(Continued from Vol. LX., page 359.)
“I strove to draw the covering from the pit, that I might behold the lake of fire, and hear the wailings of the damned. But the more I sought those awful feelings of conviction, the further they seemed to fly from me. My heart seemed to grow harder every day. I was sensible of nothing but insensibility. I became discouraged, and the more because I was obliged to remove from the scene of the revival to a place where there was no concern about religion in the people generally, and where I expected the preaching to be cold and lifeless. I spent a day before my departure in secret, and in solemn reflection
on my deplorable and hopeless case. I ran over all the kind dispensations of God’s providence towards me, and reflected on the many precious means of grace which I had recently enjoyed without effect. The conclusion which seemed now to be forced on my mind was that God had given me up to a hard heart and that I never should be so happy as to obtain religion. This conclusion had, to my mind, all the force of a certainty, and I began to think about the justice of God in my damnation; and no truth ever appeared with more lucid evidence to my mind. I fully justified God in sending me to hell. I saw that it was not only right, but I did not see how a just God could do otherwise. And I seemed to acquiesce in it, as a righteous and necessary thing. At this moment my mind became more calm than it had been for a long time.
“All striving and effort on my part ceased, and, being in the woods, I recollected that it was time for me to return to the house, where I expected to meet some friends. Here I found a minister waiting for me, whom I had seen but never spoken to. He took me aside and began to represent the many privileges which I had enjoyed, and expressed a hope that I had received some good impressions. I told him that it was true that I had been highly favoured, but that I had now come to a fixed conclusion that I should certainly be for ever lost; for under all these means I had not received the slightest conviction without which my conversion was impossible. He replied by saying, ‘That no certain degree of conviction was necessary—that the only use of conviction was to make us feel our need of Christ as a Saviour; and appealed to me whether I did not feel that I stood in need of a Saviour.’ He then went on to say, ‘Christ is an advocate at the right hand of God, and stands ready to receive any case which is committed to His hands, and however desperate your case may now appear to be, only commit it to Him and He will bring you off safely, for He is able to save to the uttermost all that come unto God by Him. Here a new view broke on my mind. I saw that Christ was able to save even me, and I felt willing to give my cause into His hands.
“This discovery of the bare possibility of salvation was one of the greatest deliverances I ever experienced. I was affected exceedingly with the view, which I had of this truth, so as to be unable to speak. Hope now sprung up in my desolate soul—not that I was pardoned or accepted, such a thought did not occur—but that it was yet possible that I might be, hereafter, and I was resolved never to give over seeking until I obtained the blessing. All that evening I was sweetly composed and precious promises and declarations of the Word of God came dropping successively into my mind, as if they had been whispered to me. I never could have believed, unless I had experienced it, that the mere possibility of salvation would produce such comfort.
“About this time, next morning probably, when I retired to the woods, where my secret devotions were usually performed, I experienced such a melting of heart from a sense of God’s goodness to me as I never felt before or since. It seemed as if my eyes—so hard to weep commonly—were now a fountain of tears. The very earth was watered with their abundance. Indeed, my heart itself seemed to be dissolved just as a piece of ice is dissolved by the heat of the sun. Of the particular exercises of this melting season, my memory does not retain a distinct recollection. For some months I attended to religious duties with various fluctuations of feeling. Sometimes I entertained a pleasing hope that I was indeed a Christian—a renewed person—but at other times I was not only distressed with doubts but came to the conclusion that I was still in my sins. The only thing which I deem it important to mention during this period was a deeper discovery of the wickedness of my own heart. This conviction of deep-rooted, inherent depravity, distressed me much, but I obtained considerable relief from reading Owen on Indwelling Sin. This book exhibited the state of my heart better than I could have done myself.
