The Revival, 1851-54.
In the providence of God, my conversion was the beginning of a great
revival work in my parish, which continued without much interruption for
nearly three years. At some periods during that time there was a greater
power of the divine presence, and consequently more manifest results,
than at others; but all along there were conversions of sinners or
restoration of backsliders every week--indeed, almost every day.
I was carried along with the torrent of the work, far over and beyond
several barriers of prejudice which had been in my mind. For instance, I
made a resolution that if I ever had a work of God in my parish, it
should be according to rule, and that the people should not be excited
into making a noise, as if God were deaf or afar off; also, that I would
prevent their throwing themselves into extraordinary states of mind and
body, as though it were necessary that they should do so in order to
obtain a blessing. I intended to have everything in most beautiful and
exemplary order, and that all should be done as quietly and with as much
precision as the working of a machine. No shouting of praises, no loud
praying, no hearty responding; and, above all, no extravagant crying for
mercy, such as I had witnessed in Mr. Aitken's parish.
But notwithstanding my prudence and judicious resolutions, "the wind
blew as it listed; we heard the sound thereof, but could not tell whence
it came, or whither it went" (John 3: 8). In spite of all my prejudices,
souls were quickened and born of the Spirit. I was filled with
rejoicing, and my heart overflowed with joy to see something doing for
the Lord.
Anything is better than the stillness of death, however aesthetic and
beautiful, however reverential and devout a mere outward ceremonial may
appear. Imposing pageants and religious displays may excite enthusiastic
religiosity or devotionism; but they do not, and never can, promote
spiritual vitality. Far from this, they draw the heart and mind into a
channel of human religion, where it can sometimes over-flow to its own
satisfaction; but they never bring a sinner to see himself lost, or,
unworthy by nature to be a worshipper, and consequently, as such,
utterly unfit to take any part in religious ceremonies.
On the Monday after my conversion we had our first week-day revival
service in the church, which was filled to excess. In the sermon, I told
them once more that God had "brought me up out of an horrible pit, out
of the miry clay, and set my feet upon the Rock, and... put a new song
in my mouth" (Ps. 40:2-3). I had not spoken long, when some one in the
congregation gave a shriek, and then began to cry aloud for mercy. This
was quickly followed by cries from another and another, until preaching
was altogether hopeless. We then commenced praying for those who were in
distress, and some experienced men who were present dealt with the
anxious.
I cannot tell how many people cried for mercy, or how many found peace
that night; but there was great rejoicing. I, who was still in my
grave-clothes, though out of the grave, was sorely offended at people
praying and praising God so heartily and so loudly in the church. I
thought that if this was to become a regular thing, it would be akin to
"brawling," and quite out of order. Practising singing and rehearsing
anthems in the church, I did not think much about; but somehow, for
people to cry out in distress of soul, and to praise God out of the
abundance of their hearts, was too much for me. I was sadly perplexed!
At the close of the service, I told the people I would have a short one
again the next evening, in the church, and that after that we would go
into the schoolroom for the prayer-meeting. Thus ended the second day of
my spiritual life.
On Tuesday evening we assembled in the church, and then went to the
schoolroom for the after-meeting. There the people had full liberty to
sing, praise, and shout too, if they desired, to their hearts' content,
and truly many availed themselves of the opportunity. In Cornwall, at
the time I speak of (now twenty-nine years ago), Cornish folk did not
think much of a meeting unless it was an exciting and noisy one.
In this schoolroom, evening by evening, the Lord wrought a great work,
and showed forth His power in saving many souls. I have seldom read of
any remarkable manifestations in revivals the counterpart of which I did
not witness in that room; and I saw some things there which I have never
heard of as taking place anywhere else. I was by this time not afraid of
a little, or even much noise, so long as the power of the Lord's
presence was evident. The shouts of the people did not hinder me, of
their loud praying, or their hearty responses.
There were some subjects on which it was impossible to venture without
eliciting vehement demonstrations. A friend of mine, who had come from
some distance on a visit, went with me on one occasion to an afternoon
Bible class. I asked him to address the people, and in a quiet way he
proceeded to talk about heaven. As he described the city of gold, with
its pearly gates, its walls of jasper, its foundations of sapphire and
precious stones, and to tell them that "the city had no need of the sun,
neither of the moon, to shine in it; for the glory of God did lighten
it, and the Lamb is the light thereof" (Rev. 21:2-3), I began to feel
somewhat uneasy, and feared that he was venturing on tender ground, when
all at once there was heard a shriek of joy, and in a moment almost the
whole class was in an ecstasy of praise. My friend was greatly dismayed,
and also frightened at the noise, and seizing his hat, he made hastily
for the door. "Stop! stop!" I said; "you must stand fire better than
that." I quietly gave out a hymn, and asked some of them to help me
sing, and then we knelt down to pray. I prayed in a low voice, and soon
all was still again, excepting the responsive "Amens," and the gaspings
of those who had been thus excited.
