and be at ease; but there are other times we could particularly mention,
when trouble abounds—as Job expresses it, “Thou breakest me with breach
upon breach;” or, as David says, “Deep calleth unto deep, but the Lord
will command his loving kindness in the day-time.” This was my
experience from the 1st of January, 1813, to the 12th of July. No sooner
had the year commenced, but having occasion to pass through
Blackfriars-road, I saw in the shop-window of a printer and bookseller,
an infamous and daringly-printed paper, including the fac-simile of a
letter said to have been written by me to an awful character; in which I
had included a guinea, to assist him. This piece of effrontery hurt my
mind, but I was enabled to bear it, and preached a sermon the same
evening, on “They shall call his name Emanuel, God with us.” The above
letters were bought by hundreds, friends and foes: I took no notice of
it, and presently came out many editions, with great additions. Soon
after this every corner of the streets and every lamp-post had a placard
posted, with these elegant words, in capital letters, “JOHN CHURCH,
INCARNATE DEVIL,” and these were interlined with many awful scriptures,
against uncleanness of every description; {86} but this failing of its
intended plan, to rouse public indignation, another method was resorted
to. Some pretendedly pious young men were employed to read these papers,
with an audible voice, at the Obelisk, on Sunday mornings, as the
Congregation were coming to chapel; this was going out into the highways,
indeed, and gathering as they could, some good and some bad—the effect
was, many disputes amongst them. The public-houses were filled; and, for
several Lord’s-days a vast mob assembled around the door, but peaceably,
and all was peace within. I continued my labours’ six times a week; yet
not without much inward grief. Some warm but indiscreet friends were
determined to apprehend the first that made any disturbance, and no one
seemed very forward to do that, except one young man, who was observed to
frequent the mob: he was taken to the watch-house by order of the
managers of the chapel, who charged him with a breach of the peace, but
when he was brought before a magistrate, who was no friend of mine, he
complained of my conduct to his brother, twelve years before that period.
I was of course sent for, and went without any warrant being issued out
against me. I made my appearance, and a very worthy magistrate bound it
over for trial, at the Middlesex sessions, alledging it would give
greater public satisfaction. All things were now peaceable till July 12.
The time came on, and the trial took place, at which I was honourably
acquitted. The chairman who tried the cause declared he never witnessed
so malignant a prosecution before. We had peace once more in our
borders, and prosperity in our palaces. I then explained the former case
mentioned in this letter, concerning the infamous person to whom I had
acted as a benefactor. The case was this: in the month of September,
1812, a person called on me. Mrs. C. who was blessed with a astonishing
gift of discernment of character, came to my study, and said a person
below wanted to see me—“but,” she added, “I don’t much admire his looks.”
However, I came down, and she listened at the nearest window, anxious to
know his business. He accosted me with “Sir, you don’t know me, but I
have been unfortunately in prison a long time. I was formerly in the
public line, and wish to go in it again. Many have helped me, and I hope
you will take it into consideration also.” I told him if he would leave
his address, I would certainly pay some attention to it, but could not
stay then. In a few days time I went to the house he had directed me,
and found, as far as I could see, every thing respectable; and an old
gentleman assured me that the case was a very distressing one, and that
the poor man was then in the spunging-house, put in that day by his
brewer. This had all the appearance of truth; I felt for his situation;
and the next day wrote the letter which was afterwards handled against
me. But I believe it was nothing else but envy on the part of my
opponent, who had borne a name so many years for his alms-giving, as
though nobody could give an alms but himself. Not all the world can
persuade me that the opposition made to me was from any other motive.
