(_HUNGERING AFTER CHRIST HIMSELF RATHER THAN HIS LOVE._)
MUCH HONOURED AND WORTHY SIR,--Grace, mercy, and peace be unto you.--I
long to hear from you. I have received few letters since I came
hither; I am in need of a word. A dry plant should have some watering.
My case betwixt Christ my Lord, and me, standeth between love and
jealousy, faith and suspicion of His love; it is a marvel He keepeth
house with me. I make many pleas with Christ, but He maketh as many
agreements with me. I think His unchangeable love hath said, "I defy
thee to break Me and change Me." If Christ had such changeable and new
thoughts of my salvation as I have of it, I think I should then be at
a sad loss. He humoureth not a fool like me in my unbelief, but
rebuketh me, and fathereth kindness upon me. Christ is more like the
poor friend and needy prisoner begging love, than I am. I cannot, for
shame, get Christ said "nay" of my whole love, for He will not want
His errand for the seeking. God be thanked that my Bridegroom tireth
not of wooing. Honour to Him! He is a wilful[245] suitor of my soul.
But as love is His, pain is mine, that I have nothing to give Him. His
account-book is full of my debts of mercy, kindness, and free love
towards me. Oh that I might read with watery eyes! Oh that He would
give me the interest of interest to pay back! Or rather, my soul's
desire is, that He would comprise my person, soul and body, love, joy,
confidence, fear, sorrow, and desire, and drive the poind, and let me
be rouped, and sold to Christ, and taken home to my creditor's house
and fireside.
[245] In the sense of not to be turned from His purpose.
The Lord knoweth that, if I could, I would sell myself without
reversion to Christ. O sweet Lord Jesus, make a market, and overbid
all my buyers! I dare swear that there is a mystery in Christ which I
never saw; a mystery of love. Oh, if He would lay by the lap of the
covering that is over it, and let my greening soul see it! I would
break the door, and be in upon Him, to get a wombful of love; for I am
an hungered and famished soul. Oh, sir, if you, or any other, would
tell Him how sick my soul is, dying for want of a hearty draught of
Christ's love! Oh, if I could dote (if I may make use of that word in
this case) as much upon Himself as I do upon His love! It is a pity
that Christ Himself should not rather be my heart's choice, than
Christ's manifested love. It would satisfy me, in some measure, if I
had any bud to give for His love. Shall I offer Him my praises? Alas!
He is more than praises. I give it over to get Him exalted according
to His worth, which is above what can be known.
Yet all this time I am tempting Him, to see if there be both love and
anger in Him against me. I am plucked from His flock (dear to me!),
and from feeding His lambs; I go, therefore, in sackcloth, as one who
hath lost the wife of his youth. Grief and sorrow are suspicious, and
spew out against Him the smoke of jealousies; and I say often, "Show
me wherefore Thou contendest with me. Tell me, O Lord: read the
process against me." But I know that I cannot answer His allegations;
I shall lose the cause when it cometh to open pleading. Oh, if I could
force my heart to believe dreams to be dreams! Yet when Christ giveth
my fears the lie, and saith to me, "Thou art a liar," then I am glad.
I resolve to hope to be quiet, and to lie on the brink on my side,
till the water fall and the ford be ridable. And, howbeit there be
pain upon me, in longing for deliverance that I may speak of Him in
the great congregation, yet I think there is joy in that pain and
on-waiting; and I even rejoice that He putteth me off for a time, and
shifteth me. Oh, if I could wait on for all eternity, howbeit I should
never get my soul's desire, so being He were glorified! I would wish
my pain and my ministry could live long to serve Him; for I know that
I am a clay vessel, and made for His use. Oh, if my very broken sherds
could serve to glorify Him! I desire Christ's grace to be willingly
content, that my hell (excepting His hatred and displeasure, which I
put out of all play, for submission to this is not called for) were a
preaching of His glory to men and angels for ever and ever! When all
is done, what can I add to Him? or what can such a clay-shadow as I
do? I know that He needeth not me. I have cause to be grieved, and to
melt away in tears, if I had grace to do it (Lord, grant it to me!),
to see my Well-beloved's fair face spitted upon by dogs, to see loons
pulling the crown off my royal King's head; to see my harlot-mother
and my sweet Father agree so ill, that they are going to skail and
give up house. My Lord's palace is now a nest of unclean birds. Oh, if
harlot, harlot Scotland would rue upon her provoked Lord, and pity her
good Husband, who is broken with her whorish heart! But these things
are hid from her eyes.
I have heard of late of your new trial by the Bishop of Galloway.[246]
Fear not clay, worms' meat. Let truth and Christ get no wrong in your
hand. It is your gain if Christ be glorified; and your glory to be
Christ's witness. I persuade you, that your sufferings are Christ's
advantage and victory; for He is pleased to reckon them so. Let me
hear from you. Christ is but winning a clean kirk out of the fire; He
will win this play. He will not be in your common for any charges ye
are at in His service. He is not poor, to sit in your debt; He will
repay an hundred-fold more, it may be, even in this life.
The prayers and blessings of Christ's prisoner be with you.
Your brother, in his sweet Lord Jesus,