HIS LABORS IN THE VINEYARD BEFORE ORDINATION.
"_He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall
doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with
him._"--Ps. 126:6.
While he was still only undergoing a student's usual examinations
before the Presbytery, in the spring and summer of 1835, several
applications were made to him by ministers in the Church, who desired
to secure his services for their part of the vineyard. He was
especially urged to consider the field of labor at Larbert and
Dunipace, near Stirling, under Mr. John Bonar, the pastor of these
united parishes. This circumstance led him (as is often done in such
cases) to ask the Presbytery of Edinburgh, under whose superintendence
he had hitherto carried on his studies, to transfer the remainder of
his public trials to another Presbytery, where there would be less
press of business to occasion delay. This request being readily
granted, his connection with Dumfriesshire led him to the Presbytery
of Annan, who licensed him to preach the gospel on 1st July 1835. His
feelings at the moment appear from a record of his own in the evening
of the day: "Preached three probationary discourses in Annan Church,
and, after an examination in Hebrew, was solemnly licensed to preach
the gospel by Mr. Monylaws, the moderator. 'Bless the Lord, O my soul;
and all that is within me, be stirred up to praise and magnify his
holy name!' What I have so long desired as the highest honor of man,
Thou at length givest me--me who dare scarcely use the words of Paul:
'Unto me who am less than the least of all saints is this grace given,
that I should preach the unsearchable riches of Christ.' Felt somewhat
solemnized, though unable to feel my unworthiness as I ought. Be
clothed with humility."
An event occurred the week before which cast a solemnizing influence
on him, and on his after fellow-traveller and brother in the gospel,
who was licensed by another Presbytery that same day. This event was
the lamented death of the Rev. John Brown Patterson of Falkirk--one
whom the Lord had gifted with preeminent eloquence and learning, and
who was using all for his Lord, when cut off by fever. He had spoken
much before his death of the awfulness of a pastor's charge, and his
early death sent home the lesson to many, with the warning that the
pastor's account of souls might be suddenly required of him.
On the following Sabbath, Mr. M'Cheyne preached for the first time in
Ruthwell Church, near Dumfries, on "the Pool of Bethesda;" and in the
afternoon on "the Strait Gate." He writes that evening in his diary:
"Found it a more awfully solemn thing than I had imagined to announce
Christ authoritatively; yet a glorious privilege!" The week after
(Saturday, July 11): "Lord, put me into thy service when and where
Thou pleasest. In thy hand all my qualities will be put to their
appropriate end. Let me, then, have no anxieties." Next day, also,
after preaching in St. John's Church, Leith: "Remembered, before going
into the pulpit, the confession which says,[5] 'We have been more
anxious about the messenger than the message.'" In preaching that day,
he states, "It came across me in the pulpit, that if spared to be a
minster, I might enjoy sweet flashes of communion with God in that
situation. The mind is entirely wrought up to speak for God. It is
possible, then, that more vivid acts of faith may be gone through
then, than in quieter and sleepier moments."
[5] He here refers to the _Full and Candid Acknowledgment of
Sin_, for Students and Ministers, drawn up by the Commission of
Assembly in 1651, and often reprinted since.
It was not till the 7th of November that he began his labors at
Larbert. In the interval he preached in various places, and many began
to perceive the peculiar sweetness of the word in his lips. In
accepting the invitation to labor in the sphere proposed, he wrote:
"It has always been my aim, and it is my prayer, to have _no plans_
with regard to myself, well assured as I am, that the place where the
Saviour sees meet to place me must ever be the best place for me."
The parish to which he had come was very large, containing six
thousand souls. The parish church is at Larbert; but through the
exertions of Mr. Bonar, many years ago, a second church was erected
for the people of Dunipace. Mr. Hanna, afterwards minister of
Skirling, had preceded M'Cheyne in the duties of assistant in his
field of labor; and Mr. M'Cheyne now entered on it with a fully
devoted and zealous heart, although in a weak state of health. As
assistant, it was his part to preach every alternate Sabbath at
Larbert and Dunipace, and during the week to visit among the
population of both these districts, according as he felt himself
enabled in body and soul. There was a marked difference between the
two districts in their general features of character; but equal labor
was bestowed on both by the minister and his assistant; and often did
their prayer ascend that the windows of heaven might be opened over
the two sanctuaries. Souls have been saved there. Often, however, did
the faithful pastor mingle his tears with those of his younger
fellow-soldier, complaining, "Lord, who hath believed our report?"
There was much sowing in faith; nor was this sowing abandoned even
when the returns seemed most inadequate.
Mr. M'Cheyne had great delight in remembering that Larbert was one of
the places where, in other days, that holy man of God, Robert Bruce,
had labored and prayed. Writing at an after period from the Holy Land,
he expressed the wish, "May the Spirit be poured upon Larbert as in
Bruce's days." But more than all associations, the souls of the
people, whose salvation he longed for, were ever present to his mind.
A letter to Mr. Bonar, in 1837, from Dundee, shows us his yearnings
over them. "What an interest I feel in Larbert and Dunipace! It is
like the land of my birth. Will the Sun of Righteousness ever rise
upon it, making its hills and valleys bright with the light of the
knowledge of Jesus?"
No sooner was he settled in his chamber here, than he commenced his
work. With him, the commencement of all labor invariably consisted in
the preparation of his own soul. The forerunner of each day's
visitations was a calm season of private devotion during morning
hours. The walls of his chamber were witnesses of his prayerfulness,--I
believe of his tears as well as of his cries. The pleasant sound of
psalms often issued from his room at an early hour. Then followed the
reading of the word for his own sanctification; and few have so fully
realized the blessing of the first Psalm. His leaf did not wither, for
his roots were in the waters. It was here, too, that he began to study
so closely the works of Jonathan Edwards,--reckoning them a mine to be
wrought, and if wrought, sure to repay the toil. Along with this
author, the _Letters of Samuel Rutherford_ were often in his hand.
