condition, and mourning over the fruitless efforts I had made to
regain mental tranquillity, the sense of conscious guilt became
very, very acute, and very oppressive. It weighed down my spirit.
It was _at this time_ attended with some degree of alarm and dread.
I began to think it possible that God would bring me before him
in judgment. This was a new idea. I trembled when thinking of the
probable issue--lost, lost for ever! At this eventful moment, when
the dread of such a terrible issue was wringing and torturing
my spirit, a sudden impulse, accompanied by a ray of celestial
light--though then I knew not that it was celestial light--produced
a deep conviction of the _necessity_ of an atonement to expiate
human guilt; and then I at once admitted _the reality_ of the
atonement made by Jesus Christ."
"Did these new discoveries of truth minister to your relief?"
"Not immediately; I was still bewildered and unhappy. I was trying
to make myself good--trying to work out my own righteousness. But
I could make no satisfactory progress. I thought at times that my
heart was getting worse instead of better. I was treading on the
verge of overwhelming despondency. I felt an outcast. In this state
of extreme perplexity and mental torture, I betook myself to the
Bible; but I did so more to divert my mind from its miseries than
with an expectation of gaining relief. The Divine Spirit directed my
attention to the passage--'If any man sin, we have an advocate with
the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. And he is the propitiation
for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the
whole world' (1 John ii. 1, 2). Had the Lord spoken to me from
heaven, I might have been more startled; but there was such a sweet
consolatory power accompanying the reading of the passage, that I
felt it came from him. I was in a moment, in a calm of ecstatic
emotion. I shall never forget the sensation. It was a sudden
transition from torture to ease. I then felt, and for the first
time, an intense glow of love to Jesus Christ."
"Did not the reading of that passage," said Miss Chester, "with its
hallowed accompaniments, bring you on your knees before the Lord
with weeping and supplication?"
"It did; but for a while, and rather a long while, surprise was the
most predominant emotion of my heart. I was surprised that I had
never previously felt myself to be a guilty and helpless sinner
needing an Almighty Saviour. I was surprised that I should ever have
felt a loathing and hostility to a scheme of salvation which is such
a sweet and rich manifestation of the loving-kindness of God. And
I was surprised that I could have lived so long without feeling a
supreme love for Jesus Christ."
"Your experience, my dear Miss Osbourne," said Miss Chester, "is
a fresh confirmation of a remark I heard a good minister of Jesus
Christ make not long since:--_A sense of_ NEED must precede all
intense concern for our salvation, and all right apprehensions of
the relation in which Jesus Christ stands to us. When this is felt,
the veil of mysticism is taken off the truth which is deposited in
the Bible; and it becomes intelligible and powerful. As our Lord
says: 'They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are
sick' (Matt. ix. 12)."
* * * * *
Several months elapsed before I had another interview with Miss
Osbourne; but I noticed that her attendance at the chapel was
regular and punctual. She listened with marked attention to the
pulpit ministrations; but there was a pensiveness in her look, which
still indicated mental disquietude. At the request of Miss Chester,
I again visited Miss Osbourne, along with her. On expressing a hope
that she was making progress in the path of life, she said, "I am
still in a state of painful bewilderment, and still unhappy. I no
sooner get over one spiritual difficulty than I feel perplexed and
entangled by another. I find that the pursuit after truth lies
through a thorny maze."
"I trust you are now thoroughly established in your belief of the
supreme divinity of the Son of God, and of the reality and efficacy
of his atonement?"
"O yes, I am. His divinity is written as with sunbeams; and I now
wonder how any one can doubt it, who admits the authenticity of the
Bible. And his atonement is equally conspicuous."
"What, then, is the fresh spiritual difficulty that now disquiets
you?"