Although zeal for the moral law was the plea, yet, _that_ very person
always acted contrary to the law, in every such act of opposition. But
to return, the above ungrateful wretch had no sooner received my
donation, than he sent a woman, purporting to be his wife, to solicit
more money. Mrs. C. gave her an answer, assuring her that I had
contributed generously to his wants, and could do no more for him, or for
any one else, yet:—but the woman, not contented with that answer,
replied, in an insulting manner, “Well, if Mr. C. does not choose to do
it, he shall repent it as long as he lives; for I’ll go to Mr. D—
directly, and tell him what I know will please him, against Mr. C.” The
Doctor not being returned to town, the woman waited till he did, and then
visited him, well knowing the above gentleman would jump for joy, if he
could find out any thing amiss in my conduct, so as to fix the name of
Antinomian in reality. Report says, he visited this infamous character
in prison, and gave him two guineas for the letter. Many others of the
holy contenders for the moral law, paid him a visit, and gave him money
likewise, so that he made his boast he had but one guinea from me, but he
got near forty guineas out of the Doctor and his people. The letter was
soon engraved, at the Doctor’s expense, and thousands of them printed and
sent into the world. And what harm did this do me? but send crowds to
hear me preach, who filled the chapel so much, that we were obliged to
look out for a much larger place. The infamy of this notorious character
being so fully known, his palpable falsehoods respecting my visiting his
infamous house, were discredited by any reasonable being; and as his
testimony would not be taken in a court of justice, there was no reason
why it should be taken in the courts of the Lord’s house. I relieved him
from the purest motives of benevolence, as I have many hundreds beside,
who are living witnesses of it. I acknowledge I have not been so
discriminating in my acts of beneficence as I ought to have been: but I
could never bear to send away empty from my door the petitioner for
relief, whether good or bad, if I could relieve them, remembering, the
advice and example of our Divine Lord, _Acts_ xx. 35. And as to
impositions, those who are kind to the poor must always expect it, both
in the church and in the world. And if the most _knowing_ of the
benevolent are so often duped, you cannot wonder at my meeting with such
characters; for it is a well-known truth, that if there is a flat in the
world, a sharper will find him out: and, supposing my holy enemies to
have acted from the very best motives, it their searching out my supposed
faults, in doing so have they acted agreeable to the holy law of God, or
to any of the precepts of the New Testament? I believe not. If it was
criminal in my relieving a bad character with one guinea, {90} was it not
more criminal in my persecutors to relieve him with forty guineas; or to
put themselves to the vast expense of supplying whole columns of trash,
pregnant with falsehoods, for the “Weekly Dispatch.” But you know this
sort of conduct is pretended zeal for that very law that curses them for
their hypocrisy.—Farewell.
From Christ my mercies flow,
In pearly drops they fall;
Lord give a thankful bosom to
The sweetest pearl of all.
LETTER XVIII.
“He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.”
To —
It would fill no small volume to relate the particulars of the bustle
which took place in the above affair. The zeal, vigilance, activity and
expense which so many put themselves to was really laughable. The above
Doctor and his understrappers were all upon the alert, all the filth,
lies, and rubbish that could be collected together, were brought him;
these he put in order, fled to the printer with, and which were soon
exposed for sale, no doubt for the benefit of the poor (to add to
charity’s fame). This being calculated to disturb the peace, the printer
was bound to keep the peace, by one of the magistrates, which put an end
to the sale of this rubbish. But the Doctor had recourse to another
expedient; he crossed the water to an awful enemy to all spiritual
religion, and furnished him with plenty of the same rubbish for a Sunday
Newspaper. I saw him enter the above shop myself, and I then told many
persons we should have another budget of lies out next Sunday. Nor was I
mistaken. This holy advocate for the suppression of vice, and keeping
the Sabbath holy, now gave plenty of matter for the encouragement of
vice, and the profanation of that day. Public-houses were again well
stored, {91} to read about the infamous J. C.—Jews and Infidels,
professed Christians, and profound Deists. There were “Parthians, Medes
and Elamites, dwellers in Messopotamia, Egyptians and strangers,” all in
a bustle. Some running one way, some another; one post ran to meet
another, as if the city had been taken at both ends. Every one who had a
little hope of interest picked up a stone, wrote a letter to his
Holiness, or ran with some account of some bad action, some love letter I