Books of general knowledge he occasionally perused; but now it was
done with the steady purpose of finding in them some illustration of
spiritual truth. He rose from reading _Insect Architecture_, with the
observation, "God reigns in a community of ants and ichneumons, as
visibly as among living men or mighty seraphim!"
His desire to grow in acquaintance with Scripture was very intense;
and both Old and New Testament were his regular study. He loved to
range over the wide revelation of God. "He would be a sorry student of
this world," said he to a friend, "who should forever confine his gaze
to the fruitful fields and well-watered gardens of this cultivated
earth. He could have no true idea of what the world was, unless he had
stood upon the rocks of our mountains, and seen the bleak muirs and
mosses of our barren land; unless he had paced the quarter-deck when
the vessel was out of sight of land, and seen the waste of waters
without any shore upon the horizon. Just so, he would be a sorry
student of the Bible who would not know all that God has inspired; who
would not examine into the most barren chapters to collect the good
for which they were intended; who would not strive to understand all
the bloody battles which are chronicled, that he might find 'bread out
of the eater, and honey out of the lion.'"--(June 1836.)
His anxiety to have every possible help to holiness led him to notice
what are the disadvantages of those who are not daily stirred up by
the fellowship of more advanced believers. "I have found, by some
experience, that in the country here my watch does not go so well as
it used to do in town. By small and gradual changes I find it either
gains or loses, and I am surprised to find myself different in time
from all the world, and, what is worse, from the sun. The simple
explanation is, that in town I met with a steeple in every street, and
a good-going clock upon it; and so any aberrations in my watch were
soon noticed and easily corrected. And just so I sometimes think it
may be with that inner watch, whose hands point not to time but to
eternity. By gradual and slow changes the wheels of my soul lag
behind, or the springs of passions become too powerful; and I have no
living timepiece with which I may compare, and by which I may amend my
going. You will say that I may always have the sun: And so it should
be; but we have many clouds which obscure the sun from our weak
eyes."--(_Letter to Rev. H. Bonar, Kelso._)
From the first he fed others by what he himself was feeding upon. His
preaching was in a manner the development of his soul's experience. It
was a giving out of the inward life. He loved to come up from the
pastures wherein the Chief Shepherd had met him--to lead the flock
entrusted to his care to the spots where he found nourishment.
In the field of his labor he found enough of work to overwhelm his
spirit. The several collieries and the Carron Ironworks furnish a
population who are, for the most part, either sunk in deep
indifference to the truth, or are opposed to it in the spirit of
infidelity. Mr. M'Cheyne at once saw that the pastor whom he had come
to aid, whatever was the measure of his health, and zeal, and
perseverance, had duties laid on him which were altogether beyond the
power of man to overtake. When he made a few weeks' trial, the field
appeared more boundless, and the mass of souls more impenetrable, than
he had ever conceived.
It was probably, in some degree, his experience at this time that gave
him such deep sympathy with the Church Extension Scheme, as a truly
noble and Christian effort for bringing the glad tidings to the doors
of a population who must otherwise remain neglected, and were
themselves willing so to live and die. He conveyed his impressions on
this subject to a friend abroad, in the following terms: "There is a
soul-destroying cruelty in the cold-hearted opposition which is made
to the multiplication of ministers in such neglected and overgrown
districts as these. If one of our Royal Commissioners would but
consent to undergo the bodily fatigue that a minister ought to undergo
in visiting merely the sick and dying of Larbert (let alone the
visitation of the whole, and preparation for the pulpit), and that for
one month, I would engage that if he be able to rise out of his bed by
the end of it, he would change his voice and manner at the Commission
Board."
A few busy weeks passed over, occupied from morning to night in such
cares and toils, when another part of the discipline he was to undergo
was sent. In the end of December, strong oppression of the heart and
an irritating cough caused some of his friends to fear that his lungs
were affected; and for some weeks he was laid aside from public duty.
On examination, it was found that though there was a dulness in the
right lung, yet the material of the lungs was not affected. For a
time, however, the air-vessels were so clogged and irritated, that if
he had continued to preach, disease would have quickly ensued. But
this also was soon removed, and, under cautious management, he resumed
his work.
This temporary illness served to call forth this extreme sensitiveness
of his soul to the responsibilities of his office. At its
commencement--having gone to Edinburgh "in so sweet a sunshine morning
that God seemed to have chosen it for him"--he wrote to Mr. Bonar: "If
I am not recovered before the third Sabbath, I fear I shall not be
able to bear upon my conscience the responsibility of leaving you any
longer to labor alone, bearing unaided the burden of 6,000 souls. No,
my dear sir, I must read the will of God aright in his providence, and
give way, when He bids me, to fresh and abler workmen. I hope and pray
that it may be his will to restore me again to you and your parish,
with a heart tutored by sickness, to speak more and more as dying to
dying." Then, mentioning two of the sick: "Poor A.D. and C.H., I often
think of them. I can do no more for their good, except pray for them.
Tell them that I do this without ceasing."