"I don't know whether I rightly understand the import of the
expression which Jesus Christ uses--'COME TO ME, and I will give
you rest.' It is evident he makes the present and future happiness
of sinners to depend on a personal application to himself. Hence
he says, 'All that the Father giveth to me shall come to me: and
him that cometh to _me_ I will in no wise cast out.' As this style
of speech was never employed by any other prophet or messenger, it
appears to constitute a peculiarity of great importance in relation
to his supreme dignity. _He_ cannot be a mere man who places such an
inconceivable blessing on such an issue. But though I am convinced,
after long and patient investigation, that our salvation is made
to depend on a personal application to Jesus Christ, I often have
this question pressed on my attention--How may I know if _I_ have
actually applied to Him in the exact way which the Scriptures
require? To some, who are rooted and grounded in the faith, this
question may present no difficulty; but to me it is one of great
importance and of painful perplexity."
"One difficulty which attends the solution of this question arises
from the very _nature_ of the application which it supposes. If
coming to Christ were a bodily act, and if the dependence to be
reposed in him fell under the cognizance of the senses, we should be
able to decide with perfect ease whether we have come to him or not.
But it is simply a mental act, which may be performed even while
the believer remains in a state of doubt. To believe or to trust in
Christ, is the first act of the mind; but to come to a satisfactory
conclusion that this act of dependence agrees with the requirements
of the Scripture, supposes that a process of examination and
comparison has taken place. I am to judge of my faith from its
effects; as the worth of a tree is to be decided by the quality
of its fruit. And here two questions demand my attention: first,
What moral effects does faith produce? Secondly, Have these effects
been produced in me? Faith purifies the heart from the love of
sin; brings the distant and unseen objects of the eternal world
to act with impressive force on the judgment, and affections,
and imagination; induces its possessor to walk as seeing him who
is invisible; to love the Redeemer with a supreme affection; and
constrains him to attempt to advance the glory of God in the world
by a life of practical devotedness to his will. These are some of
the effects or moral evidences of faith; _and if they always existed
in their highest degree_, we should have some certain landmarks of
decision, when attempting to ascertain the genuine nature of our
dependence on Christ, which neither sophistry nor unbelief would
be able to remove. But as an excellent writer observes:--'The mind
of every Christian experiences many _alternations_ of holiness
and sin. Temptations often and unexpectedly intrude. The objects
which engross the whole heart of the sinner, unhappily engage at
times in greater or less degrees that of the Christian. Nor is
their influence always transient. David, Solomon, and other saints
mentioned in the Scriptures, for a length of time sinned. Not a
small number of sins are committed in thought, word, and action, in
the brighter and better seasons; nay, in the brightest and best. 'I
sin,' says Bishop Beveridge; 'I repent of my sins, and sin in my
repentance. I pray for forgiveness, and sin in my prayers. I resolve
against my future sin, and sin in forming my resolutions. So that I
may say, My whole life is almost a continued course of sin.' This
is the language of one of the best men that ever lived. A still
better man has said, 'For the good that I would I do not: but the
evil which I would not, that I do' (Rom. vii. 19). If, then, the
most eminent saints, in the most improved state of their character,
and the most sacred seasons of their devotion, have the evidence of
their faith weakened by the force of contrary evidence, ought it to
excite our surprise if in us it is often obscured, and sometimes
overbalanced?"
"Then I judge from the tenor of your remarks, that, for consolation
and hope, we must turn from ourselves, and constantly depend on
Christ as a Saviour; whatever may be the varying tone and tendencies
of the heart."
"Yes; trust in him at all times--in sorrow, and in joy; when
assailed by temptation, and in seasons of triumph; whether in
transport on the mount, or abased in the valley--one undeviating act
of the mind from the beginning to the end of the conflict."
Our conversation now turned on the honour which the God of all grace
confers on an individual whom he condescends to admit into a state
of fellowship with himself; and on the consequent obligation which
this places him under to make an open and unequivocal profession of
religion.
"Yes," said Miss Chester, "the noblest distinction we can attain
to, is to be endowed with the faith of God's elect; but it is a
distinction which often exposes us to the ridicule and the scorn of
the world."
