Southill,
Dec. 1st, 1879.
To Mrs. Whittome,
MY DEAR SISTER IN CHRIST,
Our Elder-brother was dead and is alive again, having the keys of hell and of death (Rev. i, 18). He calls Himself the root; the root lives not for itself, but for the tree; when we see the tree flourishing above ground we know, although out of sight, that the root which is under the ground is putting forth its sap, which is manifested in the beauty, vigour, prosperity, and fruit of the tree. “The righteous are like a tree planted by rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf shall not wither, and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper” (Psalm i, 3). The root being under ground, points to the burial of our one glorious Head, from whose death and resurrection spring our eternal life. “He was delivered for our offences, and rose again for our justification.” By regeneration we were grafted into the tree of life, and partake of the bounty and glory of the root. These thoughts ran through my mind when I parted from you on Sabbath last, as being especially applicable to you. Many fears arise in your mind about this matter, all which require removing; God alone can do this, He does sometimes do it by the most unlikely of instruments. He can make use of the foolish to the confounding of the wise; and who can tell? He may make use even of such a foolish nothing as me, for the furtherance and joy of thy faith. I prove your being planted into Christ by your faith. Faith is a viewing of Christ (Heb. xi, 27), He is the proper object of faith, the object wherein it delights, the object on which it rests, the object from which it expects every good thing, the object to which it returns the glory for all, a longing for Christ (Psalm Ixiii, 1). Thirst is an insatiable longing after that which is one of the most essential supports of life; there is no reasoning with it, no forgetting it, no despising it, no overcoming it by stoical indifference; thirst will be heard, and attended, even at the expense of travelling nine miles on the Sabbath to get it quenched; it is a coming to Christ (Heb. xi, 6). You are coming to Him continually as a beggar coming to one for alms, to Him as the Mercy-seat, as the Advocate, etc. Faith is a laying hold of Christ (I Tim. vi, 12). It will hold Him fast whatever comes of it. When Jacob was all alone in a dark night, and upon one leg, having the hollow of his thigh out of joint, and he but a worm, the heel, the hindmost, the crushed one, yet he keeps his hold of God; he wrestles and weeps, and weeps and wrestles, and tugs, and sweats, and prevails with God (Hos. xii, 4). A dwelling in Christ (Psalm xc, 1). This Almighty Friend has admitted His chosen one to His secret place; it is almost too wonderful to be true; it seems almost too presumptuous a thought for such creatures as we are to entertain. But He Himself wills it, desires it, and permits it. Faith feeds on Christ in the Word; killed to every other object but Himself.
I am persuaded that your eternal election is known by your faith. “As many as were ordained to eternal life believed.” Then comes the great grand chain of eternal truth, that has made glad the hearts of thousands.
*From Autobiography of late John Warburton, Minister of Southill, who died Jan., 1892.
“Moreover, whom He did predestinate, them He also called, and whom He called them He also justified; and whom He justified them He also glorified” (Rom. viii, 30). Beginning at election and ending in glory. We do not come to glory all at once, but by degrees, here a little and there a little. For one moment reflect, He that hath afflicted your body hath appointed your crown unto eternal glory, “Therefore rejoice inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings, that when His glory shall be revealed, you may be glad with exceeding joy” (I Peter iv, 13). My soul loves to think upon Him, and I want to tell out the love of His heart, that poor afflicted believers may look upon Him, rejoicing in His salvation.
The Lord increase thy faith unto a fullness of joy in the Holy Ghost. Now, when it is well with thee, then remember thy poor, old, good-for-nothing brother,
JOHN WARBURTON.