The days when a holy pastor, who knows the blood-sprinkled way to the
Father, is laid aside, are probably as much a proof of the kindness of
God to his flock as days of health and activity. He is occupied,
during this season of retirement, in discovering the plagues of his
heart, and in going in, like Moses, to plead with God face to face for
his flock, and for his own soul. Mr. M'Cheyne believed that God had
this end in view with him; and that the Lord should thus deal with him
at his entrance into the vineyard made him ponder these dealings the
more. "Paul asked," says he, "'What wilt Thou have me _to do_?' and it
was answered, 'I will show him what great things he must _suffer_ for
my name's sake.' Thus it may be with me. I have been too anxious to do
great things. The lust of praise has ever been my besetting sin; and
what more befitting school could be found for me than that of
suffering alone, away from the eye and ear of man?" Writing again to
Mr. Bonar, he tells him: "I feel distinctly that the whole of my labor
during this season of sickness and pain should be in the way of prayer
and _intercession_. And yet, so strongly does Satan work in our
deceitful hearts, I scarcely remember a season wherein I have been
more averse to these duties. I try to build myself up in my most holy
faith, praying in the Holy Ghost, keeping myself in the love of God,
and looking for the mercy of the Lord Jesus unto eternal life.' That
text of Jude has peculiar beauties for me at this season. If it be
good to come under the love of God once, surely it is good to keep
ourselves there. And yet how reluctant we are! I cannot doubt that
boldness is offered me to enter into the holiest of all; I cannot
doubt my right and title to enter continually by the new and bloody
way; I cannot doubt that when I do enter in, I stand not only
forgiven, but accepted in the Beloved; I cannot doubt that when I do
enter in, the Spirit is willing and ready to descend like a dove, to
dwell in my bosom as a Spirit of prayer and peace, enabling me to
'pray in the Holy Ghost;' and that Jesus is ready to rise up as my
intercessor with the Father, praying for me though not for the world;
and that the prayer-hearing God is ready to bend his ear to requests
which He delights to hear and answer. I cannot doubt that thus to
dwell in God is the true blessedness of my nature; and yet, strange
unaccountable creature! I am too often unwilling to enter in. I go
about and about the sanctuary, and I sometimes press in through the
rent veil, and see the blessedness of dwelling there to be far better
than that of the tents of wickedness; yet it is certain that I do not
dwell within."--"My prayers follow you, especially to the sick-beds of
A.D. and C.H. I hope they still survive, and that Christ may yet be
glorified in them."
On resuming his labors, he found a residence in Carronvale. From this
pleasant spot he used to ride out to his work. But pleasant as the
spot was, yet being only partially recovered, he was not satisfied; he
lamented that he was unable to overtake what a stronger laborer would
have accomplished. He often cast a regretful look at the collieries;
and remembering them still at a later period, he reproached himself
with neglect, though most unjustly. "The places which I left utterly
unbroken in upon are Kinnaird and Milton. Both of these rise up
against my conscience, particularly the last, through which I have
ridden so often." It was not the comfort, but the positive usefulness
of the ministry, that he envied; and he judged of places by their
fitness to promote this great end. He said of a neighboring parish,
which he had occasion to visit: "The manse is altogether too sweet;
other men could hardly live there without saying, 'This is my rest.' I
don't think ministers' manses should ever be so beautiful."
A simple incident was overruled to promote the ease and fluency of his
pulpit ministrations. From the very beginning of his ministry he
reprobated the custom of reading sermons, believing that to do so does
exceedingly weaken the freedom and natural fervor of the messenger in
delivering his message. Neither did he recite what he had written. But
his custom was to impress on his memory the substance of what he had
beforehand carefully written, and then to speak as he found liberty.
One morning, as he rode rapidly along to Dunipace, his written sermons
were dropped on the wayside. This accident prevented him having the
opportunity of preparing in his usual manner; but he was enabled to
preach with more than usual freedom. For the first time in his life,
he discovered that he possessed the gift of extemporaneous
composition, and learned, to his own surprise, that he had more
composedness of mind and command of language than he had believed.
This discovery, however, did not in the least degree diminish his
diligent preparation. Indeed, the only use that he made of the
incident at the time it occurred was, to draw a lesson of dependence
on God's own immediate blessing rather than on the satisfactory
preparation made. "One thing always fills the cup of my consolation,
that God may work by the meanest and poorest words, as well as by the
most polished and ornate,--yea, perhaps more readily, that the glory
may be all his own."
His hands were again full, distributing the bread of life in
fellowship with Mr. Bonar. The progress of his own soul, meanwhile,
may be traced in some of the few entries that occur in his diary
during this period:--
"_Feb. 21, 1836_, Sabbath.--Blessed be the Lord for another day of the
Son of man. Resumed my diary, long broken off; not because I do not
feel the disadvantages of it,--making you assume feelings and express
rather what you wish to be than what you are,--but because the
advantages seem greater. It ensures sober reflection on the events of
the day as seen in God's eye. Preached twice in Larbert, on the
righteousness of God, Rom. 1:16. In the morning was more engaged in
preparing the head than the heart. This has been frequently my error,
and I have always felt the evil of it, especially in prayer. Reform
it, then, O Lord."
"_Feb. 27._--Preached in Dunipace with more heart than ever I remember
to have done, on Rom. 5:10, owing to the gospel nature of the subject
and prayerful preparation. Audience smaller than usual! How happy and
strange is the feeling when God gives the soul composure to stand and
plead for Him! Oh that it were altogether for Him I plead, not for
myself!"
"_March 5._--Preached in Larbert with very much comfort, owing chiefly
to my remedying the error of 21st Feb. Therefore the heart and the
mouth were full. 'Enlarge my heart, and I shall run,' said David.
'Enlarge my heart, and I shall preach.'"
In this last remark we see the germ of his remarkably solemn ministry.
