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In Answer to Prayer
By
THE RIGHT REV. THE BISHOP OF
RIPON, THE REV. DR. CUYLER,
THE REV. DR. JOHN WATSON
("IAN MACLAREN"), THE REV.
CANON KNOX LITTLE, MR.
WILLIAM QUARRIER, MR. L. K.
SHAW, THE REV. DR. HORTON,
THE REV. H. PRICE HUGHES, THE
REV. DR. CLIFFORD, AND
THE DEAN OF SALISBURY
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
1899
_PREFATORY NOTE_
_The following pages were originally written for the SUNDAY MAGAZINE.
In their present form it is hoped that they will reach another and not
less appreciative public._
_Although Dr. Watson's contribution is of a character quite distinct
from the other papers, it treats of a phase of religious experience so
closely allied to that of answered prayer that it seems in the present
collection to serve as a stage of transition from the sphere of the
unseen and spiritual to that of the visible and tangible._
CONTENTS
IN ANSWER TO PRAYER
PAGE
By the Right Rev. W. BOYD CARPENTER, Lord Bishop of Ripon 11
By the Rev. THEODORE L. CUYLER, D.D., of New York 19
By the Rev. JOHN WATSON, M.A., D.D. ("Ian Maclaren") 27
By the Rev. Canon KNOX LITTLE, M.A. 39
By Mr. WILLIAM QUARRIER, of Glasgow 49
By Mr. LEONARD K. SHAW, of Manchester 67
By the Rev. R. F. HORTON, M.A., D.D. 75
By the Rev. H. PRICE HUGHES, M.A. 89
By the Rev. J. CLIFFORD, M.A., D.D. 101
By the Very Rev. G. D. BOYLE, M.A., Dean of Salisbury 119
I
BY THE RIGHT REV.
W. BOYD CARPENTER, D.D.
LORD BISHOP OF RIPON
I have been asked to write some thoughts on answers to prayer. I am
afraid that I cannot give from personal experience vivid and striking
anecdotes such as others have chronicled. God does not deal with all
alike, either in His gifts of faith or in those of experience. We differ
also in the use we make of His gifts. But if I mistake not the object of
these papers is not merely to gather together an array of startling
experiences, but rather to unite in conference on the great subject of
prayer and the answers to prayer.
No doubt every Christian spirit holds within his memory many cherished
experiences of God's dealings with him, and these must touch the
question of prayer. But the greater part of these experiences belong to
that sanctuary life of the soul which, rightly or wrongly, we keep
veiled from the world. There are some matters which would lose their
charm if they were made public property. There is a reticence which is
of faith, just as there may be a reticence which is of cowardice or
unfaith. But like the little home treasures, which we only open to look
upon when we are alone, so are some of the secret treasures of inward
experiences. Nevertheless, none of us can have lived and thought without
meeting with a sort of general confirmation or otherwise of the efficacy
of prayer; and though I cannot chronicle positive and striking examples,
I can say what I have known.
I have known men of a naturally timid and sensitive disposition who have
grown at moments lion-like in courage, and they would tell you that
courage came to them in prayer. I have known one man, who found himself
face to face with a duty which was unexpected and from which he shrank
with all his soul. I have known that such a one has prayed that the duty
might not be pressed upon him, and yet that, if it were, he might be
given strength to fulfil it. The duty still confronted him. In trembling
and in much dismay he undertook it; and when the hour came, it found him
calm and equable in spirit, neither dismayed nor demoralised by fears.
Such a one might not tell of great outward answers to prayer; but inward
answers are not less real. At any rate, the Psalmist chronicled an
answer such as this when he wrote: "In the day when I cried Thou
answeredst me and strengthenedst me with strength in my soul" (Psalm
cxxxviii. 3).
There is, further, a paradox of Christian experience which may be noted.
The soul which waits upon God finds out sooner or later that the prayers
which seem to be unanswered are those which may be most truly answered.
For what is the answer to prayer which the praying heart looks for?
There is no true prayer without the proviso--Nevertheless not what I
will, but what Thou wilt. In other words, there is no true prayer
without reliance upon the greater wisdom and greater love of Him to whom
we pray. Thus it is that God's answer may not be the answer as we looked
for it. We form our expectations: they take shape from our poor little
limited surroundings; but the prayer in its spirit may be wider than we
imagine. To answer it according to our expectations might be not to
answer it truly. To answer it according to our real meaning--_i.e._,
according to our spiritual desire--must be the true answer to prayer.
