The Visitor, 1851.
In the midst of these things, we had a scene quite characteristic of
Cornwall, which was the funeral of my late gardener and friend, John
Gill. This man's conversion, it will be remembered, was the event by
which it pleased God to bring my religious state to a crisis. After my
sudden exit from John's cottage, which I have already described, he
continued to pray for me, as he said he would, until the following
Sunday, when he heard of my conversion. Then he praised God, and that
with amazing power of mind and body for a dying man. Day by day, as his
life was prolonged, he was eager to hear of the progress of the work.
At last the day of his departure arrived, and he was quite content and
happy to go. A large concourse of people assembled at the funeral,
dressed in their Sunday best. They gathered by hundreds in front of
John's cottage, several hours before the time fixed for the service.
During this interval they sang hymns, which were given out two lines at
a time. Then they set out for the church, singing as they went along.
In the West it is not the custom to carry the coffin on the shoulders,
but by hand, which office is performed by friends, who continually
relieve one another, that all may take part in this last mark of respect
to the deceased. At length, they arrived at the "lych" gate, and setting
the coffin upon the lych stone (a heavy slab of granite, put there for
the purpose), they sang their final hymn. At the conclusion of this, I
came out with my clerk to receive the funeral party and to conduct them
into the church. After the service I was about to give an address, when
I was told that there were more people outside than within the church.
In order, therefore, not to disappoint them, we came to the grave-side
in the churchyard, and from thence I addressed a great concourse of
people.
I told them of dear John's conversion, and of my disappointment and
distress on account of it; then of my own conversion, and John's
unbounded joy; taking the opportunity to enforce the absolute necessity
of this spiritual change, and the certain damnation of those who die
without it.
This funeral caused a solemn feeling, and as the people lingered about,
we re-entered the church, and further improved the occasion. Then we
went to the schoolroom for a prayer-meeting, and many souls were added
to the number of the saved.
Among the strangers present was a gentleman who had come all the way
from Plymouth, in order to witness for himself the wonderful work, of
which he had read an account in the newspaper. After attending several
of our services, he came up to speak to me, and said that he had seen an
account of "the fall of a High Churchman into Dissent," which was
regarded as a very extraordinary thing, for at that time some Dissenters
were becoming High Churchmen, or what used to be called then
"Puseyites." Having seen me, and heard for himself of my conversion, and
my adherence to the Church, he was satisfied, and asked me to spare time
for a little conversation with him.
He came to my house the next morning, and commenced by asking, "Do you
really think you would have been lost for ever, if you had died before
you were converted?" This he said looking me full in the face, as if to
see whether I flinched from my position. I answered, "Most certainly;
without a doubt."
"Remember," he said, calmly, "you have been baptized and confirmed; you
are a communicant, and have been ordained; do you really think that all
this goes for nothing?"
"Most assuredly, all these things are good in their place, and fully
avail for their respective purposes, but they have nothing whatever to
do with a sinner's salvation."
"Do you mean to say," he continued, "that the Church is not the very ark
of salvation?"
"I used to think so," I replied, "and to say that 'there was no Church
without a Bishop, and no salvation out of the Church;' but now I am sure
that I was mistaken. The outward Church is a fold for protecting the
sheep; but the Church is not the Shepherd who seeks and finds the lost
sheep."
"Well," he said, "but think of all the good men you condemn if you take
that position so absolutely."
Seeing that I hesitated, he went on to say that he "knew many very good
men, in and out of the Church of England, who did not think much of
conversion, or believe in the necessity of it."
"I am very sorry for them," I replied; "but I cannot go back from the
position into which, I thank God, He has brought me. It is burned into
me that, except a man is converted, he will and must be lost for ever."
"Come, come, my young friend," he said, shifting his chair, and then
sitting down to another onslaught, "do you mean to say that a man will
go to hell if he is not converted, as you call it?"
"Yes, I do; and I am quite sure that if I had died in an unconverted
state I should have gone there; and this compels me to believe, also,
that what the Scripture says about it is true for every one."
"But what does the Scripture say?" he interposed. "It says that 'he that
believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed' (John
3:18); and in another place, 'tie that believeth not shall be damned'
(Mark 16:16). As surely as the believer is saved and goes to heaven, as
surely the unbeliever is lost and must So to hell."
"Do you mean Gehenna, the place of torment?"
"Yes, I do."
"This is very dreadful."
"More dreadful still." I said, "must be the solemn reality; and
therefore, instead of shrinking from the thought and putting it off, I
rather let it stir and rouse me to warn unbelievers, so that I may, by
any means, stop them on their dangerous path. I think this is the only
true and faithful way of showing kindness; and that, on the other hand,
it is the most selfish, heartless, and cruel unkindness to let sinners,
whether they are religious, moral, reformed, or otherwise, to go on in
an unconverted state, and perish."
"Do you believe, then," said my visitor, "in the fire of hell? Do you
think it is a material fire?"
"I do not know; I do not wish to know anything about it. I suppose
material fire, like every other material thing, is but a shadow of
something real. Is it not a fire which shall burn the soul--a fire that
never will be quenched--where the worm will never die?"
"Do you really believe all this?"
