Dear Friend,
I perceive by some hints in a late discourse, the rough draft of the portrait of my soul has reached your hands; the lines perhaps were strong in many parts; but yet imperfect. This I call its fellow; but alas! were I to write whole volumes upon the subject they would still be but small sketches.
To anatomise my own soul and point out the irregular turnings and windings of a deceitful heart, is beyond my skill.* Satan is always beating and hunting the powers of my soul; watching what will start next, whether pride, sensuality, covetousness, worldly pleasures, &c., and whatever sins they are he will be sure to strike in and follow. How often has the soul gone hand in hand with Satan, in chase after carnal pleasures, till it has been even tired, and then what fruit has it produced but sorrow and shame!
But, sir, in order to my deciphering the combined forces of sin, hell, and the world, against me, you have justly opposed the three-fold grand alliance that is for every believer, namely Father, Son, and Spirit. True; but the query still remains: can such an one as you, be in alliance with the King of heaven, or bear the image and stamp of the Lord Jesus? Where is the consistency? I want to know the worst myself. I own a spark of real grace shall be kept alive: let the wind of temptation blow ever so high and strong, or the waves of temptation beat ever so hard, true grace shall be victorious. This is a matter of comfort, to find a smoking ember under a load of ashes.
There may be, indeed, two men in one person, the old and the new man, flesh and spirit. Rom. vii. 15-23. So upon a medal, there may be on one side the image of the devil, rebellion, slavery, lust, and tyranny; and on the other side, the effigy of a good prince, loyal subjects, peace and plenty, and the enemies’ hearts trampled upon as conquered. This I think a lively representation of the case; and it would be a happy turn could I make it out so to my own soul.
I want to see the divine image carved more legibly on my own heart.† I am sure I see the picture of the devil strong enough there. I do not so much fear the allied army of the Prince of the world, and the world itself, under the command of its captain-general, the devil, as I fear the rebellion in my own bowels, the restless monster, sin, within me. Civil wars are the most shocking, and the most fatal; besides, my soul is the seat of wars and conflicts, and you know, sir, what havoc is made usually in such places.
I know all the powers of the enemies, let the devil call them invincible if he will, cannot harm me, were it not for inbred foes. It is the corruptions within me, not the contagion of commerce without me, which I fear, or the bloody armies around me: it is that unruly, rebellious regiment of banditti within my heart, my lusts, appetites, and passions, that I fear will destroy me.* It is I that infect myself; and therefore it is my daily prayer, Lord, deliver me from myself! This is always a part of my litany, and sometimes the first voice of my retired ejaculations.
Indeed, sir, this is an unnatural rebellion, to be in arms and in conjunction with one’s own inveterate foes, who are aiming at my heart’s blood. What, fight against myself? Yes, so it is; flesh against spirit; the unrenewed against the renewed; sin against grace. Indeed, I have proclaimed war in the name of the King of heaven, against the states-general of hell, so far as it is in league with Satan, and against the potentate of sin; but to tell you the times how often I have been foiled and beaten, or raised the siege, or been wounded, or had a limb shot off, or been trepanned, or taken prisoner, I know not; but I can never sign a truce; and I am determined, through grace, if I die to die sword in hand.†
I must own I have sent out a hue and cry many a time after the traitors, and have sometimes hoped I had secured some of them. I have had them in prison and in fetters, perhaps for weeks and months together, and they have been brought out to several courts of judicature, particularly the court of conscience, but that is partial. There have been bribes at times, and not sufficient chastisement but at other times there have been very severe rebukes, and conscience has condemned the vassals to run the gauntlet, with horror, doubt, and despair. The charges of the court of conscience have been read aloud; terrible peals have been rung, and the chains of hell have rattled in the ear.
Though sometimes conscience has given the verdict on the side of grace, at other times there has been an arrest of judgment, and a citation before the lord chief justice of the King’s bench of heaven: and though the wretch deserves no hearing, as being outlawed, yet, to the honour of the grace and mercy of the sovereign, the criminal is brought to the bar; and though there is no room to say anything but Guilty! yet every plea that can be made in his favour is heard; ‡ how they were drawn in by some of the clans of hell, perhaps forced, as it were, against the settled judgment of the soul; and perhaps through weakness and infirmity, could not get out of the way; or from ignorance of the crime, or from extenuation of the guilt, or from being hurried away into the service of the invader, without so much as giving time for a cool thought. And sometimes the poor soul has been like a gally slave, wishing for deliverance from the bond of corruption, and crying out of the load and fetters of sin, and saying with him of old, “Bring my soul out of prison, that I may praise thy name!” Psalm exlii. 7.
The high court of judicature hears particularly the relenting groan; and the attorney-general of heaven has compassion enough to put in a petitionary plea for the guilty wretch whose hand is still upon the bar. But the death-warrant is come down from heaven for the execution of sin, and all the heads of the clans of hell. “Mortify, therefore, your members which are on the earth, fornication,” &c. Coloss. iii. 5. So, if an eye or hand offend thee, cut it off.
A reprieve at last has been issued out for the soul; and the repenting rebel has gone again in pursuit of those invaders of the peace and court of grace, and the soul has laid hold of some of them, and cried out afresh for justice and revenge against these traitors in his own breast, and has laid the sacrificing knife to the throat of these brats of hell. But how often have they raised up their seemingly dying heads when on the very block, and asked for pity, and during the very execution have done much mischief, and made me bleed and groan afresh.
I hope at times they are crucifying; but crucifixion is a lingering death, and I find they have still life, which with the help of Satan, their grand ally, they too often discover and break out again; and all I can do is to cry out Murder! Murder! to the Lord Jesus! I may truly call them murderers, for they often destroy my peace and comfort. I long to see them dead! dead! dead! I desire your prayers for the poor wounded, but . . . .
Your affectionate humble servant,
J. B.