by Rev J R Mackay
Among the precious ones of whom the Great War deprived the world must be reckoned our dear young friend, Murdo Macfarlane. This worthy young man, whose death we mourn, was a native of South Uist and a son of a worthy missionary of the Free Presbyterian Church, Mr James Macfarlane, and of his wife, the late Lily Nicolson Macfarlane. Thanks to God’s common grace and as the result of a careful upbringing, Murdo Macfarlane was regarded by all who knew him as a youth of excellent character, from his childhood upwards. It has to be said at the same time that it was his own assured conviction that he passed more than 20 years of his life in the state of nature, as a child of wrath.
He was only 14 years of age when his mother died, and not long afterwards he came to reside for a time at Portree, Skye. His uncle, Rev Donald Macfarlane, was then in Raasay. An older brother, Donald John, was at this time engaged in the tailoring business in Kyleakin, and Murdo’s resolve was to follow his brother’s occupation. This Donald John, when about 20, developed lung trouble, which ended in his death. That death was sanctified to Murdo in the sense that it led him to think of himself also as one that was destined soon to die. Although, to his own consciousness, he was ignorant of the way of salvation, the thought that it was appointed him to die caused him to cry for mercy. Relief somehow came to him but, as he reckoned afterwards, not in a right way. He had proof of that conclusion in his falling again back into the carelessness that characterised him before sore bereavement, through Donald John’s removal, had visited the family.
But the Lord’s seeking love was evidently following Murdo and would not suffer him to sleep on. He was aroused from his carelessness through an experience which, in a letter to a friend, he once described in these words: “One night after going to bed I thought I breathed my last breath, and in some way or other addressed the Almighty: ‘If it is death, take my soul’.” He went on to say, “I didn’t tell anyone – I was so shy – but, from that night, the fear of sleeping and never wakening has not left me”. That, however, did not mean that he had come clean out of the world, or that, in his own consciousness, he had got his foot planted upon that Rock against which the gates of death shall never prevail. But from then on he was constantly the subject of a certain restlessness of mind and dissatisfaction with his condition.
After short periods of work in one or two places, he came to Inverness. His employer there, with whom he worked for several years – up to the time when he joined the army – held him in the highest esteem, and Murdo soon came to hold the highest place in his own part of this business. At this time he did not regard himself as one “born again”, but he was evidently tender of conscience. This appears from his description of this period of his life in a letter to a friend: “My outward conduct was somewhat upright, but I was induced, some way or other, to attend a place where there was dancing and other ‘harmless amusements’, as they called it. I was rebuked for this by one of the congregation, who had heard I had been to the dancing. I thanked the party and went home, passing a good part of the night weeping bitterly. This conviction was pressed further home on Sabbath.”
His progress in his knowledge of himself as a lost sinner was gradual. As he puts it in the letter already referred to, he thought even yet that, if he refrained from actual sin, this was all that was required; he did not know the sinfulness and guilt of a corrupt nature. “I delighted”, he wrote, “in carnal imaginations even in the church, until one Sabbath our minister, in the course of his sermon, touched upon the corruption of the heart. He put the thoughts of my heart so clearly before me that I could say it was to myself alone he was speaking, and I thought everyone in the congregation was staring at me. From that time I have been learning, not only by hearing but by experience, the estate into which the Fall brought mankind.”
He was gradually, through hearing the way of salvation set before him, brought out of this horrible pit1, although we regret that we have not his own exact words to describe his apprehending of the way of salvation. In a letter, he asked, “Have I hope for myself?” He answers his own question: “The Apostle says, ‘We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren’. This, I think, I can apply, without injury to my conscience, to myself. I love His people; I love His servants; I love His gospel. I would like to love His law.”
From the time that Murdo learned, according to the truth of the Scriptures, the awfulness of the natural state – and realised that the gospel was the only hope or remedy for fallen, miserable men – the wish formed itself in his mind to become an ambassador of God to others. He wished to tell them – explain to them, as he put it – the nature of their misery and point to the only way of escape.
How he conceived this message may be gathered from a letter to a relative about the beginning of the year 1916. “The testimony of His truth”, he wrote, “is that the imagination of the thoughts of our heart is only evil continually. Must not His love be wonderful indeed when He would not delight in the death of such rebels, but would rather that all would turn to Him that they might have life? He counsels us to buy of Him gold tried in the fire that we may be rich, and white raiment that we may be clothed, and that the shame of our nakedness do not appear. Who is the gold tried in the fire? Christ. What fire was He tried in? God’s wrath, suffering it in the room and stead of those whom He came to seek and to save. What is the white raiment? His righteousness. May we be clothed in it!”
With the wish that he might one day devote himself entirely to the preaching of the Word, he turned to reading, and began preparation which he thought might result in his offering himself for the ministry of the Free Presbyterian Church. And certainly one could read intelligence in his very face; so that, in view of his grace, his common sense, and his intellectual qualities, it was lawful and reasonable for us to hope that he might one day be heir to his worthy uncle’s usefulness in the ministry. But God’s ways are to us an unfathomable deep. In March 1916, he joined the army, and he did so with a conviction that his studies were laid aside, and not to be taken up again. For over two years he lived in France, in the midst of innumerable dangers, without experiencing any hurt, but on 24 July 1918, at the battle of the Marne on that date, he was mortally wounded, and eight days afterwards, in University War Hospital, Southampton, he died. He was 34 years of age. His remains were conveyed to Portree, where, close by his dear brother’s remains, they rest till the resurrection morn.
Our sincerest sympathies go out toward his worthy, aged father and his surviving brother and sisters, who feel their bereavement sorely, and to his beloved uncle and aunt in Dingwall2, who regarded Murdo as their own son.
1A sister writes, “I shall never forget how he used to speak of his beloved pastor, who was the means, by the power of the Holy Spirit, to bring him from darkness into light, and from the power of Satan to serve the living and true God”.
2Rev Donald Macfarlane and his wife.