The Dismissal, 1860-61
Of this work at Hayle was not "a success," in every sense of the word, I
do not yet know what success in parochial ministry is. If large
congregations may be counted; many communicants taken into reckoning;
with frequent services, and schools full of children--we certainly had
these. But above all, we had a continual ingathering of souls, who will
testify throughout eternity of the blessedness and reality of the work
of God during the time I was there.
It so happened that as we approached the term of three years, of which I
had been premonished when I first came, that my dear friend, Mr. Aitken,
came to pay us a visit. He preached with more amazing power than ever.
His appeals were altogether overwhelming, and I do not wonder that the
people fell on their knees, as they did then and there, and cried aloud
for mercy.
A newspaper reporter who came to hear this "great man" preach, was at
first observed to be writing very diligently; then he paused, and his
hand fell; then his pencil and book went from his grasp; presently he
himself fell on his knees, and began to cry for mercy. We were curious
afterwards to read his report.
In it the grateful man acknowledged his indebtedness, and the blessing
he had received. As to the sermon, he likened it to one of the storms of
the great Atlantic. He said. "At such a time it is interesting to stand
on the shore and watch the sea, and to note the power of wind and waves
while the storm is raging. Even then it is sometimes terrific enough;
but how much more so when the wind veers and the mighty waves come
rolling in one after another, and breaking with tremendous force upon
the rocks on which we stand! So it was with this preacher. All eyes were
fixed on him when he gave out his text, and proceeded with his usual
introduction. Now and then he alarmed and roused us with the power of
his oratory; but when he turned to apply his subject to the consciences
of the people, he became irresistible. Immediately, there was heard on
all sides a cry for mercy. The stentorian voice of the preacher was
audible above all others as he went on to apply the Word with
unrelenting force, till very few hearts, however hard, remained
unbroken."
This was a memorable day with us. Twice was the church filled and
emptied; and again a third time, in the evening, the people crowded in
and filled the place. Far into the night we wrought amongst the anxious
and broken-hearted, bidding them to look at the Crucified One and live.
Mr. Aitken was not a man who raked cinders over the fire, but rather
raked them off and that in true kindness and love; but with terrible and
awful plainness he showed the danger of trifling with the Gospel, and
presuming upon God's love and forbearance.
On Monday evening we invited the people to assemble in the large
schoolroom, which was filled to excess. Here I thought that the
schoolmaster's desk would have been demolished under the tremendous
energy and force, both mental and physical, of this preacher. At the
first sign of a breakdown among the people, the great, tall man, in his
long coat or cassock, came majestically striding out from behind the
desk. That was enough. A hard rough-looking sailor, who was sitting by,
with his eyes fixed on Mr. Aitken for a long time, fell on his knees and
began to roar aloud for mercy, and very many others followed his
example.
I asked this man afterwards what it was that had had such an effect upon
him? "Oh," he replied, drawing his breath, as if he had scarcely yet
recovered from the shock, "that big man was bad enough the other side of
the desk, but when he came forth to the front, I didn't know what would
happen to me. I was obliged to cry out for mercy; I couldn't help it."
The "big man," like the "Stormy Petrel," was just in his element in such
a scene. In the gladness and joy of his heart he rejoiced and shouted,
"Glory--glory be to God!" in a way which no one else could imitate or
follow.
In the midst of this scene of confusion (as it must have appeared to an
outside observer, if such an one was there), sat a woman, looking on at
the people praying and praising God, when all at once Mr. Aitken turned
suddenly upon her and said, "And you, my sister!" Immediately she gave a
scream, and was down on her knees in a moment, crying for mercy as loud
as the loudest.
If Cornish people like a noise, they certainly had it that evening to
their hearts' content. As I have said before, when there is a real power
of the Spirit present, the outpouring of the heart with noisy
demonstration is joyous to those who go with the stream, and are in
sympathy with it; but if those present stop to doubt the propriety of
such an outcry, and begin to rebuke those who make it, then I think the
answer that the Lord gave the Pharisees would still be applicable: "I
tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would
immediately cry out" (Luke 19:40).
It was a great triumph, and the rams' horns did more execution in these
two days than the silver trumpets had done in as many yearn.
The next day, as soon as Mr. Aitken had gone, the rector came to see me.
He appeared to be somewhat embarrassed at first, but after a little time
said (looking on the ground), "You know I am no revivalist. I do not
like all this uproar. I cannot have it." He then went on to say that he
wished me to leave, for though he had given a guarantee that if I
succeeded, he would build me a church and endow it, he could not do
anything of the kind now, for he did not consider my work any success
whatever--quite the contrary. "These converted people (as you call them)
are no churchmen!"
I replied, that I had taken his voice as from God in inviting me, and I
supposed that I must take the same for my dismissal, if he really
intended it; but I urged upon him to consider the matter well before he
broke up the work which was going on there, for whatever he thought
about it, it was undoubtedly a work of God, though one certainly not
very common in churches.
Without saying another word he took up his hat and went away. His
departure was so abrupt that I could not believe he intended me to
receive this as six months' notice. Consequently, I went on with my work
as usual, finding plenty to do, more especially after Mr. Aitken's
energetic visit. There were many new converts to add to our classes;
anxious ones to be guided and led to Christ; and broken-hearted and
despairing ones to be comforted and built up. The work under such a
preacher is by no means finished with his visit, however long or short
it may be; but, on the contrary, it may rather be said to begin there.
After some months, the rector came again to remind me that he had given
me notice more than five months before, and that he wished me to leave
at the beginning of the year, as he had secured the services of a
clergyman whose views were in accordance with his own. I was much
grieved at this and could only lay it before the Lord, and beg of Him to
order all according to His will.
