Secessions, 1856.
After mission which Mr. Aitken had held, people came out so decidedly,
that the vicar and curate, who had all along kept aloof, doubting, fell
back into a kind of revulsion, and began to read and lend Romish books.
Eventually, they themselves decided to join the Church of Rome. Whether
they were ever really converted or not, I cannot tell. I thought and
hoped they were, but they seldom stood out on the Lord's side. They
certainly had light, and may have had some experience. At any rate, they
chose such a harlot as the Church of Rome for the object of their love,
instead of Christ Himself.
I loved the curate. He was the man who had the unopened letter in his
desk,* of which he harboured such a dread. Sad to say, he ended by
falling away at last. Poor man! he went over to Rome, and never held up
his head any more. Evidently disappointed, and ashamed to come back, he
lingered on for some months, and then died.
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* See page 256.
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Not long after his secession, we accidentally met in a quiet lane, in
another part of the county, where I was walking for meditation. Perhaps
he was led there for the same purpose. Meeting so unexpectedly, there
was no opportunity to evade one another. I felt a trembling come over me
at seeing him, and he was none the less moved. We held each other's
hands in silence, till at last I said, "How are you? I love you still."
"I cannot stand it!" he said; and snatching his hand out of mine, he ran
away.
I never saw him again, but mourned for him till he died. I cannot help
thinking that he is safe, and that he died in a faith more scriptural
than that of the Church of Rome.
Why do men secede; and break their own hearts, and the hearts of those
who love them? Rome seems to cast a kind of spell upon the conscience,
fascinating its victims much as the gaze of the serpent is said to hold
a bird, till it falls into its power; or as a light attracts a moth,
till it flies into it, to its own destruction. Such seceders mourn and
dread the step; pray about it, think and think, till they are bewildered
and harassed; and then, in a fit of desperation, go off to some Romish
priest to be received. A man who had an honourable position, a work and
responsibility, suddenly becomes a nonentity, barely welcomed, and
certainly suspected.
Romish people compass sea and land to make proselytes; and after they
have gained them, they are afraid of them, for their respective
antecedents are so different, that it is impossible for them to think
together. They get the submission of a poor deluded pervert, but he gets
nothing in return from them but a fictitious salvation. They gain him;
but he was lost the kind regard and sympathy of friends he had before,
and with it all that once was dear to him; and he voluntarily forfeits
all this upon the bare self-assertion of a system which claims his
implicit obedience. The poor pervert is required to give over his will,
his conscience, and his deepest feelings to the keeping of his so-called
"priest" or to the Church, and is expected to go away unburdened and at
peace. Some there are, it is true, who actually declare that they have
peace by this means; but what peace it is, and of what kind, I know not.
Supposing that I was in debt and anxiety, and a man who had no money,
but plenty of assurance and brass, came to me and sympathized in my
trouble, saying, "Do not fear---trust me; I will bear your burden, and
pay off your debt"--if the manner of the man was sufficiently assuring,
it would lift up the cloud of anxiety and distress; but, for all that,
the penniless man would net, and could not, pay my debt. I might fancy
he had done so or would do so; and then, when it was too late, the debt,
with accumulated interest, would fall on me, to my over-whelming ruin,
even though I had been ever so free from anxiety before. So it is with
these deluded ones, who go to the priest instead of to Christ, and take
his absolution instead of Christ's forgiveness.
Any one who carefully reads the Word of God may see that the Church of
Rome has no such priesthood as she claims, nor power to forgive sins, as
she professes to do. The whole supposition is based on a
misunderstanding of the text, "Whose soever sins ye remit, they are
remitted unto them; and whosesoever sins ye retain, they are retained"
(John 20:23).
The disciples (some of them not apostles) who received this commission
or privilege, never understood that they were by these words (men and
women together) empowered to be absolving priests. Even the very
apostles never knew that they had any such power; and it is certain they
never exercised it. They were perfectly innocent of being priests after
the Romish type, and never dreamed of offering a propitiatory sacrifice.