“Still, however, I was much dissatisfied with myself because after so long a time I had made so little progress. On one occasion, at the close of the exercises of the Sabbath, I was so deeply sensible of the fact that my soul was still in eminent danger of perdition that I solemnly resolved to begin a new and more vigorous course of engagedness to secure my salvation. I had spent much time in reading accounts of Christian experience, and those which lay down the marks and evidences of true religion, such as Owen on Spiritual Mindedness, Edwards on The Affections, Guthrie’s Trial of a Saving Interest in Christ, Newton’s Letters, Pike and Hayward’s Cases of Conscience, etc. I also conversed much with old and experienced Christians, as well as with those of my own age, but all these having as it then seemed to me very little facilitated my progress, and the evils of my heart seeming rather to increase, I hastily resolved to lay aside all books except the Bible and to devote my whole time to prayer and reading until I experienced a favourable change. In pursuance of this purpose, I withdrew into a deeply retired spot, where I knew I should be free from all intrusion from mortals and began my course of exertion with fasting and strong resolution never to relinquish my efforts until I found relief. For five or six hours I was engaged alternately in reading the Scriptures and attempting to pray, but the longer I continued these exercises the harder did my heart become and the more wretched my feelings, until at length I was exhausted and discouraged and began to despair of help, and was about returning from my chosen retirement, in gloomy despondence, when it occurred to me with peculiar
force that if I found I could do nothing to help myself, yet I might call upon God for mercy.
“Accordingly I fell down before Him and said little more than is contained in the publican’s prayer, ‘God be merciful to me a sinner.’ But this I uttered with a deep and feeling conviction of my utter helplessness. The words were scarcely out of my mouth, when God was pleased to give me such a manifestation of His love in the plan of redemption through Christ as filled me with wonder, love and joy. Christ did indeed appear to me as altogether lovely, and I was enabled to view Him as my Saviour and to see that His sufferings were endured for me. At no time before had I the full assurance of being in the favour of God, but now every doubt of this was dissipated. I could say, for the first time with unwavering confidence, ‘My Beloved is mine and I am His.’ And this assurance of God’s favour arose not from any suggestion or impulse directly made to my mind but from the clear view that Christ as a Saviour was freely offered, and from a conscious assurance that I did truly accept the offer. I now opened my Bible and began to read at the 18th chapter of John and onward. Every word and sentiment appeared glorious. I seemed to be reading a book which was perfectly new, and, truly, the sacred pages seemed to be illuminated with celestial light. And I rejoiced to think that the sacred Scriptures would always be read in the same manner. How little did I know of the spiritual warfare. After my feelings had a little subsided, but while the glorious truths of the Gospel were still in full view, I made a formal and solemn dedication of myself to God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit; and having writing materials with me, I wrote down the substance of this covenant and subscribed it with my hand.
“I now believed, assuredly, that I was reconciled to God through Jesus Christ, but being naturally inclined to be suspicious of myself, I resolved to make the Holy Scriptures the test of the genuineness of my exercises, and to leave the final determination to the fruits produced, as our Lord says: ‘By their fruits ye shall know them.’
“I remembered that it was written that faith works love and purifies the heart. I hoped therefore that I should now be delivered from those evils of the heart with which I had been lately so much affected. But, alas, in a few days I found that the ‘old man’ was not dead but had power to struggle in a fearful manner. I must acknowledge, therefore, that after a few weeks I was much in the same spiritual condition in which I was before this remarkable manifestation.”
Here the narration breaks off abruptly. The following helpful comments upon it are made by Professor Alexander:—
It will not escape the notice of the attentive reader that in this account all circumstances are avoided which could lead to the discovery of the writer. The true reason of this, I have reason to believe, is that the writer is still alive and has no desire to be made conspicuous. It would be attended with no advantage to explain by what means this imperfect narrative came into my possession. The use which I make of it is not contrary to the wishes of the writer, while the injunction is peremptory, that no hint shall be given to the public by which it may be conjectured who it is.
It may be remarked, in the first place, on this narrative that sometimes persons are brought along very gradually in their acquisition of the knowledge of the truth. One discovery is made at one time, and between these steps there may be a long interval. It may again be remarked that commonly before a person comes to the knowledge of the truth the need of information is sensibly felt, and the appropriate means of communicating it are provided. A book, a sermon, a casual conversation, may be intimately connected with our salvation. Those who commence a religious life, though they may appear sincere, should always be urged to go forward: there is much before them which they have not yet experienced. If they are not yet in the right way they may arrive at it. In looking over the various exercises here detailed I am utterly at a loss to say when the work of grace commenced. Perhaps scarcely any two persons, taken at random, would agree on this point, for while some would scarcely admit that there was any exercising of saving faith until the last manifestation here described, others would be for carrying it back to the very beginning of the exercised soul’s serious attention to religion. However this matter may be decided, one thing, I think, is evident, that it is a great practical error to suppose that nothing connected essentially with the sinner’s conversion is experienced or done until the moment of his conversion.