One illustration will suffice. A man, pressed by difficulty and
straitness, may pray that he may be moved to some place of greater
freedom and ease. He thinks that he ought to move elsewhere. He prays
for guidance and the openings of God's providence. In a short time a
vacant post presents itself: he applies for it, it is just the thing he
wished for. He continues his prayers. The post is given to another. His
prayers have not been answered: such is his conclusion; but is not the
answer really--"Not yet--not yet--wait awhile. My grace is sufficient
for thee"? He waits; he leaves his life in God's hands. After an
interval another opening occurs, and almost without an effort he is
moved to the vacant place. It is this time, perhaps, not the kind of
place he thought of; it is less interesting, it is more onerous, it
fills him with fear as he undertakes its duties. He has prayed, but the
answer came not as he wished or thought or hoped. The years go by. He
looks back from the vantage-ground of distance. He can measure his life
in better proportions. He sees now that the movements of his life have a
deep meaning. He perceives that to have gone where he wished to have
gone, and even where he prayed to be placed, would have been to miss
some of the best experiences and highest trainings of this life. He
begins to realise that there is not a spot which he has visited, not a
place where he has toiled, which has not brought to him lessons that
have been most helpful, nay, even needful, in his later life. He sees
that God has sent him here or there to fit him for work which, unknown
and unexpected in his earlier days, the future was to bring.
The least-answered prayer may be the most-answered. It is the
realisation that experiences fit us for the duties of later life which
yields to us the assurance that in the deepest sense our seemingly
disregarded prayers have been most abundantly remembered before God.
Thus, indeed, we can enter into the spirit of familiar words and
acknowledge concerning each prayer that it is
"Goodness still,
Which grants it or denies."
And so it may come to pass in later life that our specific petitions for
this or that thing may grow fewer. We may realise more and more our own
ignorance in asking. We may rely more and more on the divine wisdom in
giving. Even in the case of others we may recognise the unwisdom of
asking many things on their behalf. Our love would tenderly shield them
from rough winds and bitter hours. We pray that the divine love would
spare them dark days; and yet, are the prayers well prayed? Does God not
lead souls through darkness into light? Is not the Valley of the Shadow
the precursor of the table of love which God spreads? Can the head be
anointed with God's kingly oil which has not been bowed down in the
darkness? Ah! how little we know! how short-sighted we are! And how
great and full and strong God's love is! And, this being so, may not
experience bring us larger trust and lesser prayers--not less, indeed,
in intensity, not less in the wrestling of spirit; not less in the
striving to reach nearer to God's will, but less in the number and
specific character of our petitions? To put it another way--the
petitions are fewer because the prayer is deeper and truer.
"Not my weak longings, Lord, fulfil,
But rather do Thy perfect will,
For I am blind and wish for things
Which granted bring heart-festerings.
Let me but know that I am blind,
Let me but trust Thee wondrous kind."
II
BY THE REV.
THEODORE L. CUYLER, D.D.
OF NEW YORK
All of God's mighty men and women have been mighty in prayer. When
Martin Luther was in the mid-valley of his conflict with the man of sin
he used to say that he could not get on without three hours a day in
prayer. Charles G. Finney's grip on God gave him a tremendous grip on
sinners' hearts. The greatest preacher of our times--Spurgeon--had
pre-eminently the "gift of the knees;" the last prayer I ever heard him
utter (at his own family worship) was one of the most wonderful that I
ever listened to; it revealed the hiding of his power. Abraham Lincoln
once said: "I have been driven many times to my knees by the
overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go; my own wisdom and
that of all around me seemed insufficient for the day."
But what is prayer? Has every prayer power with God? Let us endeavour to
get some clear ideas on that point. Some people seem to regard prayer as
the rehearsal of a set form of solemn words, learned largely from the
Bible or a liturgy; and when uttered they are only from the throat
outward. Genuine prayer is a believing soul's _direct converse with_
God. Phillips Brooks has condensed it into four words--a "true wish sent
Godward." By it, adoration, thanksgiving, confession of sin, and
petition for mercies and gifts ascend to the throne, and by means of it
infinite blessings are brought down from heaven. The pull of our prayer
may not move the everlasting throne, but--like the pull on a line from
the bow of a boat--it may draw us into closer fellowship with God, and
fuller harmony with His wise and holy will.
1. This is the first characteristic of the prayer that has power:
"Delight thyself in the Lord and He shall give thee the desires of thy
heart." A great many prayers are born of selfishness and are too much
like dictation or command. None of God's promises are unconditional; and
we have no such assets to our credit that we have a right to draw our
cheques and demand that God shall pay them. The indispensable quality of
all right asking is a _right spirit toward our heavenly Father_. When a
soul feels such an entire submissiveness towards God that it delights in
seeing Him reign, and His glory advanced, it may fearlessly pour out its
desires; for then the desires of God and the desires of that sincere
submissive soul will _agree_. God loves to give to them who love to let
Him have His way; they find their happiness in the chime of their own
desires with the will of God.
James and John once came to Jesus and made to Him the amazing request
that He would place one of them on His right hand and the other on His
left hand when He set up His imperial government at Jerusalem! As long
as these self-seeking disciples sought only their own glory, Christ
could not give them the askings of their ambitious hearts. By-and-by,
when their hearts had been renewed by the Holy Spirit, and they had
become so consecrated to Christ that they were in complete chime with
Him, they were not afraid to pour out their deepest desires. James
declares that, if we do not "ask _amiss_," God will "give liberally."
