Children--come close. Let us hold hands and gather round the fire.
This story must be told in the twilight, while the room is all dark
except for the dim glow of the coals. Then, if a few tears do run down
our cheeks--no one will see them. And presently the lamp will come in,
the darkness will vanish, and the story will end happily--as most
stories do if we could only carry them on far enough. What makes the
sadness to us, often, is that we only see such a little bit of the
way.
This is the story of a man who made terrible mistakes, and suffered a
terrible punishment. But, through his sufferings, and perhaps even
through the great mistakes he made, he learned some lessons that he
might never have learned in any other way. His name was James Nayler.
He was born in 1616, and was the son of a well-to-do farmer in
Yorkshire. He was 'educated in good English,' and learned to write and
speak well. His early life seems to have been uneventful. At the age
of 22 he married, and settled near Wakefield with his young wife,
Anne. After a few years of happy married life, the long dispute
between King Charles and his Parliament finally broke out into Civil
War. The old peaceful life of the countryside was at an end.
Everywhere men were called upon to take sides and to arm. James Nayler
was one of the first to answer that call. He enlisted in the
Parliamentary Army under Lord Fairfax, and spent the next nine or ten
years as a soldier. Under General Lambert he rose to be quartermaster,
and the prospect of attaining still higher military rank was before
him when his health broke down and he was obliged to return home.
A little later he made a friend. One eventful Sunday in 1652 'the Man
in Leather Breeches' visited Wakefield, and came to the
'Steeple-house' where Nayler had been accustomed to worship with his
family. Directly the sermon was finished, all the people in the church
pointed at the Stranger, and called him to come up to the priest. Fox
rose, as his custom was, and began to 'declare the word of life.' He
went on to say that he thought the priest who had been preaching had
been deceiving his hearers in some parts of his sermon. Naturally the
priest who had spoken did not like this, and although some of the
congregation agreed with Fox, and felt that 'they could have listened
to him for ever,' most of the people hated the Stranger for his words.
They rushed at Fox, punching and beating him; then, crying, 'Let us
have him in the stocks!' they thrust him out of the door of the
church. Once in the cool fresh air, however, the crowd became less
violent. Their mood changed. Instead of hustling their unresisting
visitor through the town and clapping him into the stocks, they loosed
their hold of him and suffered him to go quietly away.
As he departed, George Fox came upon another group of people assembled
at a little distance. These were the men and women who had listened to
him gladly in church, who now wished to hear more of the new truths he
had been declaring. Among them was James Nayler, a man older than
Fox, who had been convinced by him a year earlier. This second visit,
however, clinched Nayler's allegiance to his new friend. Possibly,
having been a soldier himself, he began by admiring Fox's courage.
Here was a man who refused to strike a single blow in self-defence. He
was apparently quite ready to let the angry mob do what they would,
and yet in the end he managed to quell their rage by the force of his
own spiritual power. The Journal simply says that a great many people
were convinced that day of the truth of the Quaker preaching, and that
'they were directed to the Lord's teaching _in themselves_.'
Hereupon the priest of the church became very angry. He spread abroad
many untrue stories about Fox, saying that he 'carried bottles with
him, and made people drink of them and so made them follow him and
become Quakers.'
At Wakefield, also, in those days, as well as farther North,
'enchantment' was the first and simplest explanation of anything
unusual. This same priest also said that Fox rode upon a great black
horse, and was seen riding upon it in one county at a certain time,
and was also seen on the same horse and at the very same time in
another county sixty miles away.
'With these lies,' says Fox, 'he fed his people, to make them think
evil of the truth which I had declared amongst them. But by those lies
he preached many of his hearers away from him, for I was travelling on
foot and had no horse; which the people generally knew.'