had written, some bad house I had visited—_though as false as God was
true_. Yet this was credited, and swallowed down wholesale. Vast crowds
assembled round the chapel on Sunday nights, so that the congregation had
to pass through them as the Israelites through the Red Sea; but not a dog
moved his tongue at them. Printing scurrillity was kept on weekly, till
the public got tired of the old story over and over again. Nor were some
of my well-wishers idle; some, in warmth, retaliated; others, more
prudently, wrote mildly, and remonstrated in a scriptural manner with the
Doctor, by word and writing. Some exercised their pens in satire and
poetical effusions. Some of the copies of these I have still by me, and
would present them to you, but they would take up too much room. And
what good did all this do? None, but hurt the rising generation, and
exposed the cause of God to ridicule. On the part of those adversaries
who are zealous for the moral law, as their rule of life, surely they
acted contrary to every law, to the ten commandments, the Judaical law of
Moses, the gospel in every doctrine, and in every precept; the laws of
wisdom, love, and kindness, and the excellent laws of our country. But I
forgive them; and the only apology I can make for them is, that they did
it with a good intent, and out of love to my soul; _this was equally as
loving to me_, as the Hibernian woman to her husband, who being condemned
to be hung clung round her dearest dear, reminded him how much she loved
him, and said, as a proof of it, she came that morning to hang him
herself, as she might as well have the money for it as any body
else.—This was love indeed.—Farewell.
Yours, J. C.
When men of spite against me join,
They are the sword, the hand is thine.
P.S. Many wondered that I did not punish the weekly scribblers, but no;
I am forbid I _Corinth_, vi. 1. And if I had a mind for it, they kept
out of the way, either by the rules of the Fleet or the Bench—and what is
the use of pursuing a flea? as David said to Saul—1 _Sam._ xxiv. 14.
LETTER XIX.
“We know that all things work together for good, to those that love
God.”
To —
As the congregation was so much increased, from the late rumours, and
conclusion of the trial, the place where we had long worshipped, was
deemed unsafe to contain so large a body of people; it was therefore
proposed to build a more convenient place, near the old spot: but the
chief part of the neighbourhood being City ground, we could not obtain
any other place than the vacant spot on which the chapel now stands: this
was taken of the City, and on Monday the 13th of July, the day
twelvemonth the trial was terminated in my favour, I laid the
foundation-stone of the new chapel, in presence of many spectators. When
I had concluded the service, we assembled the same evening at the old
chapel, where I preached on _Gen._ xxviii. “And this stone which I have
set shall be God’s house.” That evening, small as the congregation was,
compared with others, we collected fifty pounds. The building was begun,
and in ten weeks it was finished; but during that time my faith was
continually upon the watch tower. And the hand of God was most evidently
in the business; timber was scarcely ever known to be at such a price,
yet the Lord sent me money with which to pay the men their wages, and to
find many materials beside—this was at the rate of twenty-five pounds a
week. Where the money came from I know not, but, to my surprise, it
came. The Lord called me to his throne, and in gracious answers the
money was sent. On the first Sunday in October, 1813, I took my leave of
the old place, where I spent many happy hours; and if David remembered
Hermon, and the little hill Mizar, the old Obelisk chapel will be dear to
many a soul while life and being last. I preached in the morning on the
language of Moses to Jethro—“We are journeying to the place of which the
Lord said, I will give it thee, come thou with us, we will surely do thee
good.” In the afternoon I endeavoured to remind my hearers of that
suitable promise in every case of the Lord’s people—“And behold I am with
thee, and will keep thee in all places whither thou goest; and I will not
leave thee until I have done all the good which I promised unto thee.”
In the evening I again addressed the congregation, from the language of
Moses—“Let thy presence go with us.” After the evening sermon, we had
the ordinance of the Lord’s Supper. The evening was solemn, and we
concluded with thanksgiving for the many happy hours we had spent in the
place, and intreated the Lord to go with us the next day, and abide with
us all our days. We left the old spot with some reluctance, and the next
morning I opened the new meeting. I preached from _Exodus_ xxv. 8—“And
let them make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them:” this sermon
is now in print. And in the evening to a very crowded congregation, from
_John_ xvii—“And I have declared thy name, and will declare it, that the
love wherewith thou hast loved me, may be in them, and thou in them.”