The following morning, without any seeking on my part, I received an
invitation from Bath, asking me to come and take charge of the district
of St. Paul's, in the parish of Holy Trinity. Thus was the door shut
behind me, and another opened in front. This was so unmistakable, that I
could not but be satisfied, and acquiesce in the manifest will of God;
though, naturally, I felt great sorrow at having to leave the people and
the work I loved so well. I said nothing about my dismissal, but went on
with my various engagements as usual, though I had only a little more
than three weeks left me.
By some means it appeared in the newspapers, that I was appointed to a
district in Bath, and another clergyman was named as my successor at St.
John's, Hayle. This fell as a great blow upon my people, who were both
grieved and angry; but I could not comfort them, any more than I could
help myself.
The last Christmas-day came and went, a sad and sorrowful day it was;
then the last day of the year, and the last night. We held our
watch-night service as usual, thanking God for the mercies of the past,
and entered upon the new year with thanksgiving and prayer.
Thus ended my work, and eventful sojourn at Hayle, a little more than
three years after it began. A very sorrowful trial it was, and one of
bitter disappointment; but the Lord's leading was clear, and I have
since proved that it was all right, though at the time it was most
mysterious and very dark.
A few weeks before leaving Hayle, as I was sitting by the fire one wet
afternoon, my eyes fell on a little coloured picture on the
mantle-piece, which had been the companion of my journeys for all the
twenty years of which I have been writing. It was a quaint mediaeval
illustration of Moses lifting up the serpent in the wilderness, copied
from a valuable manuscript (Book of Prayers) in the Bodleian Library at
Oxford.
As I looked at the engraving before me, I began to suspect for the first
time that there was a design in the arrangement of the figures, and that
it was really intended to convey some particular teaching. I took it in
my hand and studied it, when I observed that the cross or pole on which
the serpent was elevated stood in the centre, dividing two sets of
characters, and that there were serpents on one side, and none on the
other.
Behind the figure of Moses, is a man standing with his arms crossed on
his breast, looking at the brazen serpent. He has evidently obtained
life and healing by a look. On the other side, I observed that there
were four kinds of persons represented, who were not doing as this
healed one did to obtain deliverance.
First, there is one who is kneeling in front of the cross, but he is
looking towards Moses, and not at the serpent, and apparently confessing
to him as if he were a priest.
Next behind him is one lying on his back, as if he was perfectly safe,
though he is evidently in the midst of danger; for a serpent may be seen
at his ear, possibly whispering "Peace, peace, when there is no peace."
Still further back from the cross there is a man with a sad face doing a
work of mercy, binding up the wounds of a fellow-sufferer, and little
suspecting that he himself is involved in the same danger.
Behind them all, on the background, is a valiant man who is doing battle
with the serpents, which may be seen rising against him in unabating
persistency.
I observed that none of these men were looking at the brazen serpent as
they were commanded to do. I cannot describe how excited and interested
I became; for I saw in this illustration a picture of my own life. Here
was the way of salvation clearly set forth, and four ways which are not
the way of salvation, all of which I had tried and found unavailing.
This was the silent but speaking testimony of some unknown denizen of a
cloister, who lived in the beginning of the fifteenth century, in the
days of ignorance and superstition. But notwithstanding this darkness,
he was brought out into the marvellous light of the Gospel, and has left
this interesting record of his experience.
Like him, I also had fought with serpents, for I began in my own
strength to combat with sin, and strove by my own resolutions to
overcome. From this, I went on to do good works, and works of mercy, in
the vain hope of thus obtaining the same for myself. Then, I relied in
the Church for salvation, as God's appointed ark of safety; but not
feeling secure, I took another step beyond, and sought forgiveness
through the power of the priest. This I found was as ineffectual as all
my previous efforts. At last, I was brought (by the Spirit of God) as a
wounded and dying sinner, to look at the Crucified One. Then (as I have
related), I found pardon and peace. Ever since it has been my joy and
privilege (like Moses pointing to the serpent) to cry, "Behold the Lamb
of God which taketh away the sin of the world" (John 1:29). "I have
determined to know nothing but Jesus Christ and Him crucified;" that is,
to tell only of the person and office of Jesus Christ our Lord.
Nearly twenty years have elapsed since the period at which this book
closes,* and, during all that time I have verified the truth and reality
of the teaching and experience I have recorded in this volume. All these
years, with their months, weeks, and days have passed by, and have found
me continually rejoicing in the work of the Lord--often wearied in it,
but never of it--often tempted to falter, but al ways enabled to
persevere. I have seen many rise and start well, who have collapsed or
retired; many who have blazed like a meteor for a short time, and then
disappeared from the scene.
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* I may, perhaps, at some future time, give an account of these latter
twenty years.
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May I here, in a few parting words to the reader, tell how it is that I
have been kept. I believe it is--first, Because I have never failed to
insist upon the absolute necessity of conversion, saying in the words of
the Master, "Marvel not, Ye must be born again" (John 3:7). Secondly,
Because I have preached nothing but what is taken from the Word, and
required nothing to be believed for Salvation and Edification, but what
can be proved thereby. Thirdly, because I have exhorted living souls
with purpose of heart to cleave unto the Lord; firmly believing that He
who died to save, rose again from the dead, and lives to keep His
people.
When we are saved, we are debtors to God, to devote ourselves to His
service, and for His glory: besides this, we are debtors to men, to make
known to them the grace which we have received; and we, as faithful
stewards of God should be ever ready (and not ashamed) to preach the
Gospel, for, "It is the power of God unto salvation to everyone that
believeth" (Rom. 1:16).
Brockville, Canada: The Standard Book Room.