James Nayler at any rate decided to become one of Fox's followers, and
let the priest do his worst. It may have been at his house that
George Fox lodged that night, thankful for its shelter, having slept
under a hedge the night before. When Fox left, Nayler did not go with
him, but remained quietly at home. Having been a farmer's son before
he became a soldier, he quietly returned to his farming when he left
the army. One day in early spring, a few months after Fox's visit, as
James Nayler was driving the plough and thinking of the things of God,
he heard a Voice calling to him through the silence, telling him to
leave his home and his relations, for God would be with him. At first
James Nayler rejoiced exceedingly because he had heard the Voice of
God, but when he considered how much he would have to give up if he
left home, he tried to put the command aside. Nothing that he
undertook prospered with him after this; he fell ill and nearly died,
till at last he was made willing to surrender his own will utterly and
go out, ready to do God's will, day by day and hour by hour, as it
should be revealed to him. 'And so he continued, not knowing one day
what he was to do the next; and the promise of God that He would be
with him, he found made good to him every day.' These are his own
words. His inward guidance led him into the west of England, and there
he found George Fox.
After this Nayler and Fox were often together. Sometimes Nayler would
take a long journey to see Fox when he was staying with his dear
friends at Swarthmoor. Sometimes they wrote beautiful letters to each
other. Here is one from Nayler to Fox that might have been written to
us to-day:
'Dear hearts, you make your own troubles by being unwilling and
disobedient to that which would lead you safe. There is no way but to
go hand in hand with Him in all things, running after Him without fear
or considering, leaving the whole work only to Him. If He seem to
smile, follow Him in fear and love, and if He seem to frown, follow
Him and fall into His will, and you shall see He is yours still,--for
He will prove His own.'
[Illustration: 'THE VOICE OF THE SILENCE']
Nayler's adventurous journey with Fox to Walney Island must have drawn
their friendship closer than ever. In spite of hardships these were
happy days as they went about the country together on God's errands.
But these days came to an end.
You see, Nayler had not found his faith after a long struggle as
George Fox had done. Perhaps he had accepted it a little too easily,
and too confidently, in his own strength. He was a splendid, brilliant
preacher, and he loved arguing for his new belief in public. Once, in
Derbyshire, in an argument with some ministers, he got so much the
best of it that the crowd was delighted and cried out, 'A Nailer, a
Nailer hath confuted them all.'
Another time, when he was attending a meeting at a Friend's house, he
says that 'hundreds of vain people continued all the while throwing
great stones in at the window, but we were kept in great peace
within.' It would be rather difficult to sit quite still and 'think
meeting thoughts' with large stones flying through the windows, would
it not?
Once, when I was at a service on board ship, a few years ago, a
tremendous wave broke through the port-hole and splashed the kneeling
men and women on that side of the saloon. They were so startled that
nearly all of them jumped, and one called out quite loudly, 'Oh,
what's that?' But the clergyman went on quietly reading the service,
and very soon everything became still and quiet again.
James Nayler also continued to give his message of stillness and calm,
and the gathered people, listening to him intently, forgot to think
about the stones. He must have had a great deal of that strange
quality that we call magnetism. Just as a magnet attracts bits of iron
to it, so some people have the power of attracting others to listen to
them and love them. Fox was the most powerful magnet of all the Quaker
preachers. He attracted people in thousands all over the country. But
Nayler seems to have had a great deal of magnetism too, though it was
of a different kind. For one thing he was handsomer to look at than
Fox. He is described as 'of ruddy complexion and medium height, with
long, low hanging brown hair, oval face, and nose that rose a little
in the middle: he wore a small band close to his collar, but no band
strings, and a hat that hung over his brows.'
But it would have been happier for him if he had not been so
good-looking, as you will see presently. He must have had much charm
of manner, too. A court lady, Abigail, Lady Darcy, invited him to her
house to preach, and there, beside all the people who had assembled to
hear him, many other much grander listeners were also present although
unseen, 'lords, ladies, officers, and ministers.'
These great people, not wishing it to be known that they came to
listen to the Quaker preacher, were hidden away behind a ceiling.