The bustle of the day had impaired my mind, but I was helped through it,
and the collection amounted to upwards of fifty pounds for that day,
which I considered to be very great. Some very excellent singers
volunteered their kind services, and at the close of the service favoured
us with some very beautiful anthems from Handel. The place was always
well attended, but the building of the chapel involved me in several
heavy debts, many of which I paid out of the produce of the chapel, and
others I borrowed money to pay them with, so that I paid all the
tradesmen comfortably to my own mind; but the borrowed money laid as a
dead weight on my spirits, and created me many anxieties. This gave
fresh exercise to prayer and faith, and an opportunity of watching the
hand of God. Soon after the building was completed, my subscriptions
stopped, and of course all the heavy debt laid on me. As I was
determined no one should be hurt by me, I became responsible for every
thing; and having collected by subscription, about seven hundred pounds,
I found I was nearly ten hundred pounds in debt—three hundred I paid in
about eighteen months, and the rest I paid interest for the use of, till
the whole was cleared off. And as I had the money given me, I built the
place and paid for it, of course it is my own property; but I have since
seen it necessary to choose trustees, by way of executors to my will,
that the place should be always appropriated to the preaching of the
gospel: this was to secure it from any who should claim it, and in future
time convert it into any thing else: as I had known some preachers who
had chapels of their own, after they had made a fortune in them, sell
them to brokers, and other persons, laying an injunction on them never to
let them again have the gospel preached in them. This is most base, and
cruel, beyond all expression; and what an awful state must their
consciences be in, to act in so base a manner. The Lord was with me, in
this place also, till another calamity befel me: but this I know, every
occurrence is divinely appointed, by infinite wisdom, and will terminate
in the glory of God, and the prosperity of the soul—For he worketh all
things after the counsel of his own will.
Yours truly, J. C.
LETTER XX.
“So I spake unto the people in the morning, and at even my wife
died.”—_Ezek._ xxiv. 18.
To —
Death is solemn at all times, to thinking minds; and though sin has made
him an enemy to our natures, grace has made him a friend to our souls:
but he has no acquaintances, nor has he respect for any; he comes in
without apologies, and cuts down all alike, the man of years, the
innocent babe, the crowned head, the mitred prelate, the humble
scavenger, and the poorest beggar: nor does he spare the dearest
relative, or the most affectionate friend—yet, it is the consolation of
the Lord’s people, that though all must bow to his stroke, they are dear
to the Saviour, they are precious to him; hence he calls them the
precious sons of Zion, and since thou hast been precious in my sight, I
have loved thee. God has declared their blood, that it their lives, is
precious in his sight.—_Psalm_ lxxii. And in another Psalm (cxvi.)
declares their very death is precious. God has declared, he has no
pleasure in the _death_ of the wicked, no more than he has in their
_persons_ or their _lives_; yet grace has made a difference between those
who love God, and those who do not; and as the Lord Jesus Christ has been
to precious to them, in a time state, as an evidence they are precious to
him, he has graciously designed death to be only their removal from sin
and sorrow, to heaven, happiness, and God. Death is therefore a gift,
freely bestowed on the Lord’s people, and in general a welcome friend,
whose mission is only to usher the elect, redeemed, regenerated soul into
glory; and though many such have been all their life-time in bondage,
through the fear of death, yet, that same Almighty power that made them
willing to be saved in God’s own way, makes them willing to leave all
behind, and to enter into a world of spirits, to be for ever with the
Lord; and not only willing, but sometimes longing, to be gone to that
rest the Lord has provided for his covenant people. The faith that God
has given them is sometimes indulged with sweet views of their
inheritance, and they cast many a wishful eye to that land of delights.
Thus _faith_ doth take a pleasing view,
_Hope_ waits, _love_ sits and sings;
_Desire_, she flutters to be gone,
But _patience_ clips her wings.