His heart was filled, and his lips then spoke what he felt within his
heart. He gave out not merely living water, but living water drawn at
the springs that he had himself drank of; and is not this a true
gospel ministry? Some venture to try what they consider a more
_intellectual_ method of addressing the conscience; but ere a minister
attempts this mode, he ought to see that he is one who is able to
afford more deep and anxious preparation of heart than other men.
Since the intellectual part of the discourse is not that which is most
likely to be an arrow in the conscience, those pastors who are
intellectual men must bestow tenfold more prayerfulness on their work,
if they would have either their own or their people's souls affected
under their word. If we are ever to preach with compassion for the
perishing, we must ourselves be moved by those same views of sin and
righteousness which moved the human soul of Jesus. (See Psalm 38 and
55.)
About this time he occasionally contributed papers to the _Christian
Herald_: one of these was _On sudden Conversions_, showing that
Scripture led us to expect such. During this month he seems to have
written the _Lines on Mungo Park_, one of the pieces which attracted
the notice of Professor Wilson. But whatever he engaged in, his aim
was to honor his Master. I find him, after hearing sermon by another,
remarking (_April 3_), "Some things powerful; but I thirst to hear
more of Christ."
On Sabbath 16, he writes: "Preached with some tenderness of heart. Oh,
why should I not weep, as Jesus did over Jerusalem? Evening--Instructing
two delightful Sabbath schools. Much bodily weariness. Gracious
kindness of God in giving rest to the weary."
"_April 13._--Went to Stirling to hear Dr. Duff once more upon his
system. With greater warmth and energy than ever. He kindles as he
goes. Felt almost constrained to go the whole length of his system
with him. If it were only to raise up an audience, it would be
defensible; but when it is to raise up teachers, it is more than
defensible. I am now made willing, if God shall open the way, to go to
India. Here am I; send me!"
The missionary feeling in his soul continued all his life. The Lord
had really made him willing; and this preparedness to go anywhere
completed his preparation for unselfish, self-denied work at home.
Must there not be somewhat of this missionary tendency in all true
ministers? Is any one truly the Lord's messenger who is not quite
willing to go when and where the Lord calls? Is it justifiable in any
to put aside a call from the north, on the ground that he _wishes_ one
from the south? We must be found in the position of Isaiah, if we are
to be really sent of God.
"_April 24._--Oh that this day's labor may be blessed! and not mine
alone, but all thy faithful servants all over the world, till _thy
Sabbath_ come."
"_April 26._--Visiting in Carron-shore. Well received everywhere.
Truly a pleasant labor. Cheered me much. Preached to them afterwards
from Proverbs 1."
"_May 8._--Communion in Larbert. Served as an elder and help to the
faithful. Partook with some glimpses of faith and joy. Served by a
faithful old minister (Mr. Dempster of Denny), one taught of God.
This morning stood by the dying--evening, stood by the dead, poor J.F.
having died last night. I laid my hand on her cold forehead, and tried
to shut her eyes. Lord, give me strength for living to Thee!--strength
also for a dying hour."
"_May 15._--This day an annular eclipse of the sun. Kept both the
services together in order to be in time. Truly a beautiful sight to
see the shining edge of the sun all round the dark disc of the moon.
Lord, one day thy hand shall put out those candles; for there shall be
no need of the sun to lighten the happy land: the Lamb is the light
thereof; a sun that cannot be eclipsed--that cannot go down."
"_May 17._--Visited thirteen families, and addressed them all in the
evening in the school, on Jeremiah 1:4, 'Going and weeping.'
Experienced some enlargement of soul; said some plain things; and had
some desire for their salvation, that God might be praised."
"_May 21._--Preparation for the Sabbath. My birth-day. I have lived
twenty-three years. Blessed be my Rock. Though I am a child in
knowledge of my Bible and of Thee, yet use me for what a child can do,
or a child can suffer. How few sufferings I have had in the year that
is past, except in my own body. Oh that as my day is my strength may
be! Give me strength for a suffering and for a dying hour!"
"_May 22._--O Lord, when Thou workest, all discouragements vanish;
when Thou art away, anything is a discouragement. Blessed be God for
such a day--one of a thousand! Oh! why not always this? Watch and
pray."
Being in Edinburgh this month, during the sitting of the General
Assembly, he used the opportunity of revisiting some of his former
charge in the Canongate. "J.S., a far-off inquirer, but surely God is
leading. His hand draws out these tears. Interesting visits to L.,
near death, and still in the same mind. I cannot but hope that some
faith is here. Saw Mrs. M.; many tears: felt much, though I am still
doubtful, and in the dark. Thou knowest, Lord!"
"_June 11._--Yesterday up in Dunipace. It would seem as if I were
afraid to name the name of Christ. Saw many worldly people greatly
needing a word in season, yet could not get up my heart to speak.
What I did failed almost completely. I am not worthy, Lord! To-day
sought to prepare my heart for the coming Sabbath. After the example
of Boston, whose life I have been reading, examined my heart with
prayer and fasting. 1. Does my heart really close with the offer of
salvation by Jesus? Is it my choice to be saved in the way which gives
Him all the praise, and me none? Do I not only see it to be the Bible
way of salvation, but does it cordially approve itself to my heart as
delightful? Lord search me and try me, for I cannot but answer, Yes,
yes. 2. Is it the desire of my heart to be made altogether holy? Is
there any sin I wish to retain? Is sin a grief to me, the sudden
risings and overcomings thereof especially? Lord, Thou knowest all
things--Thou knowest that I hate all sin, and desire to be made
altogether _like Thee_. It is the sweetest word in the Bible: 'Sin
_shall not_ have dominion over you.' Oh, then, that I might lie low in
the dust,--the lower the better,--that Jesus' righteousness and Jesus'
strength alone be admired! Felt much deadness, and much grief that I
cannot grieve for this deadness. Towards evening revived. Got a calm
spirit through psalmody and prayer."