He may have to unlearn many erroneous opinions taken up through prejudice or inclination. He must learn the truth of the Christian religion if unhappily he has adopted sceptical notions. He must learn to know what the Bible teaches, as to man’s duty, and the true method of salvation. God’s methods of bringing His chosen into the paths of truth and holiness are often wonderful. They are, at every step, led in a way which they knew not. How remarkably true is this, as it relates to conviction of sin! When the sinner is most convinced, he thinks he has no conviction at all. And in regard to conversion, what a different thing does it turn out to be in experience from what it was conceived to be beforehand! Whilst the anxious soul was expecting something miraculous, or entirely out of the way, he experiences
a new train of thought, new and pleasing views of truth, with corresponding emotions, by which the mind is so occupied that it has no time or inclination to scrutinize the nature or cause of these pleasing exercises. He believes and hopes without asking himself the question, are these the views and feelings of a renewed soul? Afterwards, he can look back and see that faith was exercised in these very acts, and that the peace which he then enjoyed was the peace of reconciliation through our Lord Jesus Christ.
But when the love of God is shed abroad in the heart by the Holy Ghost, as described in the last part of this narrative, the distressed soul is made sensible at once of its happy state, and is made to rejoice in the smiles of the divine favour. Then he can no more doubt that God is reconciled and has lifted upon him the light of His countenance, than that the sun is shining at midday. All Christians, however, are not favoured with these bright discoveries, but always walk in a degree of darkness or at best in a mere crepuscular light; yet they fear the Lord and obey the voice of His servants. I have known instances of some persons changing their opinion of the time of their own conversion several times and fixing it at different periods of their experience, as their sentiments became more correct and mature; and those converts who shine forth more brightly at first are not always they who appear best after the lapse of years.
Malady and Remedy.
(EDWARD BLACKSTOCK, 1833.)
There are especially two things which I know and feel this day—viz., my spiritual malady and the preciousness of the blood of Christ.
In self I am guilty, dark, deserted, polluted, dull, cold, insipid, unbelieving, treacherous, wandering, rebellious, light, vain, inconstant, frothy, unclean, corrupt, envious, murmuring, carnal, and full of enmity. But blessed be my God! I feel that I greatly need the fountain.
I have a strong desire that the Holy Spirit would condescend to baptize me or, in other words, take and put me, polluted as I am, into the sea of the rich blood of Jesus, that I may come out spotless as snow and as white; and that I may have the answer of a good conscience towards God and enjoy, under the precious power and witnessings of the Holy Comforter, a sense of divine forgiveness, the peace of God, justification, acceptance, sweet communion with God,
the light of His countenance, the delights of my Redeemer’s presence, grace superabounding, and divine love shed abroad in my heart, that I might serve in newness of spirit, take my old harp down from the willows, sweep its strings, or weep a silent flood to the praise of that astonishing mercy which has often dissolved my hard heart by its sweet sunshine.—Ed. Blackstock.
The late Mrs. Macfarlane, Dingwall.
ON 4th May last year Mrs. Macfarlane, the worthy wife of our beloved brother minister in Dingwall, departed this life. She entered within the veil, we believe, to behold the Face of the glorious Redeemer, who drew her with the cords of His love. This was her gain but her departure evoked feelings of sincere sorrow in the hearts of many by whom she was beloved, and of deep sympathy with her bereaved husband and relatives.
Mrs. Macfarlane was a daughter of the late much respected Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Cameron, of our Oban congregation. Her father, of whom a biographical sketch appeared in our Church Magazine for May, 1922, was an eminent elder of that congregation. It was evident that the subject of this brief obituary had undergone a saving change long before she made a public profession. In 1922 she was at the death bed of her younger sister, Mrs. James MacAulay, Wolverhampton, an event which made a deep impression on her mind. Following that, at the May communion season in Oban she heard the late Rev. John MacLachlan preach from Song of Solomon, chapter 8, verse 5, “Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness leaning upon her beloved?” She could no longer refrain from obeying her beloved’s command, “this do in remembrance of Me,” and was received into membership. A sweet savour of love to Christ manifestly issued from her heart as a sinner saved by grace. She loved the gospel but clearly indicated that a gospel without the efficacious “blood, that cleanseth from all sin,” was no Gospel to her. She had spiritual discernment. A friend remarked, “One would soon feel in her company that she had ‘the one thing needful’ that Mary had which would not be taken from her.”
