at all times, but more especially under circumstances of great
privation and danger, both soothes and elevates his disciples. They
fear not to die in the tranquillity of their own homes or the raging
of the tempest, on the scaffold or the battle-field."
"I will not attempt to deny a fact which general testimony confirms;
but permit me to ask, if you can assign any rational cause for what
appears to me so mysterious?"
"I can; the fact admits of a fair explanation. Those who have faith
in Christ believe that, though invisible, He is ever near them to
succour and to comfort them. Hence, the sailor, when pacing the deck
during the dark and stormy night, prays to HIM, who, when sailing
with his disciples, rebuked the winds and the waves; and he feels
that he is addressing one who hears him, and can save him. Yes! and
in the dreary cell of tyranny--at the stake of martyrdom--in penury,
suffering, and in death--the name of Jesus is uttered with thrilling
accents, and awakens associations which have tenfold greater power
over the soul than the kindest expressions of human sympathy
and love. I was an eye-witness, not long since, to a display of
Christian heroism in death:--A young man, of superior intelligence
and station in life, who had been rather sceptically inclined, was
taken ill, and during his continued illness his sceptical notions
vanished, and he became a simple believer in Christ Jesus. After the
lapse of some months, his physician told him he must die, as his
disease was beyond the reach of human skill. I was present when this
announcement was made, and he received it without expressing either
surprise or regret. When his medical attendant withdrew, he said to
his mother and his sisters, who stood weeping by his bedside--'I am
not surprised by your tears, for I know you love me; but weep not
for me, for I am nearing the end of my course. My confidence of a
glorious issue is placed on HIM, who is mighty to save; he is with
me, though I see him not. Death's dark vale is illumined with the
light of life, and I shall soon pass through it, and then I shall be
safe and happy for ever.'"
"Most marvellous! and yet I believe it. Such incidents as these are
most impressive. We are mysterious beings, alternately terrified by
our own imaginary fears, and excited to ecstasy by the illusions of
our own fancy."
"But the extinction of Christianity and its sacred records might
prove a great disaster to you sceptics; especially at some of the
turning points of your history."
"To us! you now really take me by surprise; but, to be serious, how
do you make this out?"
"Why, it is well known that sceptics, when in expectation of death,
often call on Jesus Christ to save them."
"A drowning man will catch at a straw."
"He would prefer a life-boat."
"True."
"I ask you one plain question--If you lived on a dangerous coast,
would you ever scuttle a life-boat which has rescued many from
destruction, and which possibly you may live to need?"
"I see your drift, and admire your ingenuity. Of course, I would
not."
"Well, I will venture on another supposition, and leave you to
decide whether I am not right in my conjectures, that even you,
with all your antipathies to Jesus Christ, may be surprised in
circumstances which would render the sound of his name the most
effectual solace that could be given. Suppose, for instance, we were
walking together in some vast forest in the far northern part of
America, and saw advancing toward us a band of apparently ferocious
savages, should we not tremble with fear and apprehension? But
suppose, while in this state of terror, we should hear them singing
in chorus a verse of some familiar hymn, would you then recoil in
terror? Would you experience additional consternation on perceiving
that these barbarians had been instructed in the Christian faith?"
"I like your illustrations--they amuse me. Can't you favour me with
another?"
"I will try. Suppose you were sailing among the islands of the South
Seas, and, when nearing one of them, would you not rather see the
natives on the beach clothed in European dresses, as at Tahiti and
Raratonga, than in a state of savage nudity? and would you hesitate
to drop anchor if you heard them singing in harmony--
'Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
Does his successive journeys run:
His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,
Till moons shall wax and wane no more.'"