"Yes," I said, "and I have reason to do so." I remembered the anguish of
soul I passed through when I was under conviction, and the terrible
distress I felt for others whom I had misled. "When our blessed Lord was
speaking to the Jews, and warning them against their unbelief and its
fearful consequences, He did not allow any 'charitable hopes' to hinder
Him from speaking the whole truth. He told them of Lazarus, who died,
and went to Paradise, or Abraham's bosom; and of Dives, who died, and
went to Hell, the place of torment" (Luke 16).
"But," he said, interrupting me, "that is only a parable, or figure of
speech."
"Figure of speech!" I repeated. "Is it a figure of speech that the rich
man fared sumptuously, that he died, that he was buried? Is not that
literal? Why, then, is it a figure of speech that he lifted up his eyes
in torment, and said, 'I am tormented in this flame'(Luke 16:24). My
dear friend, be sure that there is an awful reality in that story--a
most solemn reality in the fact of the impassable gulf. If here we do
not believe in this gulf, we shall have to know of it hereafter. I never
saw and felt," I continued, "as I do now, that every man is lost, even
while on earth, until he is saved, and that if he dies in that unsaved
state he will be lost for ever."
My unknown visitor remained silent for a little time, and I could see
that he was in tears. At last he burst out and said, "I am sure you are
right. I came to try you upon the three great "R's"--'Ruin,'
'Redemption,' and 'Regeneration,' and to see if you really meant what
you preached. Now I feel more confirmed in the truth and reality of the
Scriptures." I thought I had been contending with an unbeliever all
along, but instead of this I found that he was a man who scarcely
ventured to think out what he believed to its ultimate result--he
believed God's Word, but, like too many, alas! held it loosely.
This gentleman had experienced the truth of the three "R's"--that is to
say, he had been awakened to know himself to be lost and ruined by the
fall, redeemed by the blood of Christ, and regenerated by the Holy
Ghost. In other words, he had been converted, and he knew it.
I found out that at the time of his conversion he was a beneficed
clergyman, and that, as such, not being responsible to any rector or
vicar, he began to preach boldly the things he had seen. His changed
preaching produced a manifest result, and the people were awakened, even
startled, and it would appear he was startled too. Instead of thanking
God and taking courage, he became alarmed at the disturbance amongst his
congregation, and finding that his preaching made him very unpopular, he
was weak enough to change his tone, and speak smooth things. Thus he
made peace with his congregation, and gained their treacherous good
will; but as a living soul he could not be satisfied with this state of
things. He knew that he was not faithful to God or to his people; so
being a man of competent means, he resigned his living, and retired into
private life--"beloved and respected," as they said, for being a good
and peaceable man.
At this distance of time I continue to thank God for his visit to me; it
helped to fix the truth more firmly in my own soul, and to confirm me in
the course in which I was working, and even contending, in the face of
much opposition. I must say that I have had no reason to waver in my
conviction, and still feel that I would not, for ten times that man's
wealth, and twenty times the amount of good-will which he enjoyed (if he
did enjoy it), stand in his place.
After long observation, I perceive that it is not the sword of the Word
which offends congregations, for preachers are commended and promoted
for declaring the whole truth, so long as it is judiciously put, and
with "much discretion," so as not to wound the prejudices of the people.
The majority of congregations rather like to see the sword drawn out to
its full length and flashed with dexterity, and they do not always
object to being hit with it, and even hit hard, so long as it is done
with the flat of the sword; but they very quickly resent a touch with
its edge, and more a thrust with its point. They admire sheet lightning,
which is beautiful, as it is harmless; but forked lightning is something
to be dreaded and avoided. For instance, a man may preach most
eloquently and acceptably on the three "R's" if he does not apply the
subject too pointedly, by telling the people, both in the pulpit and out
of it, that they are now ruined and lost; and that, having been
redeemed, they are responsible before God; and that, if they will not be
regenerated by the Spirit, they will be damned. They do not object to
your laying, "You hath He quickened," but to turn these same words into
a personal question is too often considered impertinent; though, indeed,
it is the sincerest kindness and truest Christian love.
"This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ
Jesus came into the world to save sinners" (1 Tim. 1:15). He came, and
is spiritually present now, everywhere, for this purpose. His real
presence with power is particularly promised to the preacher of the
Gospel (Matt. 28:20). The Lord Jesus is ever present to take especial
interest in the result of preaching. How disappointing then must it be
to Him, to find His servants so often spending their time and energies
upon other objects, however great or good they may be! When they do
preach the Gospel, it must grieve Him to see that their object is too
often not the same as His; and when He does apply the Word by the power
of the Spirit, it must also grieve Him to see that they are afraid of
the result.
Gospel preaching should not be to entertain people, nor even to instruct
them; but first to awaken them to see their danger, and to bring them
from death into life, which is manifestly the Lord's chief desire.
This was the definite object of my work: I preached for and aimed at it;
and nothing short of this could or would satisfy my longings. In the
church, in the school-room, or in the cottages, we prayed that the Holy
Spirit would bring conviction upon sinners, and then we sought to lead
them to conversion with the clear ringing testimony, "You must be born
again, or die to all eternity."