John declares that "whatsoever we ask, we receive of Him, because we
keep His commandments and do those things that are pleasing in His
sight." Just as soon as those two Christians found their supreme
happiness in Christ and His cause they received the desires of their
hearts.
2. The second trait of prevailing prayer is that it aims at a mark, and
knows what it is after. When we enter a store or shop we ask the
salesman to hand us the particular article we want. There is an
enormous amount of pointless, prayerless praying done in our devotional
meetings; it begins with nothing and ends nowhere. The model prayers
mentioned in the Bible were short and right to the mark. "God be
merciful to me a sinner!" "Lord, save me!" cries sinking Peter. "Come
down, ere my child die!" exclaims the heart-stricken nobleman. Old
Rowland Hill used to say, "I like short, ejaculatory prayer; it reaches
heaven before the devil can get a shot at it."
3. In the next place, the prayer that has power with God must be a
_prepaid_ prayer. If we expect a letter to reach its destination we put
a stamp on it; otherwise it goes to the Dead-letter Office. There is
what may be called a Dead-prayer Office, and thousands of well-worded
petitions get buried up there. All of God's promises have their
conditions; we must comply with those conditions, or we cannot expect
the blessings coupled with the promises. No farmer is such an idiot as
to look for a crop of wheat unless he has ploughed and sowed his fields.
In prayer, we must first be sure that we are doing our part if we
expect God to do His part. There is a legitimate sense in which every
Christian should do his utmost for the answering of his own prayers.
When a certain venerable minister was called on to pray in a missionary
convention he first fumbled in his pocket, and when he had tossed the
coin into the plate he said, "I cannot pray until I have given
something." He prepaid his prayer. For the Churches in these days to
pray, "Thy kingdom come," and then spend more money on jewellery and
cigars than in the enterprise of Foreign Missions, looks almost like a
solemn farce. God has no blessings for stingy pockets. When I hear
requests for prayer for the conversion of a son or daughter, I say to
myself, How much is that parent doing to win that child for Christ? The
godly wife who makes her daily life attractive to her husband has a
right to ask God for the conversion of that husband; she is co-operating
with the Holy Spirit, and prepaying her heart's request. God never
defaults; but He requires that we prove our faith by our works, and that
we never ask for a blessing that we are not ready to labour for, and to
make any sacrifice to secure the blessing which our souls desire.
4. Another essential of the prayer that has power with God is that it be
the prayer of faith, and be offered in the name of Jesus Christ.
"Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the Father may
be glorified in the Son." The chief "wrestling" that we are to do is not
with any reluctance on God's part; it is with the obstacles which sin
and unbelief put in our pathway. What God orders we must submit to
uncomplainingly; but we must never submit to what God can better. Never
submit to be blocked in any pious purpose or holy undertaking if, with
God's help, you can roll the blocks out of your pathway. The faith that
works while it prays commonly conquers; for such faith creates such a
condition of things that our heavenly Father can wisely hear and help
us. Oh, what a magnificent epic the triumphs of striving, toiling,
victorious faith make! The firmament of Bible story blazes with answers
to prayer, from the days when Elijah unlocked the heavens on to the days
when the petitions in the house of John Mark unlocked the dungeon, and
brought liberated Peter into their presence. The whole field of
providential history is covered with answered prayers as thickly as
bright-eyed daisies cover our Western prairies. Find thy happiness in
pleasing God, and sooner or later He will surely grant thee the desires
of thy heart.
III
BY THE REV.
JOHN WATSON, M.A., D.D.
("IAN MACLAREN")
During the course of my ministry, and especially of recent years, I have
been moved to certain actions for which there seemed no reason, and
which I only performed under the influence of a sudden impulse. As often
as I yielded to this inward guidance, and before the issue was
determined, my mind had a sense of relief and satisfaction, and in all
distinct and important cases my course was in the end most fully
justified. With the afterlook one is most thankful that on certain
occasions he was not disobedient to the touch of the unseen, and only
bitterly regrets that on other occasions he was callous and wilful or
was overcome by shame and timidity. What seem just and temperate
inferences from such experiences will be indicated after they have been
described, and it only remains for me to assure my readers that they are
selected from carefully treasured memories, and will be given in as full
and accurate detail as may be possible in circumstances which involve
other people and one's own private life.
It was my privilege, before I came to Sefton Park Church, to serve as
colleague with a venerable minister to whom I was sincerely attached and
who showed me much kindness. We both felt the separation keenly and kept
up a constant correspondence, while this good and affectionate man
followed my work with spiritual interest and constant prayer. When news
came one day that he was dangerously ill it was natural that his friend
should be gravely concerned, and as the days of anxiety grew, that the
matter should take firm hold of the mind. It was a great relief to
learn, towards the end of a week, that the sickness had abated, and
when, on Sunday morning, a letter came with strong and final assurance
of recovery the strain was quite relaxed, and I did my duty at morning
service with a light heart. During the afternoon my satisfaction began
to fail, and I grew uneasy till, by evening service, the letter of the
morning counted for nothing.
