Colonel Gardiner, born January 10th, 1688; died at Preston-pans, September 21st, 1745.
* Printed from the book The Divine Life, by Rev. John Kennedy, M.A., F.R.G.S.—Editor.
JAMES GARDINER was born in the year of the English revolution, 1688. Such was his reckless daring that he had fought three duels before he attained to the stature of a man. In the first of his country’s battles in which he was engaged, he was left among the wounded on the field of action, and his conduct in this melancholy position shows how godless and hardened his heart was. He was now in the nineteenth year of his age. His life had already been steeped in licentiousness, but he had no thoughts of repentance; his one concern was how to secure the gold which he had about him. Expecting to be stripped by the enemy, he took a handful of clotted gore, placed his gold in the midst of it, shut his hand, and kept it in that position till the blood so dried and hardened that his hand would not easily fall open if any sudden surprise overtook him. The next morning he lay faint and exhausted, through loss of blood, and overheard one Frenchman say to another, “Do not kill that poor child.” And when he was able to open his fevered lips, the first thing he did was to tell a deliberate falsehood, namely, that he was nephew to the governor of Huy, a neutral town in the neighbourhood. His sufferings the following night were such that he begged those who were carrying him to Huy to kill him outright; but still he had no thoughts of God. And when his recovery was perfected, and he was restored to his country, it was only to plunge into all manner of excesses. The most criminal intrigues formed the staple of his existence from this period till the thirtieth year of his age. By his military companions he was called “the happy rake.” But he was not happy. On one occasion while his profligate associates were congratulating him on his criminal successes, a dog happened to enter the room, and the young soldier (as he well remembered afterwards), could not forbear groaning inwardly, “Oh, that I were that dog!” “His continual neglect of the great Author of his being, of whose perfections he could not doubt, and to whom he knew himself to be under daily and perpetual obligations, gave him, in some moments of involuntary reflection, inexpressible remorse, and this, at times, wrought upon him to such a degree, that he resolved he would attempt to pay him some acknowledgments.” Accordingly, for a few mornings he repeated some passages of Scripture, and bent his knees before the throne of God. But the remonstrances of reason and conscience soon yielded to the power of temptation; and hairbreadth escapes by sea and land only confirmed his alienation from God.
In the thirty-first year of his age, however, Gardiner became the subject of a moral change as thorough and striking as any which human history can present, while the singularity of the circumstances in which it occurred has seldom been equalled. Towards the middle of July, 1719, he spent an evening of folly with some of his gay associates. The company broke up about eleven, and at twelve he had made a criminal appointment. The intervening hour must be bridged over by some employment. A pious mother had, without his knowledge, slipped into his portmanteau Watson’s Christian Soldier, or Heaven taken by Storm. The title attracted him, and he expected some amusement from its military phraseology. He took it and read, but it produced no seriousness nor reflection. While the book was yet in his hand, however, impressions were made on his mind, the fruit of which must be regarded as the best index to whence they came. Whether he was asleep or awake at the time, he felt it afterwards difficult to determine. But if asleep, so vividly was what he saw and heard impressed on his mind, that it seemed to be a waking reality. “He thought he saw an unusual blaze of light fall on the book while he was reading, which he at first imagined might happen by some accident in the candle. But, lifting up his eyes, he apprehended, to his extreme amazement, that there was before him, as it were suspended in the air, a visible representation of the Lord Jesus Christ upon the cross, surrounded on all sides with a glory; and was impressed, as if a voice, or something equivalent to a voice, had come to him to this effect, “O sinner! did I suffer this for thee? and are these the returns?” Affected as were Daniel and John by the supernatural visions they saw, “there remained hardly any life” in Colonel Gardiner, and he continued, he knew not how long, insensible, but when he opened his eyes he saw nothing more than usual.
It were easy to dismiss this tale as the dream of an enthusiast, but such a proceeding would be far too summary to be worthy of inquirers after truth. If Gardiner had returned to his evil courses, we should have treated his vision as the mere offspring of an excited imagination and a disturbed conscience. And, as it is, it need not be doubted that imagination and conscience were both at work; but then, they were called to their work, and guided in the part which they performed, by some power foreign to the man’s own soul. This we infer from the results. And what that power was, they will not doubt who are willing to be guided by the Book in their interpretation of spiritual changes. “It cannot in the course of nature be imagined,” says his biographer, “how such a dream should arise in a mind full of the most impure ideas and affections, and, as he himself often pleaded, more alienated from the thoughts of a crucified Saviour than from any other object that can be conceived; nor can we surely suppose it should, without a mighty energy of the Divine power, be effectual to produce not only some transient flow of passion, but so entire and so permanent a change in character and conduct.”
The dreamer arose from his seat, after a period of unconsciousness, and walked to and fro in his chamber under a tumult of emotions, “till he was ready to drop down in unutterable astonishment and agony of heart, appearing to himself the vilest monster in the creation of God, who had all his lifetime been crucifying Christ afresh by his sins. With this was connected such a view both of the majesty and goodness of God, as caused him to loathe and abhor himself, and to repent as in dust and ashes. He immediately gave judgment against himself, that he was most justly worthy of eternal damnation, and was astonished that he had not been immediately struck dead in the midst of his wickedness.” For several months after, it was a settled point with him that the wisdom and justice of God almost necessarily required that such an enormous sinner should be made an example of everlasting vengeance, and he dared hardly ask for pardon. His mental sufferings were now extreme, but he often testified afterwards that they arose not so much from the fear of hell “as from a sense of that horrible ingratitude he had shown to the God of his life, and to that blessed Redeemer who had been in so affecting a manner set forth as crucified before him.” Those licentious pleasures which had before been his heaven, became now absolutely his aversion. “And, indeed,” says his biographer, “when I consider how habitual all those criminal indulgences were grown to him, and that he was now in the prime of life, and all this while in high health, too, I cannot but be astonished to reflect upon it, that he should be so wonderfully sanctified in body as well as in soul and spirit, as that, for all the future years of his life, he, from that hour, should find so constant a disinclination to and abhorrence of those criminal sensualities, to which he fancied he was before so invariably impelled by his very constitution, that he was used strangely to think and to say that Omnipotence itself could not reform him, without destroying that body and giving him another.”
At length the heavy burden fell from off this weary pilgrim, as from others, when he saw the cross. His peace came by means of that memorable Scripture, “Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins—that he might be just, and the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus” (Rom. iii, 25, 26). He had used to imagine that the justice of God required his eternal death. But now he saw that the Divine justice might be vindicated, and even glorified, in saving him by the blood of Jesus Christ. “Then did he see and feel the riches of redeeming love and grace in such a manner as not only engaged him, with the utmost pleasure and confidence, to venture his soul upon it, but even swallowed up, as it were, his whole heart in the returns of love, which from that blessed time became the genuine and delightful principle of his obedience, and animated him with an enlarged heart to run in the way of God’s commandments.”
The future life of Colonel Gardiner, from the hour of his conversion till he fell at Prestonpans in defence of the House of Hanover—a period of 26 years—was one of distinguished excellence. The “new man” was virtuous and pure and godly as the “old” had been licentious and profane. The change is a spiritual fact of deep interest; and if it be in any sense mysterious when viewed in the light of Christian truth, it would be not only mysterious, but unaccountable, if that truth be denied. ” . . . And suddenly there shined round about him a light from heaven: and he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?” (Acts ix, v. 3-4).