"The semi-Christians of modern times," I remarked, "are as ignorant
of the relative dignity of the sons of God, as the ancient Jews were
of the personal dignity of Jesus Christ. Nor ought this to excite
our surprise, seeing that, as the apostle says, 'the world knows
us not, because it knew him not.' But though the world be ignorant
of our relative dignity, we ourselves are not; and yet there are
some who appear ashamed of it. They desire to gain the crown of
glory; but refuse to identify themselves with the disciples of Jesus
Christ, that they may escape the odium to which they are exposed."
"There is in this," said Miss Osbourne, "a species of meanness, of
which, I think, an honourable mind could not be guilty. But though
some who have felt the power of truth to a certain extent, may
hesitate to identify themselves with the disciples of Jesus Christ,
yet they may be influenced by the purest motives. I have a friend,
who has recently been convinced of the truth of the gospel; and yet,
when conversing with an eminently pious stranger on some of its
sacred topics, very ingenuously said, '_But, madam, I do not wish
you to suppose that I am a Christian_. _I admire the doctrines and
the precepts of Christianity; and I admire the character of those
who display its moral virtues; but I dare not rank myself among
their number. O no; I am not good enough!_' Now, this friend has
mental firmness enough to withstand the rudest shocks of reproach;
but as she has not, in her own estimation, felt the transforming
power of the truth, she cannot conscientiously identify herself with
those who have."
"This," I remarked, "is neither a singular nor a hopeless case. The
reluctance which your friend feels to make a profession of religion,
till she is satisfied that she possesses the principle, is a decided
proof of her integrity; and though she may remain in this state of
dubious perplexity for a still longer time, yet she will never enjoy
_perfect_ peace, till she becomes decided."
"But ought a person to make a decided profession of religion before
he has attained a full assurance of his personal interest in the
redemption and love of Jesus Christ?"
"In my opinion, the very moment a sinner trusts in Christ Jesus for
the salvation of his soul, he places himself under an obligation to
render obedience to his laws. The first petition is, '_Lord, save,
or I perish_;' the next in order, and which should immediately
follow, is, '_Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?_' He distinctly
states what he would have us do:--'Whosoever therefore shall confess
me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in
heaven' (Matt. x. 32)."
"But is it not a wise _discretion_ to tarry awhile, to test the
strength of the religious principle, before the garb of a public
profession is put on? Should we not avoid precipitation in a matter
of such importance?"
"But would you, during this probationary period, depend on your
own moral strength to sustain the vital energy of your religious
principles?"
"Certainly not."
"Then you would depend on the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ to
preserve the vitality of your principles, while you are passing
through this probationary period; the length of it to be decided by
your own discretion."
"I would depend on him to keep me steadfast in his ways."
"And could you not depend on him with as much implicitness and
constancy to keep you steadfast after you have put on the yoke of
obedience, as you can when preparing to do it?"
"Most certainly."
"There is a little incident recorded in Matthew xvi. 21, which
embodies one of the laws of the mediatorial government of Jesus
Christ. '_From that time forth_', that is, after his apostles had
made a public avowal of their belief in him as the Son of God,
he began to show unto them the coming events of his wonderful
history. Yes, my friend, the path of duty is the path of safety, and
obedience brings its own reward, as clearer manifestations of the
love of Christ usually follow an open profession of devotedness to
him."
"I remained a spectator the last time the ordinance of the Lord's
Supper was administered at your chapel; I thought it a very solemn
service, and I was a good deal impressed by it."
"I hope you have outlived the scrupulous objections of your
educational training, and now admit that the ordinances of baptism
and the Lord's Supper are of perpetual obligation?"
"I must confess that they have engaged some portion of my thoughts,
particularly the Lord's Supper. I recently read Joseph Gurney's
remarks on it, but they did not satisfy me. I thought them more
ingenious than solid; and they seemed to me very much a piece of
special pleading. From his book I turned to 1 Cor. xi., and I
recollect saying when I had finished, the apostle Paul and Joseph
Gurney don't think and write alike on this subject. As they can't
both be right, one must be wrong; which shall I follow?"
"I suppose," said Miss Chester, "you don't find that a difficult
question to decide?"