Before her departure she spoke of the promise, “I, even I am he that blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins.” Isaiah 43, 25. Her bright, warm-hearted Christian friendship and hospitality endeared her to many. The end came suddenly, at the age of 71, following a period of failing health, during which all that medical skill and tender nursing could do was done.
The prayers of many on behalf of the bereaved husband were answered in his receiving sustaining grace in rich measure. It is their hope that he will continue to have that all his days.
The bereaved sister and brother in Oban share in our sympathy.
“Them also which sheep in Jesus will God bring with him.”
(1 Thes. 4, 15.)—W.G.
Searmonan.
LEIS AN URR. TEARLACH C. MAC AN TOISICH, D.D.
(Air a leantuinn Vol. LX., bho t.d. 373.)
A chreidmhich, tarruigibh dlùth agus deanamh aoradh, am feadh agus a tha sibh a cluinntinn an fhuaim oibhneich gu’n d’ rugadh dhuibh-se Slànuighear, Criosd an Tighearn; agus faicibh, mar an ceudna, mar a chuir ioraslaichd do-labhairt Mhic Dhé urram agus uaisleachd air bochdainn, agus mar a chuir E seula na bochdainn air greadhnachas agus glòir dhiamhain an t-saoghail so. Am bheil thu bochd? Cuimhneich gu’n robh Criosda bochd. Cha’n e mhàin sin, ach dh’ioraslaich se E féin gu bhi air a mheas na chnuimh agus cha’n e duine. Bha E “naomh, neo-lochdach, neo-thruaillich, air a dhealachadh o pheacaich, Chaidh E mu’n cuairt a foillseachadh naomhachd ‘n a maise fhior-ghlan agus dhiadhaidh, a deanamh maith a ghnàth, agus a cur an céill slàinte; a cur an céill a ghràis do-labhairt fein, agus a cuireadh nan creutairean ciontach agus truagh, iad a thighinn da ionnsuidh. Agus, gidheadh, b’e a chuibhrionn, sgainneal, tàir, agus masladh. Bha e air a ràdh mu Uan Naomh Dhé, duine geocach agus fear-labhairt toibheum. Bha oibríbh cumhachdach, a bha foillseachadh a ghtàidh agus a thròcair, air an cur as leth Bhelial, agus bha iad a coinneachadh ri soisgeul a ghràis le bhi’g ràdh, “Tha deamhain aig, agus tha e air mhi-chéil, car son a tha sibh ag eisdeachd ris?” Ghabh E na nithean so; dh’ullaich se E féin air an son. Ghabh E iad bho chealgairean truaillich, bho shiol nan nathraichean neimh, bho’n fheadhan a thàinig E thearnadh, bho’n fheadhan a dh’fhaodadh E ann am mòmante a chaitheamh as. Ghabh E ris gu foghaidneach agus gu macanta. Ghabh E ris gus an do bhris E a chridhe. Bu duine dhoilgheasan E, Cha robh neach na chòmhnuidh riamh air an talamh coltach ris, agus, gidheadh, cha robh leithid de mhasladh riamh na chuibhriomn aig aon de luchd àiteachaidh na talamhuinn. Cha do dh’fhàiltich neach riamh Mac Dhé, ni motha labhair iad gu maith uime, gus an do chuir E féin, le gniomh cumhachd cruthachaidh nuadh, nan cridheachabh sin a dheanamh. Is gann a thainig E stigh do’n t-saoghal, mar an duine cloinne a rugadh, ‘n uair a bha’s ag iarruidh a bheatha thoirt air falbh, agus cha mhòr nach ann anns a cheud fhosgladh a rinn E air a bhilean naomh gus an soisgeul a chur an céill, a dh’oidheirpicheadh a chlachadh. Dh’fhuiling E uile e, oir shuidhich E a ghnuis mar chloich theine. Bha cur an céill agus a foillseachadh a ghràis ag eirigh agus a fàs ni bu shoilleir ri aghaidh a chàinidh agus an nàimhdeas a bhà e dùsgadh. Bhà E mu dheireadh air a ghlacadh le làmhan aingidh, air a tharruig air beul-thaobh cuirt eucorach, gu h-aingidh air a dhiteadh, smugaidean air an tilgeadh air mar gu’m b’ E anabas na’n uile nithean, air a sgiùrsadh, air a chrùnadh le droighean, agus mu dheireadh, anns an dòigh bu chràitich, a bu mhotha fulungas, agus a bu mhaslaiche, mar nach b’urrainn innleachdan dhaoine agus dhiabhol gu leoir a dheanamh gu bhi toirt fianuis air a ghràin a bh’aca dhà, air a chur gu bàs eader dithis luchd-droch-bheirt. Agus b’e an neach so a bha fulung Mac Dhé, a bha