"In arguing," said Mr. Gordon, "there is nothing more desirable than
a good illustration, which gives pleasure, even when it does not
produce conviction. Well, then, I will admit that there is a strange
fascinating power in a name, and in mental associations, for which
our most sagacious philosophers are unable to account; but that's
no reason why I should give it my sanction, if I believe, as I do
in these cases, that it springs out of a superstitious belief; and,
therefore, leaving the sailor in the storm, and the prisoner in the
cell, with the rest of your illustrative examples, and not caring
to conjecture how I should act or feel if I were placed in such
circumstances as you describe, I certainly, according to my present
views and impressions, would vote for the expulsion of Christianity,
if my suffrage could bring about such an event; but I fear that it
is too deeply fixed in the prejudices of the public mind ever to be
rooted up--at least in our time."
"But would you not tremble in anticipation of the success of such
an effort? Expel Christianity from the earth! Why, what evil has
she done? You may trace her progress by the improved condition
of the people whom she has visited and blessed. Where she finds
a wilderness, she leaves a fruitful field for the sickle of the
husbandman; she meets with briars and thorns, and converts them into
the myrtle tree and the rose; she encounters all the base lusts and
ferocious dispositions of our nature, and supplants them with the
tranquillizing affections of purity and peace. She improves the
intellect, refines the taste, and humanizes the character; and,
by raising men to a state of spiritual communion with the Supreme
Being, imprints on them the image of his benevolence, and animates
them with his love of righteousness. She mitigates the violence of
sorrow--binds up the wounds which adversity inflicts in the heart
of man--reconciles the mourner to his bitter loss--disarms death of
his terrors--and exhibits beyond the grave a scene of tranquillity
and of joy which no hand can portray or tongue describe. Expel
Christianity from the earth! Then, Sir, you would give perpetuity to
those horrid systems of idolatry which maintain their dominion over
the great majority of the human race, as no power will ever destroy
them but that which the gospel of Christ displays. Nay, Sir; if you
were to succeed, you would prove the greatest enemy to man that ever
visited the earth since the author of all evil triumphed over our
first parents: for how many thousands would you, by such a wanton
act of cruelty, deprive of their sweetest sources of consolation,
and their brightest prospects of happiness!"
"You are eloquently severe; but, my dear Sir, you may spare your
severity, as it is not likely that I shall ever make the attempt,
and less likely that I should succeed, were I vain, or, to quote
your own language, wanton and cruel enough to do it. I willingly
admit that Christianity has done some good, but you must allow
that she has done some evil; and it is but fair to balance the one
against the other, to see which preponderates. If she has promoted
peace in one country, she has planned massacres in others; if she
has blessed one family, she has introduced discord and division into
others; and if there are a few solitary individuals animated by her
promises of mercy, there is a larger number who tremble under the
awful denunciations of her vengeance."
"Her promises of mercy are addressed to all, and all are invited
to receive the blessings which she is willing to bestow; but if
they disdainfully reject them, and treat her message of grace with
contempt, she turns away, and announces their approaching doom;
and she does this in a tone, and with a lofty majesty of speech,
which often makes the most daring quail before her. But why do they
tremble, if they believe she has no power to punish? Your other
charges against her I will meet by a quotation from a book[14] which
I wish you would peruse, and which I shall be happy to present to
you:--
"That men calling themselves Christians have persecuted others
with unrelenting cruelty, and have shed rivers of innocent
blood, is but too true. Did Christianity countenance this
conduct, it would merit unqualified reprobation. But far from
such a disposition, it forbids all violence and injury to be
employed in its defence. Christianity never shed a drop of its
enemies' blood since the day that Christ died on the cross; but
it has been lavish of its own. It never forged a chain to bind
a heretic or an adversary, nor erected a prison to immure him.
Christianity never dipped her pen in tears of blood, to write a
penal law denouncing vengeance on infidels. She never made her
bitterest foe heave a groan, from any bodily suffering inflicted
by her hands. Her only weapons of offence and defence are truth
and prayer. She returns good for evil, and blessing for cursing.