What a chequered scene is the present state of God’s dear people, of
adversity and prosperity, risings and fallings, darkness and light,
losses and gains, crosses and mercies, bondage and liberty, sorrow and
joy, life and death.
No sooner had the good hand of God provided us a chapel, and every thing
seemed to prosper, but a sad calamity befel me, the worst I ever had, and
the most distressing to my feelings—the death of a kind, loving,
affectionate, and tender wife. In the sixth Letter of this little work I
have given an account of our acquaintance and marriage; it was her mercy
she had been taught of God before this period. Like most others, while
young, she was cheerful and loved the world, and the things of it, and in
the enmity of heart she despised the things of God, even to persecution;
but she was the child, doubtless, of many prayers, compelled by an
afflicted mother to read the Scriptures to her, which was no small
burthen to her more gay and cheerful mind; she came to a very important
portion of God’s Word, (_Jer._ iii.) a thought struck her that she would
read that chapter again, when she was alone. She seized the opportunity,
and when she came to the 4th verse, the passage was applied with peculiar
power to her soul—“Wilt thou not, from this time, cry unto me, My Father,
thou art the guide of my youth.” Conviction of her lost state came on,
and she soon went to work at the law, attended legal preaching, and
strove, in vain, to recommend herself to God, by the work of her hands,
her watchings, vows, and resolutions, till the Lord led her under the
ministry of more evangelical men, especially the ministry of our mutual
favorite preacher, Mr. L. then supplying at Tottenham and Tabernacle: the
Lord, having begun his good work, brought her soul into the sweet liberty
of the gospel, and in the love and fear of God, she walked many years,
living upon his grace, and depending upon his providence. Her faith and
hope, though often tried and assaulted, were genuine, and her love to
truth was firm; she was a woman of the finest feeling, and quick
discernment of characters, many of whom she frequently cautioned me
against, and many a sorrow I should have escaped, had I (as most men
should) have listened to a wife. We had experienced many changes, and
lived very comfortably together about eight years, when, alas! a sore
trouble befel her, above which she never soared. A short time after her
delivery of her fourth child, she being very weak and low, some
incautious person suddenly surprized her with some alarming intelligence,
which was found the next day to be false: this chilled her blood; medical
aid was afforded, and she gained a little strength, but she felt the
direful effects of it till her death, which was not till seven years
afterwards. During this period she had but one child more, who grew up
to his twelfth year, and then died in the Lord, a little account of which
has since, been published in his funeral sermon, entitled “The Glory of
Grace.” Increasing weakness, attended with fits, and her mode of living,
reduced her system; she was confined to her bed but a short time, the
last fortnight she was very composed; sometimes feared the hour of her
departure, but the nearer she drew to death the less she feared. I took
an affectionate leave of her the night previous to her death: her speech
was gone twelve hours before her departure; I, however, endeavored to
preach that morning on, “They that trust in the Lord shall be as the
mount Zion, which cannot be moved.” This was expressive of her _state_,
_experience_, and _security_. As that Lord’s-day closed, so she closed
her eyes in death, sleeping in Jesus. I had many sweet portions of
scripture, suited, indeed, to her case, brought with power to my soul;
and having known her experience with the testimony of God’s truth, I am
happy in the full persuasion of her eternal felicity. I preached on the
following subject the Sunday after—“Ought not this woman, being a
daughter of Abraham, whom satan has bound these eighteen years, to be
loosed on the Sabbath-day?” Her warfare is accomplished. “What shall
separate us from the love of Christ; shall things present?” I had many
times advanced the doctrine of the final perseverance of believers; but
it was truly precious then. As Mr. Huntington sings—
“The world may oppose, and fiends may engage,
And dangers and threat’nings dismay;
But still they pursue, in defiance of rage,
For the righteous shall hold on his way.”
Farewell.—Yours, truly, J. C.
LETTER XXI.
“So I prophesied, as he commanded me, and the breath came into them.”
To —