After returning home my mind was torn with anxiety and became most
miserable, fearing that this good man was still in danger and, it might
be, near unto death. Gradually the conviction deepened and took hold of
me that he was dying and that I would never see him again, till at last
it was laid on me that if I hoped to receive his blessing I must make
haste, and by-and-by that I had better go at once. It did not seem as if
I had now any choice, and I certainly had no longer any doubt; so,
having written to break two engagements for Monday, I left at midnight
for Glasgow. As I whirled through the darkness it certainly did occur
to me that I had done an unusual thing, for here was a fairly busy man
leaving his work and going a long night's journey to visit a sick
friend, of whose well-being he had been assured on good authority. By
every evidence which could tell on another person he was acting
foolishly, and yet he was obeying an almost irresistible impulse.
The day broke as we climbed the ascent beyond Moffat, and I was now only
concerned lest time should be lost on the way. On arrival I drove
rapidly to the well-known house, and was in no way astonished that the
servant who opened the door should be weeping bitterly, for the fact
that word had come from that very house that all was going well did not
now weigh one grain against my own inward knowledge.
"He had a relapse yesterday afternoon, and he is ... dying now." No one
in the room seemed surprised that I should have come, although they had
not sent for me, and I held my reverend father's hand till he fell
asleep in about twenty minutes. He was beyond speech when I came, but,
as we believed, recognised me and was content. My night's journey was a
pious act, for which I thanked God, and my absolute conviction is that I
was guided to its performance by spiritual influence.
Some years ago I was at work one forenoon in my study, and very busy,
when my mind became distracted and I could not think out my sermon. It
was as if a side stream had rushed into a river, confusing and
discolouring the water; and at last, when the confusion was over and the
water was clear, I was conscious of a new subject. Some short time
before, a brother minister, whom I knew well and greatly respected, had
suffered from dissension in his congregation and had received our
sincere sympathy. He had not, however, been in my mind that day, but now
I found myself unable to think of anything else. My imagination began to
work in the case till I seemed, in the midst of the circumstances, as if
I were the sufferer. Very soon a suggestion arose and grew into a
commandment, that I should offer to take a day's duty for my brother.
At this point I pulled myself together and resisted what seemed a
vagrant notion. "Was such a thing ever heard of,--that for no reason
save a vague sympathy one should leave one's own pulpit and undertake
the work of another, who had not asked him and might not want him?" So I
turned to my manuscript to complete a broken sentence, but could only
write "Dear A. B." Nothing remained but to submit to this mysterious
dictation and compose a letter as best one could, till the question of
date arose. There I paused and waited, when an exact day came up before
my mind, and so I concluded the letter. It was, however, too absurd to
send; and so, having rid myself of this irrelevancy, I threw the letter
into the fire and set to work again; but all day I was haunted by the
idea that my brother needed my help. In the evening a letter came from
him, written that very forenoon, explaining that it would be a great
service to him and his people if I could preach some Sunday soon in his
church, and that, owing to certain circumstances, the service would be
doubled if I could come on such and such a day; and it was my date! My
course was perfectly plain, and I at once accepted his invitation under
a distinct sense of a special call, and my only regret was that I had
not posted my first letter.
One afternoon, to take my third instance, I made up my list of sick
visits and started to overtake them. After completing the first, and
while going along a main road, I felt a strong impulse to turn down a
side street and call on a family living in it. The impulse grew so
urgent that it could not be resisted, and I rang the bell, considering
on the doorstep what reason I should give for an unexpected call. When
the door opened it turned out that strangers now occupied the house, and
that my family had gone to another address, which was in the same street
but could not be given. This was enough, it might appear, to turn me
from aimless visiting, but still the pressure continued as if a hand
were drawing me, and I set out to discover their new house, till I had
disturbed four families with vain inquiries. Then the remembrance of my
unmade and imperative calls came upon me, and I abandoned my fruitless
quest with some sense of shame. Had a busy clergyman not enough to do
without such a wild-goose chase?--and one grudged the time one had lost.
Next morning the head of that household I had yesterday sought in vain
came into my study with such evident sorrow on his face that one
hastened to meet him with anxious inquiries. "Yes, we are in great
trouble; yesterday our little one (a young baby) took very ill and died
in the afternoon. My wife was utterly overcome by the shock and we would
have sent for you at the time but had no messenger. I wish you had been
there--if you had only known!"
"And the time?"
"About half-past three."
So I had known, but had been too impatient.
Many other cases have occurred when it has been laid on me to call at a
certain house, where there seemed so little reason that I used to invent
excuses, and where I found some one especially needing advice or
comfort; or I called and had not courage to lead up to the matter, so
that the call was of no avail, and afterwards some one has asked whether
I knew, for she had waited for a word. Nor do I remember any case where,
being inwardly moved to go after this fashion, it appeared in the end
that I had been befooled. And so, having stated these facts out of many,
I offer three inferences.