"If men, wearing the garb of the disciples of Jesus, instigated
by pride, and the lust of dominion, and a desire to gratify
the worst passions of the human heart, injure any of the human
race under a pretence of zeal for religion, they act in direct
opposition to the gospel, and you cannot condemn them with too
much severity. But surely Christianity should not be condemned
for what it forbids men to perpetrate under pain of the Divine
displeasure. Or if such as were truly Christians ever sought
to put a stop to infidelity or error, and to propagate the
gospel in the world by force (and it is to be deplored with
tears of blood that such there have unhappily been), they will
receive no more thanks from Christ than the three disciples when
they wished him to bring down fire from heaven to destroy the
Samaritans:--'Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of: the
Son of man came not to destroy men's lives, but to save them.'
Nor would he account the words, which he directed to Peter on a
different occasion, too severe to be used to them here:--'Get
thee behind me, Satan, thou art an offence unto me; for thou
savourest not the things which be of God, but the things which
be of men.' Both the principles and precepts of the gospel,
and the conduct of Christ and his apostles, are as remote from
persecution as the east is from the west."
[14] Dr. Bogue's Essay on _The Divine Authority of the New Testament_.]
"I admire the candid and amiable spirit of the writer, and will
certainly read his book, if only from respect to the friendship
which dictates the present; but I will not flatter you with any hope
of bringing me over to your belief. However, waiving all personal
remarks, allow me to ask you if you really believe that Christianity
will ever become a universal religion? and, if so, how do you think
it will be propagated through the earth?"
"That it is _adapted_ to become a universal religion, no one
can doubt who has ever inquired into its nature and design, or
who has ever read the history of its progress. It is suited to
man as a rebellious subject of the Divine government; and it has
been embraced by men of every rank, of every clime, and of every
description of character. Hence, if you could bring together, in
one place, some natives of Europe, Africa, Asia, and America,
or from any of the islands or cities which belong to either of
these great divisions of the earth; and could, by some miraculous
influence, impart to them the power of speaking the same language,
you would find them all, if they had embraced the pure faith of
Christ, giving utterance to the same sentiments--expressing the
same feelings--exulting in the same prospects--and disclosing all
the peculiarities of the same singular and extraordinary spiritual
character."
"But, Sir, if this hypothetical statement be correct, how will you
account for the endless divisions which prevail amongst those who
are known to embrace the same Christian faith?"
"You ought, Sir, to distinguish between a real and a nominal
Christian; and though I will not deny but there are diversities of
opinion even amongst real Christians, yet they relate to minor and
subordinate questions. Consider Christianity as coming from God--it
is pure and unspeakably good; view it as received by men--it will
be, as the schoolmen say, _secundum modum recipientis_. If the
difference of capacity, and the prejudices and passions of mankind
be duly weighed, we shall not account it strange if they do not
all think alike, nor receive the truth in all its purity. But this
is not peculiar to the Christian religion. There are divisions and
dissensions in matters of religion among pagan idolaters, among
Mahometans, and among Deists. You cannot deny it. But the Deist does
not consider this as a reason for rejecting Deism. If so, neither
is it a reason for rejecting Christianity. More particularly,
some men are destitute of every noble principle--they are full
of deceit, avarice, pride, and sensuality. We see them abuse the
gifts of nature, and of Providence; is it wonderful, then, if they
pervert Christianity too, and entertain different ideas of many of
its doctrines from wise and godly men? It is no more an objection
against Christianity being from God, because such persons come
short of its purity, than against the gifts of nature and other
temporal blessings being from God, because they are often abused.
Weakness of intellect will produce peculiarities of sentiment on
every subject, and, consequently, on religion. The prejudices of
education and early habits will generate attachments to certain
opinions and rites; hence, also, differences in religion will arise;
but the fault is not in Christianity, it is in man. From similar
causes we see a diversity of opinion among the learned regarding
sciences of great utility--medicine, law, politics, philosophy;
but, notwithstanding this, all allow them to be highly beneficial
to mankind--none deny their usefulness, although people differ
about some particular points. To reject the gospel, because bad men
pervert it, and weak men deform it, and angry men quarrel about it,
displays the same folly as if a person should cut down a useful tree
because caterpillars disfigured its leaves, and spiders made their
webs among its branches."