"Why, my dear, it is not a very easy matter to get over long
cherished scruples--to obliterate early impressions, and adopt
new religious habits and customs. But still, I must confess, that
an inspired apostle is a safer guide, than an uninspired partizan
writer. However, there is a previous question, which, if I may be
permitted to mention it, I should like to have answered. What, in
your judgment, are the spiritual advantages which are connected with
the regular observance of the ordinance of the Lord's Supper?"
"In the first place," I replied, "it tends, and I think very
forcibly, to give fixedness and solidity to our faith in the
historic truthfulness of our Lord's sufferings and death. He himself
instituted the ordinance, even before his death was accomplished;
and he assigns his reason for so doing: 'And as they were eating,
Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the
disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body. And he took the
cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of
it; for this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for
many for the remission of sins' (Matt. xxvi. 26-28). Immediately
after his death, we find, by consulting the Acts, that his disciples
partook of it in obedience to his authority, and for the purpose
which he specified. The apostle Paul tells us that he had a special
revelation from heaven in relation to it (1 Cor. xi. 23, 26). And
this ordinance, instituted by Jesus Christ, and observed by all the
primitive disciples, is handed down to us as a standing memorial of
the wonderful fact that Christ died for our sins, according to the
Scriptures."
"Yes, I see. Then this ordinance stands like a monument erected
at the time when the event occurred, to commemorate it, and to
perpetuate the remembrance of it?"
"It does."
"Then as people are not so foolish as to erect monuments to
commemorate what never took place, the historic certainty of the
death of Jesus Christ receives an indisputable confirmation from the
perpetual celebration of the Lord's Supper?"
"Exactly so."
"This is a new idea to me, and an important one. Then I must
disapprove of the conduct of Friends, who have not merely defaced
this monumental pillar of the Christian faith, but entirely removed
it. Why, the removal of a landmark is more like the work of an
enemy, who has an interest in destroying boundary lines, than the
work of a friend, who has an interest in preserving them. I wonder
that Joseph Gurney did not see this."
"But this ordinance does something more than perpetuate a
remembrance of the historic fact of the death of Jesus Christ:
it is significant of its moral design. When he gave the cup of
wine to his disciples, and commanded them to drink of it, he
added, as explanatory of the purpose which he had in view by this
arrangement--'For this is my blood of the new testament, which is
shed for many for the remission of sins' (Matt. xxvi. 28)."
"Yes, I see it is this that attaches supreme importance to the
ordinance, which would become an unmeaning ceremony if we exclude
the atonement from our theory of belief."
"Very true. The historic fact, and its moral design, are inseparably
blended; and the truthfulness of both is confirmed by the same
ceremonial rite. When our Lord had supped, he took the cup, saying
to his disciples, 'This cup is the new testament in my blood: this
do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me. For as often as
ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord's death
till he come' (1 Cor. xi. 25, 26)."
"I am quite satisfied that the ordinance should be received by
the disciples of Christ, in obedience to his authority, when they
believe that they are his disciples. And I must say, that I think
the Friends are wrong in rejecting it as an obsolete ceremony. By
doing so, they remove an ancient landmark."
"It is worse than that," said Miss Chester; "it is destroying an
ancient monument which was designed to perpetuate, as long as time
shall last, a remembrance of the great event it was erected to
celebrate."
"Do you," said Miss Osbourne, "administer the Lord's Supper
indiscriminately to persons in general, or do you restrict its
administration to the decidedly pious?"
"Amongst us Dissenters it is a test of character; none are permitted
to partake of it, unless they profess repentance towards God, and
faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; and, at the same time, give some
practical proof that they are renewed, and walk worthy of the
vocation wherewith they are called."
"What is called open communion prevails, I believe, in the National
Establishment."
"It does. The clergyman of our national church is the minister of
the parish in which he officiates, and he baptizes all children
whose parents wish him to do it; and unless they should be
excommunicated, which is rarely done, they are treated as members
of the church, and have the right of access to the sacrament of the
Lord's Supper."