Nayler himself must have known of their presence, since he mentions
it in a letter, though he does not explain how a ceiling could be a
hiding-place. He spoke to them afterwards of the Voice that had called
him as he was ploughing in the fields at home. These fine lords and
ladies could not understand what he meant. 'A Voice, a Voice?' they
asked him, 'but did you really hear it?' 'Aye, verily, I did hear it,'
he replied in such solemn tones that they wondered more than ever what
he meant; and perhaps they began to listen too for the Inner Voice.
The discovery that he, a humble Quaker preacher, could attract all
this attention did James Nayler harm. Instead of remembering only the
thankfulness and joy of being entrusted with his Master's message, he
allowed small, lower feelings to creep into his heart: 'What a good
messenger I am! Don't I preach well? Far grander people throng to hear
me than to any other Quaker minister's sermons!'
Another temptation came to him through his good looks. He was
evidently getting to think altogether too much about himself. It was
James Nayler this and James Nayler that, far too much about James
Nayler. Also, some of his friends were foolish, and did not help him.
The interesting thing about James Nayler is that his chief temptations
always came to him through his good qualities. If he had been a little
duller, or a little uglier, or a little stupider, if he had even made
fewer friends, he might have walked safely all his life. As it was,
instead of listening only to the Voice of God, he allowed himself to
listen to one of the most dangerous suggestions of the Tempter. Nayler
began to think that he might imitate Jesus Christ not only in inner
ways, not only by trying to be meek and loving and gentle and
self-sacrificing, as He was to all the people around Him. That is the
way we may all try to be like Him. Nayler also tried to imitate Him in
outer ways. He found a portrait of the Saviour and noticed how He was
supposed to have worn His hair and beard; and then he arranged his own
hair and beard in the same way. He even attempted to work miracles
like those in the Gospel story. He tried to fast as Christ had done,
'He ate no bread but one little bit for a whole month, and there was
about a fortnight ... he took no manner of food, but some days a pint
of white wine, and some days a gill mingled with water.' This was when
he was imprisoned in Exeter Gaol with many other Quakers. One woman
among them fainted and became unconscious, and she believed she had
been brought back to life by Nayler's laying his hand on her head and
saying, 'Dorcas, arise.'
Some of his friends and the other women in the prison were foolish and
silly. Instead of helping Nayler to serve God in lowliness and
humility, they flattered his vanity, and encouraged him to become yet
more vain and presumptuous. They even knelt before him in the prison,
bowing and singing, 'Holy, holy, holy.' Some one wrote him a wicked
letter saying, 'Thy name shall be no more James Nayler, but Jesus'!
Nayler confessed afterwards that 'a fear struck him' when he received
that letter. He put it in his pocket, meaning that no one should see
it. But though Nayler did not himself encourage his friends in their
wicked folly, still he did not check them as he should have done. He
thought that he was meant to be a 'sign of Christ' for the world. He
was weak in health at the time, and had suffered much from
imprisonment and long fasting; so it can be said in excuse that his
mind may have been clouded, and that perhaps he did not altogether
understand what was being done.
The real sadness of this story is that we cannot excuse him
altogether. Some of the blame for the silly and foolish and wicked
things that were done around him does, and must, belong to him too. He
ought to have known and to have forbidden it all from the beginning.
George Fox and the other steady Friends of course did not approve of
these wild doings of James Nayler and his friends. George Fox came to
see James Nayler in prison at Exeter, and reproved him for his errors.
James Nayler was proud and would not listen to rebukes, though he
offered to kiss George Fox at parting. But Fox, who was 'stiff as a
tree and pure as a bell,' would not kiss any man, however much he
loved him, who persisted in such wrong notions. The two friends parted
very sorrowfully, and with a sad heart Fox returned to the inn on
Exeter Bridge. Not all the 'Seven Stars' on its signboard could shine
through this cloud.
