinners. Mrs Moffat did not long survive the home-coming, but passed away quietly in her sleep at the end of 1870. “Thus,” says her sorrowing husband, “she left me, after labouring lovingly together for fifty years, without saying goodbye.” Robert Moffat died in 1883, and during all the time between his home-coming and his death he was in great demand as a speaker at missionary meetings. He reached the great age of eighty-eight years.
“In suffering, Christ obeyed; and in obeying he suffered.”—Owen.