(1) That people may live in an atmosphere of sympathy which will be a
communicating medium. When some one appears to read another's thoughts,
as we have all seen done at public exhibitions, it was evidently by
physical signs, and it served no good purpose. It was a mechanical gift
and was used for an amusement. _This_ is knowledge of another kind,
whose conditions are spiritual and whose ends are ethical. Between you
and the person there must be some common feeling; it rises to a height
in the hour of trouble; and its call is for help. The correspondence
here is between heart and heart, and the medium through which the
message passes is love.
(2) That this love is but another name for Christ, who is the head of
the body; and here one falls back on St. Paul's profound and
illuminating illustration. It is Christ who unites the whole race, and
especially all Christian folk, by His incarnation. Into Him are gathered
all the fears, sorrows, pains, troubles of each member, so that He feels
with all, and from him flows the same feeling to other members of the
body. He is the common spring of sensitiveness and sympathy, who
connects each man with his neighbour and makes of thousands a living
organic spiritual unity.
(3) That in proportion as one abides in Christ he will be in touch with
his brethren. If it seem to one marvellous and almost incredible that
any person should be affected by another's sorrow whom he does not at
the moment see, is it not marvellous, although quite credible, that we
are so often indifferent to sorrow which we do see? Is it not the case
that one of a delicate soul will detect secret trouble in the failure
of a smile, in a sub-tone of voice, in a fleeting shadow on the face?
"How did he know?" we duller people say. "By his fellowship with Christ"
is the only answer. "Why did we not know?" On account of our hardness
and selfishness. If one live self-centred--ever concerned about his own
affairs, there is no callousness to which he may not yet descend; if one
live the selfless life, there is no mysterious secret of sympathy which
may not be his. Wherefore if any one desire to live in nervous touch
with his fellows, so that their sorrows be his own and he be their quick
helper, if he desire to share with Christ the world burden, let him open
his heart to the Spirit of the Lord. In proportion as we live for
ourselves are we separated from our families, our friends, our
neighbours; in proportion as we enter into the life of the Cross we are
one with them all, being one with Christ, who is one with God.
IV
BY THE REV.
W. KNOX LITTLE, M. A.
CANON OF WORCESTER
Prayer is a comprehensive word and includes, in fact, all communion
between the soul and God. It is, however, commonly used to mean the
asking for benefits from God. Christians believe that prayer _is_ a
power, that it does act in the fulfilment of God's purposes, and that
the results of prayer are real results, not only in the spiritual, but
also in the physical world. This is no mere matter of opinion, it is
part of the Christian faith. For better, for worse, however difficult
the doctrine may appear, the Church is committed to it. As in the case
of other difficult doctrines, such as the resurrection of the body for
instance, she, so to speak, "stakes her reputation" on loyalty to this
truth.
The power of prayer is, of course, a mystery, _i.e._, a truth, but a
truth partly concealed, partly plain. To deal with it, therefore, in a
mathematical temper rather than a moral temper is absurd if not wrong.
Mathematical demonstration cannot be given for moral truth, and is in
fact out of court. The bent of mind formed by constant scientific
research--good as it is in its own province--sometimes unfits men for
moral and theological research. In this way the "difficulties of prayer"
are often exaggerated. (1) It is said God knows already; why tell Him?
The same objection would apply to many a request on earth. (2) It is
said God fore-sees; why try to influence what He knows is sure to be?
This objection applies to all our actions; to follow out this we should
not only not pray, but also never do anything. We are in face of a
mystery. A little humility and obedience to revelation helps us out. It
has been truly said that when a practical and a speculative truth are in
apparent collision, we must remember our ignorance of a good many
things, and act with the knowledge which is given us, on the practical
truth.
Prayer, we may remember, is not to change the holy counsels of the
Eternal, but to accomplish those ends for which it is an appointed
instrument. Anyhow, this is certain, the abundant promises to faithful
and persevering prayer are kept, and--where God sees it to be good for
us--they are kept to the letter. The following are examples which come
within the knowledge of the writer of this paper.
A family, consisting of a number of children, had been brought up by
parents who had very "free" ideas as to the divine revelation and the
teaching of the Church. The children, varying in age from seven or
eight, to one or two and twenty years, had, one way or another, been
aroused to the teaching of Scripture and desired to be baptised. The
father point-blank refused to permit it. The older members of the family
consulted a clergyman. He felt strongly the force of the fifth
commandment and advised them not to act in haste, to realise that
difficulties do frequently arise from conflicting duties, and above all
to pray. The clergyman asked a number of devout Christians to make the
matter a subject of prayer. They did. In about three weeks the father
called upon this very clergyman and asked him to baptise his children.
The clergyman expressed his astonishment, believing that he was opposed
to it. The father answered that that was true, but he had changed his
mind. He could not say precisely why, but he thought his children ought
to be baptised. They were; and he, by his own wish, was present and most
devout at the administration of the sacrament of baptism.
