XCII.--_To_ ROBERT GORDON _of Knockbrex_.
(_VISITS OF CHRIST--THE THINGS WHICH AFFLICTION TEACHES._)
MY VERY WORTHY AND DEAR FRIEND,--Grace, mercy, and peace be to you.
Though all Galloway should have forgotten me, I would have expected a
letter from you ere now; but I will not expound it to be forgetfulness
of me.
Now, my dear brother, I cannot show you how matters go betwixt Christ
and me. I find my Lord going and coming seven times a day. His visits
are short; but they are both frequent and sweet. I dare not for my
life think of a challenge of my Lord. I hear ill tales, and hard
reports of Christ, from The Tempter and my flesh; but love believeth
no evil. I may swear that they are liars, and that apprehensions make
lies of Christ's honest and unalterable love to me. I dare not say
that I am a dry tree, or that I have no room at all in the vineyard;
but yet I often think that the sparrows are blessed, who may resort to
the house of God in Anwoth, from which I am banished.
Temptations, that I supposed to be stricken dead and laid upon their
back, rise again and revive upon me; yea, I see that while I live,
temptations will not die. The devil seemeth to brag and boast as much
as if he had more court with Christ than I have; and as if he had
charmed and blasted my ministry, that I shall do no more good in
public. But his wind shaketh no corn.[190] I will not believe that
Christ would have made such a mint to have me to Himself, and have
taken so much pains upon me as He hath done, and then slip so easily
from possession, and lose the glory of what He hath done. Nay, since I
came to Aberdeen, I have been taken up to see the new land, the fair
palace of the Lamb; and will Christ let me see heaven, to break my
heart, and never give it to me? I shall not think my Lord Jesus giveth
a dumb earnest, or putteth His seals to blank paper, or intendeth to
put me off with fair and false promises. I see that now which I never
saw well before. (1.) I see faith's necessity in a fair day is never
known aright; but now I miss nothing so much as faith. Hunger in me
runneth to fair and sweet promises; but when I come, I am like a
hungry man that wanteth teeth, or a weak stomach having a sharp
appetite that is filled with the very sight of meat, or like one
stupefied with cold under the water, that would fain come to land, but
cannot grip anything casten to him. I can let Christ grip me, but I
cannot grip Him. I love to be kissed, and to sit on Christ's knee; but
I cannot set my feet to the ground, for afflictions bring the cramp
upon my faith. All that I dow do is to hold out a lame faith to
Christ, like a beggar holding out a stump, instead of an arm or leg,
and cry, "Lord Jesus, work a miracle!" Oh, what would I give to have
hands and arms to grip strongly, and fold heartsomely about Christ's
neck, and to have my claim made good with real possession! I think
that my love to Christ hath feet in abundance, and runneth swiftly to
be at Him, but it wanteth hands and fingers to apprehend Him. I think
that I would give Christ every morning my blessing, to have as much
faith as I have love and hunger; at least, I miss faith more than love
or hunger.
[190] Does no harm.
(2.) I see that mortification, and to be crucified to the world, is
not so highly accounted of by us as it should be. Oh, how heavenly a
thing it is to be dead, and dumb, and deaf to this world's sweet
music! I confess it hath pleased His Majesty to make me laugh at the
children, who are wooing this world for their match. I see men lying
about the world, as nobles about a king's court; and I wonder what
they are all doing there. As I am at this present, I would scorn to
court such a feckless and petty princess, or buy this world's kindness
with a bow of my knee. I scarce now either hear or see what it is that
this world offereth me; I know that it is little which it can take
from me, and as little that it can give me. I recommend mortification
to you above anything; for, alas! we but chase feathers flying in the
air, and tire our own spirits for the froth and over-gilded clay of a
dying life. One sight of what my Lord hath let me see within this
short time is worth a world of worlds.
(3.) I thought courage, in the time of trouble for Christ's sake, a
thing that I might take up at my foot. I thought that the very
remembrance of the honesty of the cause would be enough. But I was a
fool in so thinking. I have much ado now to win to one smile. But I
see that joy groweth up in heaven, and it is above our short arm.
Christ will be steward and dispenser Himself, and none else but He;
therefore, now, I count much of one dramweight of spiritual joy. One
smile of Christ's face is now to me as a kingdom; and yet He is no
niggard to me of comforts. Truly I have no cause to say that I am
pinched with penury, or that the consolations of Christ are dried up:
for He hath poured down rivers upon a dry wilderness the like of
me,[191] to my admiration; and in my very swoonings, He holdeth up my
head, and stayeth me with flagons of wine, and comforteth me with
apples. My house and bed are strewed with kisses of love. Praise,
praise with me. Oh, if ye and I betwixt us could lift up Christ upon
His throne, howbeit all Scotland should cast Him down to the ground!
[191] Such as I am!
My brother's case toucheth me near. I hope that ye will be kind to
him, and give him your best counsel.
Remember my love to your brother, to your wife, and G. M.[192] Desire
him to be faithful, and to repent of his hypocrisy; and say that I
wrote it to you. I wish him salvation. Write to me your mind anent C.
E. and C. Y., and their wives, and I. G., or any others in my parish.
I fear that I am forgotten amongst them; but I cannot forget them.
[192] All those whose initials are given are understood to have been
parishioners of his at Anwoth.
The prisoner's prayers and blessings come upon you. Grace, grace be
with you.
Your brother, in the Lord Jesus,