They simply believed that Christ had completed the work of propitiation
once for all; and that there is now no more sacrifice for sin--that
Christ only can forgive sins. Therefore in the words of St. John we are
told, that "if any man sin (apostles and people alike), we have an
advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous; and He is the
propitiation for our sins" (1 John 2:1, 2).
The apostles and early Christians never understood that the power of the
keys meant the exercise of mere priestly authority, neither was the
doctrine known for several centuries after their time; therefore we may
be sure that the peace which perverts have, if it professes to come from
that source, is a delusion. No true remission or peace is, or can be
given, but by direct and personal transaction with Christ Himself.
I am perfectly convinced that the Epistles to the Romans and the
Galatians are the answer to all the pretences of the Church of Rome, and
that a man who will not read and follow them deserves to be misled. God
is perfectly justified and clear on this point.
During that winter six of my friends joined the Church of Rome. One I
have already told about, who died, I am sure, from grief and
disappointment.* Another became bigoted, and with a sullen, dogged
pertinacity, set himself to work for Rome, looking very miserable all
the time, although he used once to be happy in the Lord's work. The
others, without exception, went back into the world, and made no secret
of their conformity with it, its ways, and fashions.
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* See page 263.
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This was a time of trouble in more respects than one. These secessions
to Rome brought great discredit upon the work, and especially on the
effort to promote Catholic truth, and higher Church life. I found my own
refuge and comfort was in working for God, and therefore went out on
mission work whenever and wherever I could.
Early in the spring of this year I went on a mission to Worcestershire,
and there the Lord vouchsafed a great blessing, which has more or less
continued to this day; though I grieve to say the present vicar has no
sympathy with it. The work is still carried on in an Iron Room, out of
church hours, by people who continue to go to church.
The vicar of that time asked me to go and visit a farmer's wife, who was
under deep conviction, and wished to see me. I did so, and as we
approached the door (which was open) the first thing we heard was this
individual saying, in a very high-pitched: voice, "Confound..."
Seeing us, she suddenly stopped. "Go on with your text," said the vicar,
quietly, "'Confounded be all they that serve graven images;' is that
what you mean?"
"No," she replied; "come in, I am so wretched that I don't know what to
do with myself; it has made me cross. Do come in and pray with me."
We at once consented; and on pointing her to Jesus, she found peace. Not
content with praising God alone, she opened her house for a meeting for
the people in the neighbourhood. This being situated on the confines of
the parish, brought us into collision with the rector of the next
parish. He was most indignant at our coming (as he said), "to entice his
people away."
I tried my best to conciliate this gentleman, but nothing would do,
particularly when he heard that I was thinking of settling down in the
district. This plan was however frustrated in an unexpected manner, and
I was not permitted to remain there.
One day, when I was praying about the matter, a letter was put into my
hand from a lady who had been asking the Lord for nearly six months that
I might be appointed to her late husband's church. She had applied to
Lord Palmerston, who was the patron, and though she had received no
answer, yet she had continued to pray.
At last there came a courteous letter from his: lordship, apologizing
for having delayed his reply, adding that he "had mislaid the
application of her, nominee; if she would oblige him with the name and
address of this person, the appointment should be made out immediately."
She gave my name and address, and sent his letter on to me. I
immediately wrote to his lordship, saying that I had not applied for the
living, nor did I want it; but, for all that, I received by return post
the nomination; and actually, it was to go back to the diocese of
Exeter! I did not think the Bishop would institute me, as I had
committed a great many irregularities since his lordship had taken off
my harness. But he did.
Somehow I was unwilling to go to this living, but was put into it in
spite of myself. Here I had a good house, garden, and church, provided
for me, with so much a year. I wondered whether God was tired of me! He
had provided for me and my family during the past year wondrously, and I
began to like "living by faith," and trusting in Him only. I have great
doubts whether this appointment was altogether in accordance with God's
will. Anyway, I had very little success or liberty in preaching, and
could not settle down to work with any energy.
In the beginning of the summer, as usual, I had my attack of hay fever,
which completely incapacitated me, in this place of much grass. If I
went to a town or the sea-side, it was well; but the moment I returned
to the country I was ill again. Altogether, it was a dull and
distressing time; but God was preparing me for a special work.