"Indeed! What! are any immoral persons ever permitted by a clergyman
to partake of the Lord's Supper? I should judge from what I read in
the New Testament, that it belongs exclusively to true believers in
Christ."
"Yes; in National Establishments, all the varieties of the human
character, from the most pious to the most profane, may be seen
mingling together at the sacramental table."
"Indeed! this must be a perversion of the ordinance. The apostles,
if I recollect rightly, required repentance towards God, and faith
in the Lord Jesus Christ, as essential qualifications for admission
into the church; and if any member walked disorderly, he was
separated from Christian fellowship."
"It is so amongst us Dissenters. We do not profess to have a perfect
church, but we do not suffer any one to remain in membership with
us who dishonours his profession by any known act of impiety or
immorality."
"That seems to me to be adhering to the rule of the Scripture."
"To that rule we should always adhere; and hence it is obligatory
on all to observe the ordinance who are trusting in Christ for
salvation. They should do so, as a visible expression of their
subjection to his authority, and of their gratitude and love to
him for his marvellous loving-kindness in shedding his blood for
the remission of their sins, and for giving his life a ransom for
their redemption. I recently heard an esteemed minister deliver the
following address, just before the administration of the ordinance:--
"'We are now, my dear Christian brethren, going to commemorate the
death of a beloved Friend, whose friendship derives its value from
his death. We often muse with intense interest on the wondrous
events of his wondrous life; we repeat to each other, with strong
emotions of delight, his soul-inspiring sayings. But it is his
death which enkindles the purest, the most powerful, and the most
joyous emotions of our heart. It is true, he was crucified by wicked
hands, but crucifixion touched no vital part. He could have lived on
the cross as long as he pleased, free from pain, and with as much
placid ease as, when seated on the mountain side, he dictated the
beatitudes to his disciples. He could have stepped down from the
cross, had he pleased, and arrayed himself with as much celestial
beauty as when he stood transfigured on Tabor; and he could have
changed in a moment the humiliating and conflicting scene of Calvary
into the awful grandeur of the final judgment; and at his bidding
the trumpet would have awakened the dead, to stand before him for
their final sentence. But no. Such prodigies of power, and displays
of justice were not to take place then and there. The only event
to take place then and there was his shedding his blood for the
remission of sins, and his giving his life a ransom for sinners.
This he did, unsolicited, voluntarily, and cheerfully; and when he
calls on you to take the cup, in remembrance of his sufferings and
death, will you hesitate to do so? or can you do it with formal
indifference?
'O for this love, let rocks and hills
Their lasting silence break,
And all harmonious human tongues
The Saviour's praises speak.'"
"I like the sentiments and expressions of this address; but I think
you must admit that hesitation does not always bespeak reluctance."
"Very true; but it arrests the progress of obedience, and entails
the loss of spiritual privileges and enjoyments."
"I hope, my dear Miss Osbourne," said Miss Chester, "you now feel no
reluctance to yield obedience to the dying command of your beloved
Saviour and Friend; and that you will, by one sacred resolve, yield
yourself to him as one alive from the dead--have your fruit unto
holiness, and the end everlasting life."
"A sublime termination to a painful, and often a depressing
conflict! It would be wrong in me not to confess that I have derived
instruction from the conversation of the evening. Some new ideas
have been suggested to me, and some lingering doubts have been
removed. My hesitation, which sprang from caution, rather than
reluctance, now yields to a sense of duty. I will do what my Lord
commands me; and because it is his command. You will both pray
for me, that my faith fail not, and that I may endure to the end,
steadfast in the path of duty."
She kept her promise; and on the first communion day, with us
commemorated the death of the Lord Jesus Christ in the way of his
appointment. Soon after, I received an interesting letter from her;
and as its conclusion is an appropriate sequel to the long and
painful conflict through which she had to pass, its transcription
may serve as a guide and solace to others.
"'O, happy day, that fixed my choice
On Christ, my Saviour and my God!
* * * * * * * * *
Now rests my long-divided heart.'
"My experience proves the truthfulness of a remark you made in our
recent interview 'obedience brings its own reward.'"