After this, things grew worse. Nayler persisted in his idea that he
was meant, in his own life, and in his own body, to imitate Jesus
Christ outwardly, and the women persisted in their wild acting round
him. When Nayler and his admirers came to Bristol, in October 1656,
they arranged a sort of play scene, to make it like the entry of Jesus
into Jerusalem. One man, bareheaded, led Nayler's horse, and the women
spread scarves and handkerchiefs in the way before him, as they had no
palms. They even shouted 'Hosanna!' and other songs and hymns that
they had no business to sing except in the worship of God.
They meant it to be all very brilliant and triumphant. But it was
really a miserable sort of affair, for the rain came down heavily, and
the roads were muddy and dirty, which made the whole company wet and
draggled. Still it was not the rain that mattered,--what mattered most
was that none of them can have had the sunshine of peace in their
hearts, for they must have known that they were doing wrong.
Anyhow the magistrates of the city of Bristol had no manner of doubt
about that. As soon as the foolish, dishevelled, excited company
reached the city they were all clapped into gaol, which was perhaps
the best place to sober their excited spirits. The officers of the law
were thoroughly well pleased. They had said from the first that George
Fox was a most dangerous man, and that the Quakers were a misguided
people to follow him. Now the folly and wickedness of Nayler and his
company gave them just the excuse they were wanting to prove that they
had been right all along.
James Nayler was taken to London, tried, found guilty, and sentenced
to savage punishments. He was examined at length by a Committee of
Parliament. Just before his sentence was pronounced he said that he
'did not know his offence,' which looks as if his mind really had been
clouded over when some of the things he was accused of were done. But
this was not allowed to be any excuse. 'You shall know your offence by
your punishment' was the only answer he received. The members of
Oliver Cromwell's second Parliament who dealt with Nayler's case were
not likely to be lenient to any man, who, like Nayler, had done wrong
and allowed himself to be led astray. His Commonwealth judges showed
him no mercy indeed. When Nayler heard his terrible sentence, he
listened calmly, and said, 'God has given me a body: God will, I hope,
give me a spirit to endure it. I pray God He may not lay it to your
charge.' This shows that he had learned really to share his Master's
Spirit, which is the only true way of imitating Him.
The punishments were cruel and vindictive. They lasted through many
weeks. Half way through, many 'persons of note' signed a petition to
ask that he might be allowed to miss the rest of the penalties, owing
to his enfeebled condition. In spite of this, the whole barbarous
sentence was carried out. James Nayler bore it unflinchingly. I am
only going to tell you one or two of the cruel things that were done
to him--and those not the worst. He was sentenced to have the letter
'B' burned on his forehead with a hot iron. 'B' stands for
'Blasphemer,' and it was to show everybody who saw him, wherever he
came, that he had been found guilty of saying wicked things about God.
The worst part of this punishment must have been knowing in his heart
that the accusation was, more or less, true.
There he stood before the Old Exchange in London, on a bitter December
day, in the presence of thousands of spectators. He bore not only the
branding with a red-hot iron on the forehead until smoke arose from
the burning flesh, but also other worse tortures with 'a wonderful
patience.' The crowd, who always assembled on such occasions, were
touched by his demeanour. Instead of jeering and mocking, as they
were accustomed to do to criminals, all these thousands of people
lifted their hats in token of respect, and remained standing
bareheaded as they watched him in his agony. It is said that 'he
shrinked a little when the iron came upon his forehead,' yet on being
unbound he embraced his executioner. One faithful friend, Robert Rich,
who had done his utmost to save Nayler from this terrible punishment,
stood with him on the pillory and held his hand all through the
burning, and afterwards licked the wounds with his tongue to allay the
pain. 'I am the dog that licked Lazarus' sores,' Robert Rich used to
say, alluding to that terrible day. Long years after, when he was an
old man with a long white beard, he used to walk up and down in
Meeting in a long velvet gown, still repeating the story of his
friend's sufferings and of his patience.
