From Free Presbyterian Magazine, Vol. xxi. (Abridged).
GEORGE MEDWAY was a native of Shropshire, born in 1766. He laboured on a farm until he was over 70 years of age. Our interest in him begins then, although it appears that the Lord had an interest in him from a past eternity. As an old man it was his boast that he had not missed spending an evening in the public house, seven evenings a week, for 50 years. Growing too feeble for work, he went to live with a son who owned an inn. Here his mental faculties, never of a very high order, became further impaired until they assumed a condition of permanent stupidity. Not being so well known where he now dwelt, he spent much of his time just wandering about. One day he fell in with John Dean, a godly inmate of a nearby cottage. In the course of conversation Dean took early advantage of an opportunity to introduce the subject of religion. He found the old man not only ignorant of the Bible, but incapable of understanding the simplest statement of truth. The only remark he made after a detailed account of the Crucifixion was, “Methinks it was too bad to serve Him so, they wouldn’t do so in Shropshire.” After inviting the old man to call again at his cottage, Dean said to his pious wife, “We must pray to the Lord for the poor old man and who can tell but faith and prayer may prevail.” Next evening he came and a considerable time was spent in religious conversation. Many efforts were made to make him feel that he was a sinner in need of a saviour; but no impression seemed to result. At parting, Dean said to him, “I wish you would come next Sabbath morning and go with me.” This he agreed to, thinking that this meant a walk in the country. On Sabbath morning he duly put in an appearance and they started off, Dean telling him that his intention was to go to chapel and asking if he had any objection. “Why, as for that, I shan’t tell what to do, for I never goed to one but when I was married, nearly 50 years agone last Easter Sunday.” “You will have nothing to do but sit still and hold your tongue, and just hearken in what the minister says.” “Part of that, methinks, is easy enough, as I shall soon be off to sleep, if I be to sit still and do nothing.” It was communion Sabbath at the Congregational Chapel, and the minister, who afterwards wrote the narrative himself, preached on the design of Christ’s death and the obligation of its commemoration in the Lord’s Supper. Being Congregationalists the custom on communion occasions was for those of the congregation who were not communicants to leave their seats after the sermon and take their departure, leaving the members to partake of the bread and wine. Throughout the service the old ploughman remained motionless in his seat, but he was by no means asleep; rather did he give every evidence of rapt attention. After the sermon and when the non-members were withdrawing, Medway refused to move, saying to Dean, “I am in a new world; and I shan’t go till you go: and I shall do as you do.” What to do John Dean knew not, but finally he resolved to leave him to act for himself. Along with the other members he partook of the bread and the wine, and after the conclusion of the service walked away for some distance in silence. At length he broke silence by repeating his first startling utterance, “I am in a new world; yes, I be in a new world.” This he repeated again and again in such a way as to indicate that he himself was filled with solemn awe and wonder. He returned to the evening service, when the text was, “This man receiveth sinners and eateth with them.” Luke 15, 2. He appeared to be deeply impressed with this discourse, even to tears. The following morning he was introduced to the minister who had been preaching the previous day and the following conversation ensued: “I am now, sir, in a new world. I’ll tell you what I mean. I know I am in the old world: but what you said yesterday morning has led my heart into a new world; and my heart, not my eyes, sees wonderful things.” “What have you seen in this new world?” “I have seen myself a sinner against God, and didn’t know it till yesterday morning.” “What sins have you committed?” “A power of sins, I’ve been a great sinner. Why, sir, I didn’t love God, nor fear him. I didn’t know anything about Him till yesterday morning.” “What else have you seen in the new world?” “I have seen Jesus Christ. Oh, how kind to come down from heaven and die for us: this is new to me, it is wonderful.” “What made you stay and take the bread and wine yesterday morning?” “Why, sir, you said all should do it who loved Jesus Christ. I felt I loved Him. Yes, my heart told me so. It has been telling me so ever since. It tells me so now. I can’t speak His name, but I feel I love Him. I can’t think about anything else very well. If I think of anything else, my heart gets dull and cold; but when I think about Jesus Christ it gets young again.” “But why do you love Jesus Christ?” “Because He come’d down from heaven and died on the cross. I don’t know how to make out very well what I mean. But I think Jesus Christ will save me. This makes me love Him. I feel a great change here”—putting his hand over his heart. “I can’t tell it, but it’s something real.” “Are you quite sure that you feel a real change of heart?” “Why, if there be no change in my heart, where do my fresh thoughts and feelings come from? I never had none such till yesterday morning. I dont know much now; but I wouldn’t be again such a poor ignorant sinner I was before yesterday morning for all the lands and houses in our village, or all the parish.” “I hope your change is real, and that it will prove a lasting change.” “I hope so: I should cry a power of tears if I thought I should be changed back again. The Lord save me from that!” “Then you must thank Him for making this great change in you, and pray to Him to make the change a lasting one.” “I do, I’m sure I do. I cried hundreds of tears last night when I was in bed, and they be such tears as I never cried before. Tears of heart sorrow and heart gladness.” “You hope to be saved?” “I do, and I’m main thankful for it.” “But how do you expect to be saved?” “Why, just how you told yesterday morning. By Christ, and by nothing else. I should not like another Saviour because He was so good as to die for us. How wonderful! I never heard anything like it before. I wish I had heard that blessed sermon fifty years ago.” Though simple and guileless in his description of the change through which he had passed, he satisfied the minister, and ultimately the whole church, that he was a new creature in Christ Jesus, and he was admitted to the membership of the Church. Thereafter he was most regular, summer and winter, and punctual in his attendance in the public worship of God, and showed sincere attachment to it. Many months passed, and during this time the old man seemed to grow younger, his eye brighter and his intellect clearer, and he was now