A few years ago, a clergyman in London had been invited to visit a
friend for one night in the country in order to meet an old friend whom
he had not seen for long. It was bitter winter weather and he decided
not to go. Walking his parish in the afternoon, he believed that a voice
three times urged him to go. He hurriedly changed his arrangements and
went. The snow was tremendously deep, and the house of his friend, some
miles from the railway station, was reached with difficulty. In the
course of the night the clergyman was roused from sleep by the butler,
who begged him to go and visit a groom in the service of the family, who
was ill and "like to die." Crossing a field path with difficulty, as the
snow was very deep, they reached the poor man's house. He had been in
agony of mind and longed to see a clergyman. When it was found
impossible to fetch the nearest clergyman, owing to the impassable state
of the roads, he had prayed earnestly that one might be sent to him. The
poor fellow died in the clergyman's arms in the early morning, much
comforted and in great peace.
A strangely similar case happened more recently. An American gentleman
travelling in Europe was taken suddenly and seriously ill in one of our
northern towns. The day before this happened, a clergyman, who was at a
distance in the country, was seized with a sudden and unaccountable
desire to visit this very town. He had no idea why, but prayed for
guidance in the matter, and finally felt convinced that he must go.
Having stayed the night there he was about to return home, rather
inclined to think himself a very foolish person, when a waiter in the
hotel brought him an American lady's card and said that the lady wished
to see him. He was the only English clergyman of whom she and her
husband had any knowledge. They had happened to hear him preach in
America. She had no idea where he lived, but when her husband was taken
ill she and her daughter had prayed that _he_ might be sent to them. On
inquiry, strange to say, he was found to be in the hotel, and was able
to render some assistance to the poor sufferer, who died in a few hours,
and to his surviving and mourning relatives.
A still more striking instance, perhaps, is as follows: Some years ago
in London a clergyman had succeeded, with the help of some friends, in
opening a "home" in the suburbs to meet some special mission needs. It
was necessary to support it by charity. For some time all went well. The
home at last, however, became even more necessary and more filled with
inmates, whilst subscriptions did not increase but rather slackened. The
lady in charge wrote to the clergyman as to her needs, and especially
drew his attention to the fact that L40 was required immediately to meet
the pressing demand of a tradesman. The clergyman himself was
excessively poor, and he knew not to whom to turn in the emergency. He
at once went and spent an hour in prayer. He then left his house and
walked slowly along the streets thinking with himself how he should act.
Passing up Regent Street, a carriage drew up in front of Madame Elise's
shop, just as he was passing. Out of the carriage stepped a handsomely
dressed lady. "Mr. So-and-so, I think," she said when she saw him. "Yes,
madam," he answered, raising his hat. She drew an envelope from her
pocket and handed it to him, saying: "You have many calls upon your
charity, you will know what to do with that." The envelope contained a
Bank of England note for L50. The whole thing happened in a much shorter
time than it can be related; he passed on up the street, she passed into
the shop. Who she was he did not know, and never since has he learnt.
The threatening creditor was paid. The "home" received further help and
did its work well.
Another example is of a different kind. A person of real earnestness in
religious questions, and one who gave time and strength for advancing
the kingdom of God, some years ago became restless and unsatisfied in
spiritual matters, failing to enjoy peaceful communion with God, and
generally upset and uneasy. The advice of a clergyman was asked, and
after many conversations on the subject, he urged steady earnest prayer
for light, and agreed himself to make the matter a subject of prayer.
Within a fortnight, after an earnest midday prayer, it was declared by
this troubled soul that it had been clearly borne in upon the mind that
the sacrament of baptism had never been received. Enquiry was made, and
after much careful investigation it was found that, while every other
member of a large family had been baptised, in this case the sacrament
had been neglected owing to the death of the mother and the child being
committed to the care of a somewhat prejudiced relative. The person in
question was forthwith baptised, and immediately there was peace and
calmness of mind and a sense of quiet communion with God.
Instances of this kind might be multiplied, but these are, perhaps,
sufficient. "In everything," says the Apostle, "by prayer and
supplication with thanksgiving (the Eucharist) let your requests be made
known unto God." "Cast all your care upon Him, for He careth for you."
The power of the "prayer of faith" is astonishing in its efficacy, if
souls will only put forth that power. I am able to guarantee, from
personal knowledge, the truth and accuracy of the above instances.
V
BY MR.
WILLIAM QUARRIER
OF GLASGOW
For twenty-five years it has been with me a continual answer to prayer.
The first seven of my service were spent in caring for the rough boys of
the streets of Glasgow, but having made a vow, when I was very young,
that if God prospered me I should build houses for orphans, I was not
satisfied with that work among the bigger boys. Being in business,
however, and having a family to maintain, the question of whether I
could do more was a difficult one. I was giving eight hours a day to the
work, and in the Shoe-black Brigade, the Parcels Brigade, and the
Newspaper Brigade had probably about three hundred boys to care for.