siorruidh agus do-labhairt saoibhir agus glòrmhor; and T’i a b’e Cruthaithear agus Fear-riaghlaidh neo-chriochnach naomh agus uile-fhoghainteach a chrùinne-ché. ‘S cinnteach gu’r ann an so a bha bochdainn. A chreidmhich, suidh sios aig a chrann-chéusaidh; agus amhairc air-san a rinn thu lot, agus dean bròn air do shon fein mar aon de’n t-sliochd mhortail sin a mharbh Prionnsa na Beatha. ‘S cinnteach gu’m bheil againn an so dearbhadh gu leoir air an truaillidheachd nàduir agus an nàimhdeas diabhlaidh a th’anns a chridhe. Thoir urram, mar an ceudna, do’n ghràs do-labhairt a threoirich E gu bhi giùlain an t-ealach de sgainneal, de nàire, de fhanaid, de mhasladh, de phian gun choimeas, agus nach gabh a bhi air a choimeas. Is e do dhoilgheasan-sa a ghiùlain Esan. Chaidh E air thoiseach ort anns an fhàsach gus an gath a thoirt as do dhoilgheasan; ach O! fòghlum a bhi faireachadh bho’n dachaidh, anns an t-saoghal sin anns an deachaidh do Thighearn a chéusadh.
Rinneadh bochd E gu h-àraidh anns an t-seadh ged a b’e Tighearn agus Fear-tabhairt an Lagh E, gidheadh thainig E, da shaor thoile, gu bhi air a dheanamh fodh’n Lagh. Chuir se E féin fodh lagh nan deas-ghnàthan—lagh a bha gabhail a stigh anns na iarratasan aige, cho salach ‘s a bha iadsan a bha fodha—chùm gu’m bitheadh E comasach air Eaglais a shaoradh bh’uaithhe. Chuir se E féin fodh lagh na modhanan anns na nithean a bha e’g iarruidh agus a toirmeasg mar chùmhnant’ beatha, mar gu’m feumadh E beatha oibreachadh a mach le ùmhlachd phearsanta. Thug E ùmhlachd dhà ann an suidheachadh ional agus bochd, agus thug E’n ùmhlachd sin ann am meadhon cheannairceach, agus ann am meadhon dhuileaghtasan agus bhuairidhean gun tàmh. Is e cuspair-labhairt naomh a tha’n so; ach cia cho glòrmhor agus a tha ùmhlachd Chriosd a dealradh a mach eadhon an so, ann am meadhon deuchainean nach gabh a bhi air an coimeas—deuchainean a tha eadar-dhealaicht’ ri deuchainean air bith a bha air am fulung, na blitheas air am fulung, ann an so, gu’n d’fhuing E gu neo-chiontach—agus cha do sguir toil an Athar, air son aon mhòmaint, a bhi air a meas leis le tlachd agus striochdadh neo-chriochnach. Cha b’aithne dha peacadh. Bha E mothachail air nach b’aithne dha E; agus, gidheadh, bha E air a chomharrachadh a mach mar an aon chuspair a tha seasamh a mach bho’n riaghailt a th’ann an riaghldh Dhé a tha ceangal fulungais ri peacadh. Agus cia cho glòrmhor agus a tha’n ùmhlachd so a seasamh a mach ann an so mar an ceudna, ann am meadhon a mhi-thaingéalachd, an casadh fhiacal, an fhanaid, an nàimhdeas, am fath, agus, mu dheireadh, na h-oidheirpean mortail a rinn peacaich, nach do sguir E bhi cleachdadh dha’n taobh an coibhneas agus an gràdh a b’fhior-ghloine. C’ait am bheil an oirdheirceas am measg chreutairean a b’urrainn tighinn a mach as na deuchainean sin gun a bhi air a thruailleadh? Cò ach Mac Dhé a b’urrainn anns na suidhichidhean sin, ionracas a ghleidheadh?
(R’a leantuin.)