"_June 12_, Sabbath.--To-day a sinner preached Jesus, the same Jesus
who has done all things for him and that so lately! A day of much
help, of some earnest looking-up of the heart to that alone quickening
power, of much temptation to flattery and pride. Oh for breathing
gales of spiritual life! Evening--Somewhat helped to lay Jesus before
little children in his beauty and excellency. Much fatigue, yet some
peace. Surely a day in thy courts is better than a thousand."
"_June 15._--Day of visiting (rather a happy one) in Carron-shore.
Large meeting in the evening. Felt very happy after it, though
mourning for _bitter speaking of the gospel_. Surely it is a gentle
message, and should be spoken with angelic tenderness, especially by
such a needy sinner."
Of this bitterness in preaching, he had little indeed in after days;
yet so sensible was he of its being quite natural to all of us, that
oftentimes he made it the subject of conversation, and used to grieve
over himself if he had spoken with anything less than solemn
compassion. I remember on one occasion, when we met, he asked what my
last Sabbath's subject had been. It had been, "The wicked shall be
turned into hell." On hearing this awful test, he asked, "Were you
able to preach it _with tenderness_?" Certain it is that the tone of
reproach and upbraiding is widely different from the voice of solemn
warning. It is not saying hard things that pierces the consciences of
our people; it is the voice of divine love heard amid the thunder. The
sharpest point of the two-edged sword is not _death_, but _life_; and
against self-righteous souls this latter ought to be more used than
the former. For such souls can hear us tell of the open gates of hell
and the unquenchable fire far more unconcernedly than of the gates of
heaven wide open for their immediate return. When we preach that the
glad tidings _were intended to impart immediate assurance of eternal
life to every sinner that believes them_, we strike deeper upon the
proud enmity of the world to God, then when we show the eternal curse
and the second death.
"_June 19_, Sabbath.--Wet morning. Preached at Dunipace to a small
audience, on Parable of the Tares. I thank God for that blessed
parable.--In both discourses I can look back on many hateful thoughts
of pride, and self-admiration, and love of praise, stealing the heart
out of the service."
"_June 22._--Carron-shore. My last. Some tears; yet I fear some like
the messenger, not the message; and I fear I am so vain as to love
that love. Lord, let it not be so. Perish _my_ honor, but let _thine_
be exalted forever."
"_June 26._--True Sabbath-day. Golden sky. Full church, and more
liveliness than sometimes. Shall I call the liveliness of this day a
gale of the Spirit, or was all natural? I know that all was not of
grace; the self-admiration, the vanity, the desire of honor, the
bitterness--these were all breaths of earth or hell. But was there no
grace? Lord, Thou knowest. I dare not wrong Thee by saying--No!
Larbert Sabbath school with the same liveliness and joy. Domestic work
with the same. Praised be God! Oh that the savor of it may last
through the week! By this may I test if it be all of nature, or much
of grace. Alas! how I tremble for my Monday mornings--those seasons of
lifelessness. Lord, bless the seeds sown this day in the hearts of my
friends, by the hand of my friends, and all over the world--hasten the
harvest!"
"July 3.--After a week of working and hurried preparation, a Sabbath
of mingled peace and pain. Called, morning before preaching, to see
Mrs. E., dying. Preached on the Jailor--discomposedly--with some
glimpses of the genuine truth as it is in Jesus. Felt there was much
mingling of experience. At times the congregation was lightened up
from their dull flatness, and then they sunk again into lethargy. O
Lord, make me hang on Thee to open their hearts, Thou opener of
Lydia's heart. I fear Thou wilt not bless my preaching, until I am
brought thus to hang on Thee. Oh keep not back a blessing for my sin!
Afternoon--On the Highway of the Redeemed, with more ease and comfort.
Felt the truth sometimes boiling up from my heart into my words. Some
glimpses of tenderness, yet much less of that spirit than the last two
Sabbaths. Again saw the dying woman. Oh when will I plead, with my
tears and inward yearnings, over sinners! Oh, compassionate Lord, give
me to know what manner of spirit I am of! give me thy gentle Spirit,
that neither strives nor cries. Much weariness, want of prayerfulness,
and want of cleaving to Christ." Tuesday the 5th being the anniversary
of his licence to preach the gospel, he writes: "Eventful week; one
year I have preached _Jesus_, have I? or myself? I have often preached
myself also, but Jesus I have preached."
About this time he again felt the hand of affliction, though it did
not continue long. Yet it was plain to him now that personal trouble
was to be one of the ingredients of that experience which helped to
give a peculiar tone to his ministry.
"_July 8._--Since Tuesday have been laid up with illness. Set by once
more for a season to feel my unprofitableness and cure my pride. When
shall this self-choosing temper be healed? 'Lord, I will preach, run,
visit, wrestle,' said I. 'No, thou shalt lie in thy bed and suffer,'
said the Lord. To-day missed some fine opportunities of speaking a
word for Christ. The Lord saw I would have spoken as much for my own
honor as his, and therefore shut my mouth. _I see a man cannot be a
faithful minister, until he preaches Christ for Christ's sake_--until
he gives up striving to attract people to himself, and seeks only to
attract them to Christ. Lord, give me this! To-night some glimpses of
humbling, and therefore some wrestling in social prayer. But my
prayers are scarcely to be called prayer." Then, in the evening: "This
day my brother has been five years absent from the body and present
with the Lord, and knows more and loves more than all earthly saints
together. Till the day break and the shadows flee away, turn, my
Beloved!"