* * * * *
After this punishment Nayler was sent down to Bristol to undergo the
rest of his sentence there. He was made to enter the city again in
deepest humiliation, no longer with excited followers shouting
'Hosanna!' before him, but seated on a horse _facing to the tail_,
with the big 'B' burned on his forehead for all men to see--and then
he was publicly whipped.
Yet in spite of all the pain and shame he must have been happier in
one way during that sorrowful return to Bristol than at his former
entrance to the city, for he must have had more true peace in his
heart.
Now, at last, comes the happy end of this sad story. There is no need
to sit over the fire in the darkness any longer. We can dry our eyes
and light the lamps--for it is not sorrowful really. James Nayler's
mistakes and sufferings had not been wasted. They had made him more
really like his Master, and his worst troubles were now over.
He still lay in prison for two years more, but he was allowed ink and
paper, and he wrote many beautiful letters acknowledging that he had
done wrong, confessing his sin, and praising God even for the
sufferings which had shown him his error. He says in one place, 'the
provocation of that time of temptation was exceeding great against the
pure love of God; yet He left me not; for after I had given myself
under that power, and darkness was above, my adversary so prevailed,
that all things were turned and so perverted against my right seeing,
hearing, or understanding; only a secret hope and faith I had in my
God whom I had served, that He would bring me through it, and to the
end of it, and that I should again see the day of my redemption from
under it all; and this quieted my soul in my greatest tribulation.'
And again, 'Dear brethren--My heart is broken this day for the offence
that I have occasioned to God's truth and people....
'And concerning you, the tender plants of my Father, who have suffered
through me, or with me, in what the Lord hath suffered to be done with
me, in this time of great trial and temptation; the Almighty God of
love, Who hath numbered every sigh, and put every tear in His bottle,
reward it a thousandfold into your bosoms, in the day of your need,
when you shall come to be tried and tempted; and in the meantime
fulfil your joy with His love, which you seek after. The Lord knows,
it was never in my heart to cause you to mourn, whose suffering is my
greatest sorrow that ever yet came upon me, for you are innocent
herein.' After this, at last he was set free. The first thing he did
was to try to return home to his wife and children. It is said that
'he was a man of great self-denial, and very jealous of himself ever
after his fall and recovery. At last, departing from the city of
London, about the latter end of October 1660, towards the north,
intending to go home to his wife and children at Wakefield in
Yorkshire, he was seen by a Friend of Hertford (sitting by the wayside
in a very awful, weighty frame of mind), who invited him to his house,
but he refused, signifying his mind to pass forward, and so went on
foot as far as Huntingdon, and was observed by a Friend as he passed
through the town, in such an awful frame, as if he had been redeemed
from the earth, and a stranger on it, seeking a better country and
inheritance. But going some miles beyond Huntingdon, he was taken ill
(being as 'tis said) robbed by the way, and left bound: whether he
received any personal injury is not certainly known, but being found
in a field by a countryman toward evening, was had, or went to a
Friend's house at Holm, not far from King's Ripton, where Thomas
Parnell, a doctor of physic, dwelt, who came to visit him; and being
asked, if any Friends at London should be sent for to come and see
him; he said, "Nay," expressing his care and love to them. Being
shifted, he said, "You have refreshed my body, the Lord refresh your
souls"; and not long after departed this life in peace with the Lord,
about the ninth month, 1660, and the forty-fourth year of his age, and
was buried in Thomas Parnell's burying-ground at King's Ripton
aforesaid.'
'I don't call that a happy ending. I call it a very sad ending indeed!
What could be worse? To sit all alone by the roadside, and then
perhaps to be robbed and bound, or if not that, at any rate to be
taken ill and carried to a stranger's house to die. That is only a
sorrowful ending to a most sorrowful life.'
Is this what anyone is thinking?