"I have no objection at present to offer to this fair explanation of
the difficulty which has often perplexed me; but you will permit me
to refer you to my former question--Do you think that Christianity
will ever be universally established?"
"I do, Sir; and my belief is founded on the following basis.
Christianity is adapted for a universal religion; it foretells the
fact of its universal establishment; its disciples are commanded by
the Lord Jesus Christ to seek its universal propagation; and it is
now spreading itself with unexampled rapidity through the nations
of the earth. You cannot, Sir, but be conscious that the aspect of
the times indicates some approaching change in the destinies of man;
and though you, on your principles, cannot hail any redeeming power
by which the curse that inflicts such mighty evils on suffering
humanity can be rolled away, yet we can on ours; and hence, while
you are left to speculate on the charms of a philosophy which has
never ameliorated the moral condition of man, we can speak with
confidence of the intervention of _Him_, who will turn the curse
into a blessing, and make this earth the abode of purity, of
harmony, and of bliss."
"But how do you expect this great and mysterious change to be
brought about?"
"Not by force. That has been tried by short-sighted rulers in former
times, and has utterly failed. Conversion to Christianity which
is effected by such means produces no change in the human heart.
The _man_ remains the same, though his professed belief may vary.
The circulation of the Scriptures, the distribution of religious
treatises, and the preaching of the gospel, are the only means which
we employ to accomplish this great design. But, even when these
means are used in the most judicious manner, we do not calculate
on accomplishing the purpose which we have in view without the
influence of a supernatural co-operation; for it is not by the power
of man that the demon of superstition, or the Moloch of idolatry is
to be dethroned, and Christianity established, but by the Spirit of
the Lord."
"I rather admire your dexterity in avoiding, _on principle_, the
mortification attendant on any failure in your pious efforts in
behalf of the perishing heathen."
"I don't quite understand you."
"Why, you say, your success is dependent on the concurrence of a
supernatural power; and, consequently, if you fail in your pious
undertaking, you lay the blame on the inactivity of this supposed
preternatural influence, never for a moment doubting your own
sagacity, or questioning the efficacy of the means which you employ."
"If you examine the theory of the Christian faith, you will find
that, in every moral operation, this concurrence of supernatural
power with human agency forms an essential part of it. 'Man sows the
seed of truth, it is God who gives the increase.'"
"As such a theory must tend to limit exertion, and depress an ardent
mind, it strikes me that it is an ingenious invention to provide a
pleasant solace in the season of disappointment, which, I believe,
has its periodical visitations in your ecclesiastic annals."
"It has analogy in its favour. We eat and drink to sustain life, but
the efficacy of the nourishment to sustain life depends on God. The
farmer casts the seed into the soil, but it is God who causes it to
grow and yield its increase. His confidence in God gives a stimulus
to his own exertions."
"Well, I won't dispute this point with you; but, after all, does it
not tend to discourage your pious exertions, when you believe that
a successful issue is dependent on an influence which you cannot
control, and over which you have no power?"
"No. It has a contrary effect, as in the case of the husbandman.
We look upon ourselves as mere active instruments employed in
accomplishing the Divine purpose of grace and mercy in behalf of
the perishing heathen; and the established law of the economy of
our faith and practice is embodied in the following record of
inspiration:--'For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from
heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and
maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower,
and bread to the eater; so shall my word be that goeth forth out of
my mouth: it shall not return unto me void; but it shall accomplish
that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I
sent it. For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace:
the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into
singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands'
(Isa. lv. 10-12)."
"I bow before such an ingenious theory of faith; but still entertain
my doubts. Patience must still hold on, or you will abandon me in
despair."
"I will continue to hope, even against hope; because I know there is
an unseen power which is capable of effecting such a transformation,
as I devoutly trust may yet be accomplished in you."
THE EFFECT OF A WORD SPOKEN IN SEASON.