"_July 10._--I fear I am growing more earthly in some things. To-day I
felt a difficulty in bringing in spiritual conversation immediately
after preaching, when my bosom should be burning. Excused myself from
dining out from other than the grand reason; though checked and
corrected myself. Evening--Insensibly slid into worldly conversation.
Let these things be corrected in me, O Lord, by the heart being more
filled with love to Jesus, and more ejaculatory prayer."
"_July 17_, Sabbath.--Oh that I may remember my own word this day:
that the hour of communion is the hour for the foxes--the little
foxes--to spoil the wine. Two things that defile this day in looking
back, are love of praise running through all, and consenting to listen
to worldly talk at all. Oh that these may keep me humble and be my
burden, leading me to the cross. Then, Satan, thou wilt be outwitted!"
"_July 19._--Died, this day, W. M'Cheyne, my cousin-german, Relief
minister, Kelso. Oh how I repent of our vain controversies on
Establishments when we last met, and that we spoke so little of Jesus!
Oh that we had spoken more one to another! Lord, teach me to be always
speaking as dying to dying."
"_July 24._--Dunipace Communion--Heard Mr. Purves of Jedburgh preach,
'Therefore with joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of
salvation.' The only way to come to ordinances, and to draw from the
well, is to come with the matter of acceptance settled, believing
God's anger to be turned away. Truly a precious view of the freeness
of the gospel very refreshing. My soul needs to be roused much to
apprehend this truth."
Above (_July 3_) he spoke of "mingling experience with the genuine
truth as it is in Jesus." It is to this that he refers again in the
last paragraph. His deep acquaintance with the human heart and
passions often lead him to dwell at greater length, not only on those
topics whereby the sinner might be brought to discover his guilt, but
also on marks that would evidence a change, that on "the glad
tidings." And yet he ever felt that these blessed tidings, addressed
to souls in the very gall of bitterness, were the true theme of the
minister of Christ; and never did he preach other than a full
salvation ready for the chief of sinners. From the very first, also,
he carefully avoided the error of those who rather speculate or
doctrinize about the gospel, than preach the gospel itself. Is not the
true idea of preaching that of one, like Ahimaaz, coming with
all-important tidings, and intent on making these tidings known?
Occupied with the facts he has to tell, he has no heart to speculate
on mere abstractions; nay, he is apt to forget what language he
employs, excepting so far as the very grandeur of the tidings gives a
glow of eloquence to his words. The glorious fact, "_By this man is
preached unto you the forgiveness of sins_," is the burden of every
sermon. The crier is sent to the openings of the gate by his Lord, to
herald forth this one infinitely important truth through the whole
creation under heaven.
He seems invariably to have applied for his personal benefit what he
gave out to his people. We have already noticed how he used to feed on
the word, not in order to prepare himself for his people, but for
personal edification. To do so was a fundamental rule with him; and
all pastors will feel that, if they are to prosper in their own souls,
they must so use the word,--sternly refusing to admit the idea of
feeding others, until satiated themselves. And for similar ends it is
needful that we let the truth we hear preached sink down into our own
souls. We, as well as our people, must drink in the falling shower.
Mr. M'Cheyne did so. It is common to find him speaking thus: "_July
31_, Sabbath.--Afternoon, on Judas betraying Christ; much more
tenderness than ever I felt before. Oh that I might abide in the bosom
of Him who washed Judas' feet, and dipped his hand in the same dish
with him, and warned him, and grieved over him--that I might catch the
infection of his love, of his tenderness, so wonderful, so
unfathomable."
Coming home on a Sabbath evening (Aug. 7th) from Torwood Sabbath
school, a person met him who suggested an opportunity of usefulness.
There were two families of gypsies encamped at Torwood, within his
reach. He was weary with a long day's labor; but instantly, as was his
custom on such a call, set off to find them. By the side of their
wood-fire, he opened out the parable of the Lost Sheep, and pressed
it on their souls in simple terms. He then knelt down in prayer for
them, and left them somewhat impressed, and very grateful.
At this time a youthful parishioner, for whose soul he felt much
anxiety, left his father's roof. Ever watchful for souls, he seized
this opportunity of laying before him more fully the things belonging
to his peace.
"Larbert, _August 8, 1836_
"MY DEAR G.----. You will be surprised to hear from me. I have
often wished to be better acquainted with you; but in these sad
parishes we cannot manage to know and be intimate with every one
we would desire. And now you have left your father's roof and
our charge; still my desires go after you, as well as the kind
thoughts of many others; and since I cannot now speak to you, I
take this way of expressing my thoughts to you. I do not know in
what light you look upon me, whether as a grave and morose
minister, or as one who might be a companion and friend; but
really, it is so short a while since I was just like you, when I
enjoyed the games which you now enjoy, and read the books which
you now read, that I never can think of myself as anything more
than a boy. This is one great reason why I write to you. The
same youthful blood flows in my veins that flows in yours, the
same fancies and buoyant passions dance in my bosom as in yours;
so that when I would persuade you to come with me to the same
Saviour, and to walk the rest of your life 'led by the Spirit of
God,' I am not persuading you to anything beyond your years. I
am not like a grey-headed grandfather,--then you might answer
all I say by telling me that you are a boy. No; I am almost as
much a boy as you are; as fond of happiness and of life as you
are; as fond of scampering over the hills, and seeing all that
is to be seen, as you are.