capable of sustaining a lengthy conversation with an ease and facility of expression which astonished those who knew him. In the course of further conversation the minister said, “I suppose you would not like to go back to your native village and live as you used to do?” “Why, sir, methinks no happy spirit would like to come out of heaven to live on earth again.” “You often think of how you used to live.” “I think of it with sadness and horror. But I know’d no better then. What a mercy that I was not taken for death when my poor wife died!” “What thoughts had you of God?” “I didn’t think much about Him; but when I did, I thought He was a great mighty Being who never cared nothing at all about what we said or did.” “Had you any idea of your soul or immortality?” “Why, sir, I was always puzzled about it. Sometimes I thought that very wicked people went to hell when they died, especially the rich.” “Had you never any fears about going to hell?” “No, never. My common thoughts were that when I died there would be an end of me; just the same as with the sheep or the horse.” “You believe there is a change in you now, and one for the better?” “Oh, yes, the Lord be praised! I know’d there was a change in me when I was in your vestry the night after I heard that blessed sermon; but I know it better now. I now find it lasts with me; but then I feared it wouldn’t. If I had known fifty years agone what I know now, it would have been a good thing for me. I should have been all that long time a power happier in my soul. I wish my poor wife had lived to see this day.” “To whom do you ascribe the great change that has been produced in you?” “Yes, it is a great change, like changing a flint stone into bread, or a bog into a garden. The Bible calls it being called out of darkness into marvellous light. This is a faithful account of it. Darkness, I take, means ignorance, and light, I take, means knowledge. I have come from one state to another, and nobody can make me think otherwise. Why, if a blind man sees the sun, he must know that his eyes be opened.” “Very true, but who produced the change which you say you have felt?” “At first I thought it was you, because I felt it when you were preaching that blessed sermon. But now I know better. Now I know that it is the Lord that gives light to the understanding and grace in the heart. And praised be His name, I can now say what Paul said, ‘By the grace of God I am what I am.'” “You have felt a great change, but do you feel perfect; or do you feel that your heart is still wicked?” “Oh, sir, there is a power of sin in my heart. The fallow is ploughed up, but it is not cleared yet. And this puzzles me. I pray the Lord to make me holy, but He hasn’t done it yet. But I had great comfort when Master Dean read to me the seventh chapter of Romans. I thought when he was reading that the writer of that chapter felt that he had a wicked heart, as I often feel that I have one.” “I suppose you believe that He who has begun the good work in you will carry it on, and bring it to perfection?” “Yes, if you mind, sir, you proved that when you preached a sermon t’other Sabbath from the gladsome words of Paul. I got them on my heart the next day. ‘Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you, will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.'” “Do you remember any illustrations which I brought forward to show the reasonableness of our expecting that the Author of the good work of grace will complete it?” “Yes, sir, you said that a wise builder, when he has put in the foundation, and carried up the house a storey or two, will not leave off and let it tumble to ruins when he wants to use it. No, he’ll go on till he has finished it. And so I hope the Lord will finish the good work He has begun in my soul. It is wonderful. I sometimes think about it till I get puzzled that I have to go for a walk to get my thoughts back. And then my heart gets warm with gratitude to Him for His great kindness.” “I suppose you sometimes long to have the good work brought to perfection?” “Now, sir, on this point I’m a bit disappointed. I thought at first, when I felt the change, that I should soon get free from sin. But now I find, from reading the Bible, and from Master Dean’s talking to me, that I shan’t get free from sin till I get to heaven. The sermon you preached last Sabbath morning brought a power of comfort to my soul; I got the text on my heart and don’t think it will ever get off, ‘We shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.’ How wonderful! To see Jesus Christ in His glory so soon as we be dead, and to be like Him! I should like that hour to come.” By this time he had actually learned to read considerable portions of the Bible and had made a practice of committing the texts he heard to memory. He also devoted a part of his time to tract distribution and then he began regular visiting of the sick and praying with and for them. After pursuing the noiseless tenor of his way for about the space of five years, growing in knowledge and grace, developing his department in the great and good and lovely principles of the Christian faith, and highly esteemed by those of his brethren who knew him, his natural strength began to decline and other symptoms indicated the approach of his latter end. During his confinement his minister visited him and on one occasion the following conversation ensued: “Are you suffering much?” “Yes, sir, my sufferings are great, but not so great as the sufferings which my dear Saviour suffered for me. When He was suffering for me He was forsaken, but the Lord does not forsake me. He was on a cross, but I be on a good bed. He was mocked when dying by the wicked but all speak kindly to me.” “You are not afraid to die?” “Why should I be? I got upon my heart yesterday this blessed verse, ‘Because I live, ye shall live also.’ Oh, I long to see my dear Saviour and be like Him, and with Him for ever!” “Then you have no doubt of going to heaven?” “Why should I, when Jesus Christ says, ‘Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.'” “Then you consider heaven as your future home?” “Yes, sir, I do, and I believe my dear Saviour is waiting to receive me. This comforts my heart.” He was confined to his room for the winter but in the following spring he rallied and was able to attend chapel for a time. His last attendance was on a Communion Sabbath when, during the service, his countenance indicated deep emotion, a mingling of sorrow and joy. One morning during the following week he was found dead by his relatives. The only comment we think it fitting to make upon the above wonderful instance of saving power and grace of the Holy Spirit is in the words of our Saviour Himself: “The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.” And let us not forget the place which the goodly John Dean and his pious wife, and their prayers occupy in the ingathering of this lost and bewildered sheep, George Medway.