'_Is not this a brand plucked from the burning?_'--it was John Wesley's
text. To the end of his days John Wesley preserved the picture of the
fire at the old rectory, the fire from which he, as a child of six, was
only rescued in the nick of time. And, underneath the picture, John
Wesley had written with his own hand the words: '_Is not this a brand
plucked from the burning?_'
'_Is not this a brand plucked from the burning?_'--it was John
Fletcher's text. John Wesley thought John Fletcher, the Vicar of
Madeley, the holiest man then living. 'I have known him intimately for
thirty years,' says Mr. Wesley. 'In my eighty years I have met many
excellent men; but I have never met his equal, nor do I expect to find
such another on this side of eternity.' From what source did that
perennial stream of piety spring? 'When I saw that all my endeavors
availed nothing,' says Mr. Fletcher, in describing his conversion, 'I
almost gave up hope. But, I thought, Christ died for _all_; therefore He
died for _me_. He died to pluck such sinners as I am _as brands from the
burning_! I felt my helplessness and lay at the feet of Christ. I cried,
coldly, yet, I believe, sincerely, "Save me, Lord, _as a brand snatched
out of the fire_! Stretch forth Thine almighty arm and save Thy lost
creature by free, unmerited grace!"'
'_Is not this a brand plucked from the burning?_'--it was Thomas
Olivers' text. Thomas Olivers was one of Wesley's veterans, the author
of the well-known hymn, 'The God of Abraham praise.' He went one day to
hear George Whitefield preach. The text was, '_Is not this a brand
plucked from the burning?_' 'When the sermon began,' he says, 'I was
certainly a dreadful enemy to God and to all that is good, and one of
the most profligate and abandoned young men living; but, by the time it
was ended, I was become a new creature. For, in the first place, I was
deeply convinced of the great goodness of God towards me in all my life;
particularly in that He had given His Son to die for me. I had also a
far clearer view of all my sins, particularly my base ingratitude
towards Him. These discoveries quite broke my heart and caused showers
of tears to trickle down my cheeks. I was likewise filled with an utter
abhorrence of my evil ways, and was much ashamed that I had ever walked
in them. And, as my heart was thus turned from all that is evil, so it
was powerfully inclined to all that is good. It is not easy to express
what strong desires I felt for God and His service; and what resolutions
I made to seek Him and serve Him in the future. In consequence of this,
I broke off all my evil practices, and forsook all my wicked and foolish
companions without delay. I gave myself up to God and His service with
my whole heart. Oh, what reason have I to say, "_Is not this a brand
plucked from the burning?_"'
'_Is not this a brand plucked from the burning?_'--it was Stephen
Grellet's text. Writing of his conversion, he says that 'the awfulness
of that day of God's visitation can never cease to be remembered by me
with peculiar gratitude as long as I possess my mental faculties. I am
_as a brand plucked from the burning_; I have been rescued from the
brink of a horrible pit!'
V
And it was Henry Martyn's text! '_Is not this_,' he cried, as he entered
the ministry, and again as he entered the mission field, '_is not this a
brand plucked from the burning?_'
_A brand that might have perished in the general destruction!_
_A brand seen, and prized, and rescued!_
_A brand at whose blaze other flames might be lit!_
_A brand plucked from the burning!_
'Oh, let me burn out for my God!' he cries, still thinking of the brand
plucked from the flames. He plunges, like a blazing torch, into the
darkness of India, of Persia and of Turkey. He leaves the peoples whom
he has evangelized the Scriptures in their own tongues. Seven short
years after he left England, he dies all alone on a foreign strand. 'No
kinsman is near to watch his last look or receive his last words. No
friend stands by his couch to whisper comforting words, to close his
eyes or wipe the death-sweat from his brow.' In the article of death, he
is alone with his Lord. The brand plucked from the blaze has soon burned
out. But what does it matter? At its ardent flame a thousand other
torches have been ignited; and the lands that sat so long in darkness
have welcomed the coming of a wondrous light!