"Another thing that persuades me to write you, my dear boy, is,
that I have felt in my own experience the want of having a
friend to direct and counsel me. I had a kind brother as you
have, who taught me many things. He gave me a Bible, and
persuaded me to read it; he tried to train me as a gardener
trains the apple-tree upon the wall; but all in vain. I thought
myself far wiser than he, and would always take my own way; and
many a time, I well remember, I have seen him reading his
Bible, or shutting his closet door to pray, when I have been
dressing to go to some frolic, or some dance of folly. Well,
this dear friend and brother died; and though his death made a
greater impression upon me than ever his life had done, still I
found the misery of being _friendless_. I do not mean that I had
no relations and worldly friends, for I had many; but I had no
friend _who cared for my soul_. I had none to direct me to the
Saviour--none to awaken my slumbering conscience--none to tell
me about the blood of Jesus washing away all sin--none to tell
me of the Spirit who is so willing to change the heart, and give
the victory over passions. I had no minister to take me by the
hand, and say, 'Come with me, and we will do thee good.' Yes, I
had one friend and minister, but that was Jesus himself, and He
led me in a way that makes me give Him, and Him only, all the
praise. Now, though Jesus may do this again, yet the more common
way with Him is to use earthly guides. Now, if I could supply
the place of such a guide to you, I should be happy. To be a
finger-post is all that I want to be--pointing out the way. This
is what I so much wanted myself; this is what you need not want,
unless you wish.
"Tell me, dear G., would you work less pleasantly through the
day--would you walk the streets with a more doleful step--would
you eat your meat with less gladness of heart--would you sleep
less tranquilly at night--if you had _the forgiveness of sins_,
that is, if all your wicked thoughts and deeds--lies, thefts,
and Sabbath-breakings--were all blotted out of God's book of
remembrance? Would this make you less happy, do you think? You
dare not say it would. But would the forgiveness of sins not
make you more happy than you are? Perhaps you will tell me that
you are very happy as you are. I quite believe you. I know that
I was very happy when I was unforgiven. I know that I had great
pleasure in many sins--in Sabbath-breaking, for instance. Many a
delightful walk I have had,--speaking my own words, thinking my
own thoughts, and seeking my own pleasure on God's holy day. I
fancy few boys were ever happier in an unconverted state than I
was. No sorrow clouded my brow--no tears filled my eyes, unless
over some nice story-book; so that I know that you say quite
true, when you say that you are happy as you are. But ah! is not
this just the saddest thing of all, that you should be happy
whilst you are a child of wrath,--that you should smile, and
eat, and drink, and be merry, and sleep sound, when this very
night you may be in _hell_? Happy while unforgiven!--a terrible
happiness. It is like the Hindoo widow who sits upon the funeral
pile with her dead husband, and sings songs of joy when they are
setting fire to the wood with which she is to be burned. Yes,
you may be quite happy in this way, till you die, my boy; but
when you look back from hell, you will say, it was a miserable
kind of happiness. Now, do you think it would not give you more
happiness to be forgiven,--to be able to put on Jesus, and say,
'God's anger is turned away?' Would not you be happier at work,
and happier in the house, and happier in your bed? I can assure
you from all that ever I have felt of it, the pleasures of being
forgiven are as superior to the pleasures of an unforgiven man,
as heaven is higher than hell. The peace of being forgiven
reminds me of the calm, blue sky, which no earthly clamors can
disturb. It lightens all labor, sweetens every morsel of bread,
and makes a sick-bed all soft and downy; yea, it takes away the
scowl of death. Now, forgiveness may be yours _now_. It is not
given to those who are good. It is not given to any because they
are less wicked than others. It is given _only_ to those who,
feeling that their sins have brought a curse on them which they
cannot lift off, 'look unto Jesus,' as bearing all away.
"Now, my dear boy, I have no wish to weary you. If you are
anything like what I was, you will have yawned many a time
already over this letter. However, if the Lord deal graciously
with you, and touch your young heart, as I pray He may, with a
desire to be forgiven, and to be made a child of God, perhaps
you will not take ill what I have written to you in much haste.
As this is the first time you have been away from home, perhaps
you have not learned to write letters yet; but if you have, I
would like to hear from you, how you come on--what convictions
you feel, if you feel any--what difficulties, what parts of the
Bible puzzle you, and then I would do my best to unravel them.
You read your Bible regularly, of course; but do try and
understand it, and still more, to _feel it_. Read more parts
than one at a time. For example, if you are reading Genesis,
read a psalm also; or, if you are reading Matthew, read a small
bit of an epistle also. _Turn the Bible into prayer._ Thus, if
you were reading the 1st Psalm, spread the Bible on the chair
before you, and kneel, and pray, 'O Lord, give me the
blessedness of the man,' etc. 'Let me not stand in the counsel
of the ungodly,' etc. This is the best way of knowing the
meaning of the Bible, and of learning to pray. In prayer confess
your sins by name--going over those of the past day, one by one.
Pray for your friends by name--father, mother, etc. etc. If you
love them, surely you will pray for their souls. I know well
that there are prayers constantly ascending for you from your
own house; and will you not pray for them back again? Do this
regularly. If you pray sincerely for others, it will make you
pray for yourself.
"But I must be done. Good-bye, dear G. Remember me to your
brother kindly, and believe me your sincere friend,
"R.M.M."
It is the shepherd's duty (Ezek. 34:4), in visiting his flock, to
discriminate; "strengthening the diseased, healing that which was
sick, binding up that which was broken, bringing again that which was
driven away, seeking that which was lost." This Mr. M'Cheyne tried to
do. In an after-letter to Mr. Somerville of Anderston, in reference to
the people of these parishes, whom he had had means of knowing, he
wrote, "Take more heed to the saints than ever I did. Speak a word in
season to S.M. S.H. will drink in simple truth, but tell him to be
humble-minded. Cause L.H. to learn in silence; speak not of _religion_
to her, but speak to her case always. Teach A.M. to look simply at
Jesus. J.A. warn and teach. Get worldliness from the B.'s, if you can.