Ah, but listen! That is not the real end. It is said that 'about two
hours before his death he spoke in the presence of several witnesses'
these words:
'There is a spirit which I feel, that delights to do no evil, nor to
revenge any wrong, but delights to endure all things, in hope to enjoy
its own in the end: its hope is to outlive all wrath and contention,
and to weary out all exaltation and cruelty, or whatever is of a
nature contrary to itself. It sees to the end of all temptations: as
it bears no evil in itself, so it conceives none in thoughts to any
other: if it be betrayed it bears it, for its ground and spring is the
mercies and forgiveness of God: its crown is meekness, its life is
everlasting love unfeigned, and takes its kingdom with entreaty, and
not with contention, and keeps it by lowliness of mind: in God alone
it can rejoice, though none else regard it, or can own its life: it is
conceived in sorrow, and brought forth without any to pity it; nor
doth it murmur at grief and oppression: it can never rejoice but
through sufferings; for with the world's joy it is murdered: I found
it alone, being forsaken; I have fellowship therein with them who
lived in dens, and desolate places in the earth, who through death
obtained this resurrection and eternal holy life.'
That is why this story has a happy ending. A made-up story might have
left James Nayler at home with his wife and children. But, after all
he had suffered, he may have been too tired to bear much joy on earth.
Besides, how could he have borne for those dear ones to see the
condemning 'B' burned on his forehead? and the other scars and signs
of his terrible punishments, how could they have borne to see them?
Was it not better that the end came as it did by the roadside near
Huntingdon?
Only remember always, that what we call the end is itself only the
beginning.
Think how thankful James Nayler must have been to lay down the tired,
scarred body in which he had sinned and suffered, while his spirit,
strengthened, purified, and cleansed by all he had endured, was set
free to serve in the larger, fuller life beyond. James Nayler's
difficult school-days were over at last on this little earth, where we
are set to learn our lessons. Like the other prodigal son he had gone
to receive his own welcome from the Father's heart in the Father's
Home.
* * * * *
Why have I told you this story--'the saddest story of all'? A parable
will explain it best. Imagine that ever since the beginning of Time
there has been a great big looking-glass with the sun shining down
upon it. Then imagine that that looking-glass has been broken up into
innumerable fragments, and that one bit is given to each human soul,
when it is born on earth, to keep and to hold at the right angle, so
that it can still reflect the sun's beams. That is something like the
truth that George Fox discovered for himself and preached all over
England. He called it the doctrine of 'The Inner Light.' To all the
hungering, thirsting, sinful, ignorant men and women in England he
gave the same message: 'There is that of God within you, that can
reflect Him. You can hear His Voice speaking in your hearts'; or, to
continue the parable, 'If you hold your own little bit of
looking-glass in the sunlight it will, it must, reflect the Sun.'
James Nayler listened to this message, accepted it, and rejoiced in
it. He did truly turn to the Light. But he forgot one thing that must
never be forgotten. He looked too much at his own tiny bit of
looking-glass and too little at the Sun. In this way the mirror of his
soul grew soiled and stained and dim. It could no longer reflect the
Light faithfully. Then, it had to be cleansed by suffering. But all
this time, and always, the Sun of God's unchanging love was steadily
shining, waiting for him to turn to it again. Let us too look up
towards that Sun of Love. Let us open our hearts wide to receive its
light. Then we shall find that we have not only a mirror in our hearts
but also something alive and growing; what George Fox would call the
'Seed.' Sometimes he calls it the 'Seed,' and sometimes the 'Light,'
because it is too wonderful for any picture or parable to express it
wholly. But we each have 'that of God within' that can reflect and
respond to Him, if we will only let it. Let us try then to open our
hearts wide, wide, to receive, and not to think of ourselves. If we do
this, sooner or later we shall learn to live and grow in the sunshine
of God's love, as easily and naturally as the daisies do, when they
spread their white and golden hearts wide open in the earthly
sunshine on a summer's day.
* * * * *
James Nayler did learn that lesson at last, and therefore even this,
'the saddest story of all,' really and truly has a happy end.