While I considered what could be done, a lady from London--Miss
Macpherson--called, and in the course of our talk about the little ones,
she urged that I should attempt something more than I was doing. For
three months I prayed to God for guidance, and in the end resolved that
if He sent me L2000, I should embark in the greater work. Nobody knew of
that resolution; it was a matter between God and myself. If God wanted
me to do more work than I was doing, I felt that He would send me the
L2000, not in portions, but in a solid sum. I was then before the
public, and I wrote a letter to the newspapers pleading that something
more should be done for street children, pointing out that the Poorhouse
and the Reformatory were not the best means of helping child-life, and
urging that something on the Home or Family system was desirable. There
was a strong conviction that God would answer the prayer, and, the
terms of the prayer being explicit, I believed the answer would be as
unmistakable. After waiting thirteen days the answer came. Amongst my
other letters was one from a Scotch friend in London, to the effect that
the writer would, to the extent of L2000, provide me with money to buy
or rent a house for orphan children. When I received that call I felt
that my family interests and my business interests should be second, and
that God's work among the children should be first.
To a business man, it was a call to surrender what you would call
business tact. I had to rise up there and then, and proclaim in the
midst of the commercial city of Glasgow, that from that moment I was to
live by faith, and depend on God for money, wisdom and strength. From
that time forward I would ask no man for money, but trust God for
everything. That L2000 was the first direct answer to prayer for money.
He gave me the utmost of my asking, and I felt that I would need to give
Him the utmost of the power I pledged.
We rented a common workshop in Renfrew Lane--it was very difficult to
get a suitable place--to lodge the children in, and that little place
was the first National Home for Orphans in Scotland, and from it has
sprung what the visitor may see to-day amongst the Renfrewshire hills.
One day, I remember, two boys came in, and we had everything to clothe
them with except a jacket for one of them. The matron, a very godly
woman, said, "We must just pray that God will send what is needed," and
we prayed that He would. That night a large parcel of clothing came from
Dumbarton, and in it was a jacket that fitted the boy as if it had been
made for him. That was a small thing, of course, but if you don't see
God in the gift of a pair of stockings you won't see Him in a gift of
L10,000.
We had thirty children in that Home, and we kept praying that the Lord
would open a place for us somewhere in the country. A friend called on
me and offered to sub-let Cessnock House, with three acres of ground
about it. Cessnock Dock has now absorbed the place, and as it was just
the very spot we wanted, we accepted. We had room for a hundred boys,
and with the help of God we prospered. We had resolved formerly that we
would send children to Canada, but it took L10 per head to send them,
and we were determined not to get into debt. We had only a few pounds in
hand when we took the house in Govan Road, and it took L200 to alter it.
But every night we prayed that the Lord would send money to pay for the
alterations. Sums varying from 5s. to L5 came in, but when the bills
came to be paid we were short L100. A friend not far from one of my
places of business sent for me, and when I called, he said, "How are you
getting on at Cessnock?" I said we were getting on nicely, and that we
had got L100 towards the alterations. He gave me L100, to my
astonishment, for I knew that he could not afford so much, but he said a
relative who died in England had left him a fortune, and the money was
to help me in the work God had given me to do. In that answer you see
how God works mysteriously to accomplish His purpose and help those who
put their trust in Him.
God gives us great help in dealing with the wayward, wilful boys of the
Home. They are generally lads who have known no control; but we are
able, with God's blessing on our efforts, to get them to do almost
anything that is wanted, without strap or confinement or threat. To hear
boys who used to curse and swear praying to God, and to see them helping
other boys in the Home, is to me the most encouraging feature of the
work God has given me to do. Whilst I sought to clothe and educate them,
I left God to deal with them in their spirits; and to-day the result of
the spiritual work amongst the boys and girls of Glasgow exceeds
anything I ever expected.
I still thought of the emigration scheme, and in 1872 we had sixty
children that were able to go to Canada. Of course it meant L600 to send
them, and we had the necessary money except L70 in the end of June. We
prayed on that God would send the balance before the day of sailing, 2nd
July. A friend called at one of my places of business to see me, and
subsequently I had an interview with him. He gave me L50, and said it
was from one who did not wish the name mentioned. "What shall I put it
to?" I asked. "Anything you like," he said. "We are short of L70 for the
emigration of our first band of children to Canada, and if you like I
shall put it to that." "Do so," he said; and as the man left I saw God's
hand in the gift that had been made. When I went home that night I found
amongst my letters one in which was enclosed L10 "to take a child to
Canada," and the post on the following morning brought two five-pound
notes from other friends, making up exactly at the moment it was needed
the sum I had asked God to give.
In addition to the Homes, we carried on mission work amongst the lapsed
masses, and, as in the case of the Homes, we were firmly resolved to do
everything by prayer and supplication. I rented an old church at the
head of the Little Dovehill, just where the Board school stands now, as
a hall, but we did not have the whole of it. At the level of the gallery
another floor had been introduced, and while we occupied the upper flat,
a soap manufacturer occupied the lower. In a way it was a trial of faith
to go up those stairs past the soap work into our hall. We wanted to
open the place free of debt, and the money for the alterations came in
gradually. I remember putting it to the Lord to send a suitable
evangelist if He wished the work to go on. At that time--twenty-four
years ago--we heard a lot of Joshua Poole and his wife, who were having
great blessing in London, and I thought that they were just the people
to reach the working classes. But as I had convictions about women
preaching,--which, by the way, I have not now,--I asked the Lord to send
L50 to cover the expense for a month if it were His will that these
friends should come to Glasgow and preach nightly during that period. I
left it to God to decide whether we should ask these friends or not, and
I had the assurance--the assurance of faith,--that the money would
come. When I went home that night I found that a friend had called at
one of my places of business and left fifty one-pound notes without
knowing my mind and without knowing I needed it.