Not long after I had returned home, and was again busily engaged
in my pastoral duties, I received a letter, informing me of the
last illness and death of an esteemed friend and occasional
correspondent, Mrs. Hastings. Her history is an interesting one, and
aptly illustrates the effect of a word spoken in season.
"You must often," says Dr. Chalmers, "have been sensible, in
the course of your history, how big, and how important the
consequences were, that emanated from one event, which in itself
was insignificant--how on the slightest accidents the greatest
interests were suspended--how, moving apparently at random, you met
with people, or with occasions, that gave rise, perhaps, to far the
most memorable passages in your life--how the very street in which
you chanced to move, brought you into contact with invitations and
appointments, or proposals of some sort, which brought results of
magnitude along with them; insomuch that the colour and direction
of your whole futurity have turned on what, apart from this mighty
bearing, would have been the veriest trifle in the world. A word--a
thought--an unforeseen emotion--an event of paltriest dimensions in
itself--may be the germ of an influence wide as a continent, and
lasting as a thousand years--may, in fact, change the current and
complexion of a person's social history and character, and lead to
consequences which shall be durable as eternity."
Many years ago, I was unexpectedly called to London, on a matter
of great emergency. My travelling companion, for part of the way,
was a lady, attired in deep mourning. I endeavoured to draw her
into conversation, by referring to the beautiful scenery, and other
common-place topics, but I could not succeed. At length, on seeing
her drop a tear, which she endeavoured to conceal, I said, "This
world is rightly denominated a valley of weeping."
"Yes, Sir, it is," replied the stranger. "I hope you will excuse my
weakness. I have sustained the greatest loss that can ever befall a
woman. I am a widow. I had one of the best of husbands; but cruel
fate tore him from me, even without permitting me to see him, till
his corpse was rudely exposed before me."
She then told me that her husband left her early one morning to go
out shooting, but, on passing through a hedge, it is supposed, the
trigger of his gun got entangled in the briars, as he was found, an
hour after the report had been heard, lying on his face, with his
gun by his side, and his dogs crouching before and behind him, as
though their master was asleep.
"Since that fatal hour, Sir, I have not had one pleasant feeling
in my desolate heart; and now I have left a spot on which nature
has lavished her beauties, to seek a tranquil death in some distant
shade."
"But, Madam, do you never expect to see another happy day?"
"No, Sir, never! No, never! I have tried every expedient in my
power, but they have all failed. I have been to Bath, to Cheltenham,
to Brighton, and have travelled on the Continent. I have read the
most popular novels of the English and the French schools; but all
is useless--mine is a hopeless case."
"No, Madam, it may not be hopeless. I can direct you to a source of
consolation which you have not yet thought of."
"Indeed, Sir; then I'll try it. I would freely part with wealth for
mental ease; for wealth, without happiness, is but an aggravation of
misery."
"I would recommend you, Madam, to read the Bible. That book was
composed for the express purpose of promoting our happiness; and
if you read it with attention, and pray for wisdom to understand
it, and for a disposition to receive the truths which it reveals,
you will find that it will do you more essential good than all the
expedients which you have been trying."
"If, Sir, I had not received a favourable impression of your
benevolent disposition, I really should imagine that you were
disposed to turn my intense grief into ridicule. Read the Bible!
Why, Sir, what is there in that obsolete book to interest me?"
"No, Madam; the book is not obsolete, and never will be, as long
as human misery abounds in the world. That book has healed wounds
as deep as yours, and mitigated sorrows no less poignant; and, if
you examine it, you may find it as a well-spring of life to your
withered happiness."
"Your advice, Sir, is prompted, I have no doubt, by the kindest
sympathy; but my heart instinctively recoils from adopting it."
"Why, Madam?"
"Because I cannot conceive how the reading of a book, which I have
always regarded as a collection of legendary tales, can remove or
assuage such sorrows as wring my spirit. I have neither faith nor
taste for such reading."
"Have you ever read the Bible, Madam?"