It may be asked, why did I permit such things? I lived amongst a people
who were accustomed to outward demonstrations; and by descending to them
in their ways I was enabled to lead many of them to higher things, and
to teach them to rest not so much on their feelings, as on the facts and
truth revealed in the Word of God. But theorize as we would, it was just
a question, in many cases, of no work, or of decided manifestation. We
could not help people being stricken down, neither could they help it
themselves; often the most unlikely persons were overcome and became
excited, and persons naturally quiet and retiring proved the most noisy
and demonstrative. However, it was our joy to see permanent results
afterwards, which more than reconciled us for any amount of
inconvenience we had felt at the time.
When the power of God is manifestly present, the persons who hear the
noise, as well as those who make it, are both under the same influence,
and are in sympathy with one another. An outsider, who does not
understand it, and is not in sympathy, might complain, and be greatly
scandalized. For my own part, I was intensely happy in those meetings,
and had become so accustomed to the loud "Amens," that I found it very
dull to preach when there was no response. Prayer meetings which were
carried on in a quiet and formal manner seemed to me cold and heartless.
"They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great
waters; these see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep"
(Ps. 107:23, 24). Some spiritual mariners never venture out of a calm
millpond, and rejoice in very quiet proceedings; they do not look like
rejoicing at all. They resemble the people who are going through a
formal duty, and, "like a painted ship upon a painted ocean," they are
never tossed. Most undeniable it is that many trying things happen in
the excitement of a storm.
I was hardened against criticism, and only wished that my criticizing
friends could show me a more effectual way of working, and a way in
which God's glory might be advanced, without giving offence.
The very remembrance of these times warms my heart as I write; and
though I do not know whether I am still young enough to enter into such
things in the same way, yet I am sure that the manifest presence of the
Lord, under any circumstances, would still stir and rejoice my spirit.
My friend Mr. Aitken used to rise above it all most majestically, and
shout as loud as the loudest. It was grand to see his great soul at full
liberty rejoicing in the Lord. He was quite at home in the noisiest and
stormiest meetings, and no doubt he thought me a promising disciple, and
a very happy one, too.
Oh, what tremendous scenes we witnessed whenever Mr. Aitken came to
preach at Baldhu. The church, which was built to hold six hundred, used
to have as many as fifteen hundred packed into it. Not only were the
wide passages crowded, and the chancel filled, even up to the communion
table, but there were two rows of occupants in every pew. The Feat man
was king over their souls, for at times he seemed as if he was endued
with power whereby he could make them shout for joy, or howl for misery,
or cry aloud for mercy. He was by far the most effective preacher I ever
heard, or ever expect to hear. Souls were awakened by scores whenever he
preached, and sometimes the meetings continued far into the night, and
occasionally even to the daylight of the next morning.
To the cool, dispassionate outside observers and the newspaper
reporters, all this vehement stir was very extravagant and
incomprehensible, and no doubt they thought it was done for excitement;
certainly they gave us credit for that, and a great deal more. They did
not esteem us better than themselves and consequently we had the full
benefit of their sarcasm and invective.
Cornish revivals were things by themselves. I have read of such stirring
movements occurring occasionally in different places elsewhere, but in
Cornwall they were frequent. Every year, in one part or another, a
revival would spring up, during which believers were refreshed and
sinners awakened. It is sometimes suggested that there is a great deal
of the flesh in these things--more of this than of the Spirit. I am sure
this is a mistake, for I am quite satisfied that neither Cornish nor any
other people could produce revivals without the power of the Spirit, for
they would never be without them if they could raise them at pleasure.
But, as a fact, it is well known that revivals begin and continue for a
time, and that they cease as mysteriously as they began.
Sometimes I have known the children of the school commence crying for no
ostensible reason; when a few words about the love of God in giving His
Son, or the love of Christ in laying down His life, would prove enough
to kindle a flame, and they would begin to cry aloud for mercy
forthwith. I have seen a whole school of more than a hundred children
like this at the same time. An awakening of such a character was
generally a token of the beginning of a work of God, which would last in
power for four or five weeks, if not more; then the quiet, ordinary work
would go on as before. Sometimes, for no accountable reason, we saw the
church thronged with a multitude of people from various parts, having no
connection with one another, all equally surprised to see each other;
and the regular congregation more surprised still to see the unexpected
rush of strangers. After a time or two we began to know the cause, and
understood that the coming together of the people was by the Spirit of
the Lord, and so we prepared accordingly, expecting a revival to follow.
On these occasions it was very easy to preach, or pray, or sing; we had
only to say, "Stay here, or go to the schoolroom;" "Stand and sing;" or,
"Kneel and pray;" and it was done at once: such was the power of the
Spirit in melting the hears of the people into entire submission for the
time.