After that I felt that God was going to work a great work amongst the
lapsed masses of Glasgow, and He did so. For six months we rented the
Scotia Music Hall on Sabbath evenings, and instead of a month the
evangelists were six in the city conducting services every night. When
they left, ten thousand people gathered on the Green to bid them
farewell. Hundreds were led to the Saviour.
After a number of years' work in Glasgow with the Girls' Home, in Govan
with the Boys' Home, and with the Mission premises, the need of a farm
became great. I prayed for money to purchase a farm of about fifty
acres, three miles or so from Glasgow. It was to have a burn running
through it, good drainage, and everything necessary. I was anxious to
get this burn for the children to paddle in and fish in; but I feel now
that at the time I was rebellious against God in fixing the site so
near Glasgow. We visited a dozen places, but the cost was so great that
I was fairly beaten. God had shut up every door.
A friend met me on the street, and asked if I had seen the farm in
Kilmalcolm Parish that was to be sold. I replied that I had not, and
that I considered the place too far away. In talking over the matter, he
persuaded me to go and see the farm, and when I did go, and, standing
where our big central building is now, saw that it had everything I
prayed for,--perfect drainage, and not only the burn, but a river and a
large flat field for a recreation ground,--I said in my heart to the
Lord: "This will do." Ever since I have blessed the Lord for that; my
way was not God's way, and so He shut us in amongst these Renfrewshire
hills, away from the ways of men.
After paying L3,560 for the farm, we had about L1,500 left, and in 1887
we began to build a church and school, to cost L5,000. I told the
contractor that we should stop if the money did not come in; but it
kept coming in, and the work went on. In 1888 I had resolved to go to
Canada with the party of children going out that year, and I saw clearly
that I would need to stop the contractors if I got no more money in the
interval, for I was still L1400 short. Yet I believed the Lord would
send the money before I left in the latter end of May, though the time I
write of was as far on as the middle of the month. I kept praying, and
the assurance was strong that the money would come. Just three days
before the date on which I was to sail, a friend came to me, and said it
had been laid upon his heart to build one of the cottages at
Bridge-of-Weir, but the Lord, he thought, would accept the money for the
central building just as much as though it were put into houses, and he
handed me L1300.
All the money belonging to the Homes and all my own was in the City of
Glasgow Bank when it failed, and hundreds of the givers were involved as
well. On my way up from the Homes on the day of the disaster, a
gentleman met me, and told me the sad news. At the moment I realised
what the news meant for me--my own personal loss and the needs of the
Homes--for that was in September, and our financial year closed in
October. With all our money locked up, to clear the year without debt
would be difficult, but then the promise of God came: "Although the
fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the
labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the
flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the
stalls; yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will joy in the God of my
salvation."
There and then I prayed that God would help me through, and that during
the course of the following year, which I saw would be one of financial
distress all over Scotland, He would double the gifts to us. The result
was that we were able to clear our financial accounts with ease at the
end of October, and in the year following, when every church in
Scotland, and every philanthropic work had less money than they needed,
the Orphan Homes had double what they required. In that God honoured my
trust.
Our first church at Bridge-of-Weir only held four hundred, and by-and-by
it was too small for us. I prayed that the Lord would give us a new
church to hold one thousand people, and to cost something like L5000. We
felt that we would get that money, and that we would get it in one sum
because we had asked God to lay it on the heart of somebody to build the
church. After a year of waiting and praying, a friend came to me in the
street one day, and said, "I'm going to build you that church you want.
Do you know what it will cost?" "Yes," I replied. "L5000" "Well," said
my friend, "you shall get the money when you want it."
It was a new song of praise to God that day, I can tell you, and we went
on to build our church. Now, even it we find too small, and we are
praying to the Lord for L2500 to enlarge the building, and enable us to
accommodate five hundred more worshippers.
I thought that, having got the church, we might, as we were building a
tower to hold the tank for our water supply, also get a clock and chimes
to enliven the village. So we prayed that the Lord would send money for
that purpose. I thought that about L500 or L600 would be sufficient.
While the building was going on, we prayed for the money, and I was
certain it would come. The architect was hurrying me and pointing out
that if the clock and bells were really to go into the tower, the work
must be done at once. I told him there was no fear that the money would
not come. If the money had not come, and the tower was completed, the
placing of the clock and bells at a later period would have mean
practically taking down and rebuilding, because with our water tank in
position, the work would have been impossible. My architect kept
bothering me, but I was sure the money would come, and one night I went
home and found a cheque for L200--L1500 to build a house, and L500 for
the clock and bells. The clock and bells cost L800, and the lady who
sent the money paid the additional L300.