Mrs. G. awake or keep awake. Speak faithfully to the B.'s. Tell me of
M.C., if she is really a believer, and grows. A.K., has the light
visited her? M.T. I have had some doubts of. M.G. lies sore upon my
conscience; I did no good to that woman: she always managed to speak
of _things about the truth_. Speak boldly. What matter in eternity the
slight awkwardnesses of time!"
It was about this time that the managers and congregation of the new
church, St. Peter's, Dundee, invited him to preach as one of the
candidates; and, in the end of August, chose him to be their pastor,
with one accord. He accepted the call under an awful sense of the
work that lay before him. He would rather, he said, have made choice
for himself of such a rural parish as Dunipace; but the Lord seemed to
desire it otherwise. "His ways are in the sea." More than once, at a
later period, he would say, "We might have thought that God would have
sent a strong man to such a parish as mine, and not a feeble reed."
The first day he preached in St. Peter's as a candidate (August 14th)
is thus recorded: "Forenoon--Mind not altogether in a preaching frame;
on the Sower. Afternoon--With more encouragement and help of the
Spirit; on the voice of the Beloved, in Cant. 2:8-17.[6] In the
Evening--With all my heart; on _Ruth_. Lord, keep me humble."
Returning from St. Peter's the second time, he observed in his class
of girls at Dunipace more than usual anxiety. One of them seemed to be
thoroughly awakened that evening. "Thanks be to Thee, Lord, for
anything," he writes that evening; for as yet he had sown without
seeing fruit. It seems to have been part of the Lord's dealing with
him, thus to teach him to persevere in duty and in faith, even where
there was no obvious success. The arrow that was yet to wound hundreds
was then receiving its point; but it lay in the quiver for a time. The
Lord seemed to be touching his own heart, and melting it by what he
spoke to others, rather than touching or melting the hearts of those
he spoke to. But from the day of his preaching in St. Peter's, tokens
of success began. His first day there, especially the evening sermon
on Ruth, was blessed to two souls in Dundee; and now he sees souls
begin to melt under his last words in the parish where he thought he
had hitherto spent his strength in vain.
[6] See this characteristic sermon in the Remains.
As he was now to leave this sphere, he sought out, with deep anxiety,
a laborer who would help their overburdened pastor, in true love to
the people's souls. He believed he had found such a laborer in Mr.
Somerville, his friend who had shared his every thought and feeling in
former days, and who, with a sharp sickle in his hand, was now
advancing toward the harvest field. "I see plainly," he wrote to Mr.
Bonar, "that my poor attempts at labor in your clear parish will soon
be eclipsed. But if at length the iron front of unbelief give way, if
the hard faces become furrowed with the tears of anxiety and of
faith, under whatever ministry, you will rejoice, and I will rejoice,
and the angels, and the Father and God of angels, will rejoice." It
was in this spirit that he closed his short ten months of labor in
this region.
His last sermons to the people of Larbert and Dunipace were on Hosea
14:1, "O Israel, return unto the Lord thy God;" and Jeremiah 8:20,
"Harvest is past." In the evening he writes, "Lord, I feel bowed down
because of the little I have done for them which Thou mightest have
blessed! My bowels yearn over them, and all the more that I have done
so little. Indeed, I might have done ten times as much as I have done.
I might have been in every house; I might have spoken always as a
minister. Lord, canst Thou bless partial, unequal efforts?"
I believe it was about this time that some of us first of all began
our custom of praying specially for each other on Saturday evening,
with a reference to our engagements in the ministry next day. This
concert for prayer we have never since seen cause to discontinue. It
has from time to time been widened in its circle; and as yet his has
been the only voice that has been silenced of all that thus began to
go in on each other's behalf before the Lord. Mr. M'Cheyne never
failed to remember this time of prayer: "Larbert and Dunipace are
always on my heart, especially on the Saturday evenings, when I pray
for a glorious Sabbath!" On one occasion, in Dundee, he was asked if
the accumulation of business in his parish never led him to neglect
the season of prayer on a busy Saturday. His reply was, that he was
not aware that it ever did. "What would my people do if I were not to
pray?"
So steady was he in Sabbath preparations, from the first day to the
last time he was with them, that though at prayer-meetings, or similar
occasions, he did not think it needful to have much laid up before
coming to address his people; yet, anxious to give them on the Sabbath
what had cost him somewhat, he never, without an urgent reason, went
before them without much previous meditation and prayer. His principle
on this subject was embodied in a remark he made to some of us who
were conversing on the matter. Being asked his view of diligent
preparation for the pulpit, he reminded us of Exodus 27:20: "_Beaten
oil--beaten oil for the lamps of the sanctuary_" And yet his
prayerfulness was greater still. Indeed, he could not neglect
fellowship with God before entering the congregation. He needed to be
bathed in the love of God. His ministry was so much a bringing out of
views that had first sanctified his own soul, that the healthiness of
his soul was absolutely needful to the vigor and power of his
ministrations.
During these ten months the Lord had done much for him, but it was
chiefly in the way of discipline for a future ministry. He had been
taught a minister's heart; he had been tried in the furnace; he had
tasted deep personal sorrow, little of which has been recorded; he had
felt the fiery darts of temptation; he had been exercised in
self-examination and in much prayer; he had proved how flinty is the
rock, and had learned that in lifting the rod by which it was to be
smitten, success lay in Him alone who enabled him to lift it up. And
thus prepared of God for the peculiar work that awaited him, he had
turned his face towards Dundee, and took up his abode in the spot
where the Lord was so marvelously to visit him in his ministry.