ABERDEEN, _June 16, 1637_.
CLXXXII.--_To his honoured and dear Brother_, ALEXANDER GORDON _of
Knockgray_.
(_JOY IN GOD--TRIALS WORK OUT GLORY TO CHRIST._)
DEAREST AND TRULY HONOURED BROTHER,--Grace, mercy, and peace be to
you. I have seen no letter from you since I came to Aberdeen. I will
not interpret it to be forgetfulness. I am here in a fair prison:
Christ is my sweet and honourable fellow-prisoner, and I His sad and
joyful lord-prisoner,[294] if I may speak so. I think this cross
becometh me well, and is suitable to me in respect of my duty to
suffer for Christ, howbeit not in regard of my deserving to be thus
honoured. However it be, I see that Christ is strong, even lying in
the dust, in prison, and in banishment. Losses and disgraces are the
wheels of Christ's triumphant chariot. In the sufferings of His own
saints, as He intendeth their good, so He intendeth His own glory, and
that is the butt His arrows shoot at. And Christ shooteth not at
rovers, He hitteth what He purposeth to hit; therefore He doth make
His own feckless and weak nothings, and those who are the contempt of
men, "a new sharp threshing instrument, having teeth, to thresh the
mountains, and beat them small, and to make the hills as chaff, and to
fan them" (Isa. xli. 15, 16). What harder stuff, or harder grain for
threshing out, than high and rocky mountains? But the saints are God's
threshing instruments, to beat them all into chaff. Are we not God's
leem vessels? and yet when they cast us over a house we are not broken
into sherds. We creep in under our Lord's wings in the great shower,
and the water cannot come through those wings. It is folly then for
men to say, "This is not Christ's plea, He will lose the wad-set; men
are like to beguile Him:" that were indeed a strange play. Nay, I dare
pledge my soul, and lay it in pawn on Christ's side of it, and be
half-tiner, half-winner with my Master! Let fools laugh the fool's
laughter, and scorn Christ, and bid the weeping captives in Babylon
"sing us one of the songs of Zion, play a spring to cheer up your
sad-hearted God!" We may sing upon luck's-head beforehand, even in our
winter-storm, in the expectation of a summer sun, at the turn of the
year. No created powers in hell, or out of hell, can mar the music of
our Lord Jesus, nor spoil our song of joy. Let us then be glad, and
rejoice in the salvation of our Lord; for faith had never yet cause
to have wet cheeks, and hanging down brows, or to droop or die. What
can ail faith, seeing Christ suffereth Himself (with reverence to Him
be it spoken) to be commanded by it, and Christ commandeth all things?
Faith may dance because Christ singeth; and we may come into the
choir, and lift our hoarse and rough voices, and chirp, and sing, and
shout for joy with our Lord Jesus. We see oxen go to the shambles,
leaping and startling; we see God's fed oxen, prepared for the day of
slaughter, go dancing and singing down to the black chambers of hell;
and why should we go to heaven weeping, as if we were like to fall
down through the earth for sorrow? If God were dead (if I may speak
so, with reverence of Him who liveth for ever and ever), and Christ
buried, and rotten among the worms, we might have cause to look like
dead folks; but "the Lord liveth, and blessed be the Rock of our
salvation" (Ps. xviii. 46). None have right to joy but we; for joy is
sown for us, and an ill summer or harvest will not spill the crop. The
children of this world have much robbed joy that is not well-come. It
is no good sport they laugh at: they steal joy, as it were, from God;
for He commandeth them to mourn and howl (James v. 1). Then let us
claim our leal-come and lawfully conquessed joy.
[294] In Luther's style, he playfully speaks of himself as if raised
to nobility among prisoners.
My dear brother, I cannot but speak what I have felt; seeing my Lord
Jesus hath broken a box of spikenard upon the head of His poor
prisoner, and it is hard to hide a sweet smell. It is a pain to
smother Christ's love; it will be out whether we will or not. If we
did but speak according to the matter, a cross for Christ should have
another name; yea, a cross, especially when He cometh with His arms
full of joys, is the happiest hard tree that ever was laid upon my
weak shoulder. Christ and His cross together are sweet company, and a
blessed couple. My prison is my palace, my sorrow is with child of
joy, my losses are rich losses, my pain easy pain, my heavy days are
holy and happy days. I may tell a new tale of Christ to my friends.
Oh, if I could make a love song of Him, and could commend Christ, and
tune His praises aright! Oh, if I could set all tongues in Great
Britain and Ireland to work, to help me to sing a new song of my
Well-beloved! Oh, if I could be a bridge over a water for my Lord
Jesus to walk upon, and keep His feet dry! Oh, if my poor bit heaven
could go betwixt my Lord and blasphemy, and dishonour! (Upon condition
He loved me.) Oh that my heart could say this word, and abide by it
for ever! Is it not great art and incomparable wisdom in my Lord, who
can bring forth such fair apples out of this crabbed tree of the
cross? Nay, my Father's never-enough admired providence can make a
fair face[295] out of a black devil. Nothing can come wrong to my Lord
in His sweet working. I would even fall sound asleep in Christ's arms,
and my sinful head on His holy breast, while He kisseth me; were it
not that often the wind turneth to the north, and whiles my sweet Lord
Jesus is so that He will neither give nor take, borrow nor lend with
me. I complain that He is not social; I half call Him proud and lordly
of His company, and nice of His looks, which yet is not true. It would
content me to give, howbeit He should not take. I should be content to
want His kisses at such times, providing He would be content to come
near-hand, and take my wersh, dry, and feckless kisses. But at that
time He will not be entreated, but let a poor soul stand still and
knock, and never let-on him that He heareth; and then the old
leavings, and broken meat, and dry sighs, are greater cheer than I can
tell. All I have then is, that howbeit the law and wrath have gotten a
decreet against me, I can yet lippen that meikle good in Christ as to
get a suspension, and to bring my cause in reasoning again before my
Well-beloved. I desire but to be heard, and at last He is content to
come and agree the matter with a fool, and forgive freely, because He
is God. Oh, if men would glorify Him, and taste of Christ's sweetness!
[295] "Feast" is in most editions.
Brother, ye have need to be busy with Christ for this whorish kirk; I
fear lest Christ cast water upon Scotland's coal. Nay, I know that
Christ and His wife will be heard: He will plead for the broken
covenant. Arm you against that time.
Grace be with you.
Yours, in his sweet Lord Jesus,