"As to Simeon," wrote Macaulay, "if you knew what his authority and
influence were, and how they extended from Cambridge to the most
remote corners of England, you would allow that his real sway over the
Church was far greater than that of any primate."
There is little recorded of Simeon's early life to indicate the
character of the future leader of men; for, to "jump over half a
dozen chairs in succession, and snuff a candle with his feet," is an
ordinary schoolboy accomplishment. Yet there is one incident which
shows he could be in earnest in religious matters, even at that date.
Whilst he was at Eton, in 1776, a national fast-day was appointed on
account of the war with America, which was then in progress. Simeon,
feeling that, if any one had displeased God more than others, it was
certainly he, spent the day in prayer and fasting. So great was
the ridicule, however, which followed, that he gave up his serious
thoughts for the time, though it is related that he kept an alms-box,
into which he put money whenever his conscience accused him of
wrong-doing.
It was rather a favourite habit of his to punish himself by fines for
bad behaviour. Later on in life, when he found it difficult to rise
early in the morning, he resolved to give the servant half a crown
every time he played the part of the sluggard. One morning he found
himself reasoning in his own mind, whilst enjoying a warm, comfortable
bed, that, after all, half-crowns were very acceptable to the poor
woman who received them. But he made up his mind to put an end, once
and for all, to such suggestions from the tempter; and resolved
accordingly that, if he got up late again, he would throw a guinea
into the Cam. He did it too. The next time he rose late he walked down
to the river, and threw a hard-earned guinea into the water. It was
worth while, nevertheless; for he never had to punish himself again
for the same fault.
The turning point in his life came soon after his arrival at
Cambridge.
The provost sent him a message to say that he would be required to
partake of the Holy Communion at mid-term, then about three weeks
distant.
The thought of so solemn an occasion weighed heavily on his mind. He
at once set about reading devotional manuals, and sorrowed earnestly
for his past sins. So heavy, indeed, lay the burden of sin upon him
that he envied the very dogs, wishing that he could change places with
them.
For three months this state of feeling continued. But in Passion Week
the thought came to him that God had provided an Offering for him, on
whose head he could lay his sins, just as the Jewish high priest laid
the sins of the people on the head of the scapegoat. He saw dimly at
first that his sins could be, and were intended to be, transferred to
Christ; and he determined to lay them upon the Saviour, and be rid of
them.
On Wednesday hope dawned in his heart; on Thursday it increased; on
Friday and Saturday it grew and developed; and on Easter Day, 1778, he
awoke with the words on his lips:--
"Jesus Christ is risen to-day, Hallelujah!" and, better still, written
once and for ever in his heart.
In his twentieth year he had experienced that deep conviction known as
conversion.
Like every true convert, Simeon, having found the way himself, now
endeavoured to help others to realise the same blessed hope.
His intimate friends were told of the new joy that had come to him: he
instructed the women who worked at the colleges, and when he went home
induced his relatives to commence family prayers.
Though the light had dawned upon him he was nevertheless full
of faults. He dressed showily, went to races, spent his Sundays
carelessly.
But gradually these habits were overcome, and he grew in holiness,
becoming watchful of his conduct, praying more fervently, living
nearer to Christ.
In 1782 Simeon was ordained deacon in Ely Cathedral, and shortly after
became honorary curate to Mr. Atkinson, vicar of St. Edward's Church,
near King's College. He was already a marked man on account of
his earnest life. He visited the parishioners as Mr. Atkinson's
substitute, and was soon received with pleasure by them.
The church became so full that the people could hardly find room. It
is related that even the clerk's desk was invaded, and that when Mr.
Atkinson returned after a holiday the clerk met him with the following
strange welcome:--
"Oh, sir, I am so glad you are come: Now we shall have some room!"
On the very first Sunday he took duty he showed the metal of which he
was made; for, in going home after service, he heard voices high
in dispute in one of the houses he passed. Straightway he went in,
reproved the couple who were at strife, and knelt down to pray. Peace
was restored, and Simeon's character for earnestness was confirmed.
Now came an eventful period in this good man's life. The minister of
Trinity Church, Cambridge, having died, Simeon was appointed by the
bishop.
The parishioners, however, desired to have as minister the curate;
and, as it was impossible to gratify their wish, they made matters as
unpleasant as possible for Simeon.
The pew doors were nearly all kept locked, so that the space left for
the congregation was much reduced.
On the first Sunday there was practically no congregation; but later
on people could not resist his influence, and the church began to
fill. To provide places for those who came, Simeon had seats placed in
various parts of the building. The churchwardens, however, threw them
out into the church-yard!
It was an uncomfortable beginning; but Simeon persevered. He began
a course of Sunday evening lectures, to which the people flocked in
crowds; but the churchwardens locked the church doors and carried off
the keys.
Besides beings rude and unmannerly, that was distinctly illegal; but
Simeon put up with the affront for the sake of peace.
When necessary he could be firm. The young men threw stones at the
church windows and broke them. On one occasion Simeon discovered the
offender, and obliged him to read a public confession of his fault.
The church was crowded. The young man read the paper which Simeon had
prepared for him, but did so in a voice low and partially inaudible.
Then Simeon himself, taking the paper from him, read the apology in
such tones that none could fail to hear.
The young men were impressed, and the congregation listened to the
sermon that followed with more than usual attention.
He was of all men the most humble; yet this did not prevent his
speaking honestly and openly when he considered by so doing he could
be of service. Thus a friend once asked him, after having preached a
showy sermon with which he himself was remarkably satisfied, "How did
I speak this evening?"
"Why, my dear brother," said Simeon, "I am sure you will pardon me;
you know it is all love, my brother--but, indeed, it was just as if
you were knocking on a warming-pan--tin, tin, tin, tin, without any
intermission!"
Once a party of undergraduates laid an ambush for Simeon, intending to
assault him. He, however, by accident happened to go home that night
another way.
Not only had he to put up with active but also with much passive
opposition. But he went on in faith and charity, till his enemies
became his friends--his friends, his ardent and reverent admirers.
We must pass over without further comment a life of humility, love,
and holiness--a life full of good works at home, and ardently
interested in missions abroad.
In 1831, when Simeon was seventy-two years old, he preached his last
sermon before the university. The place was crowded. The heads
of houses, the doctors, the masters of art, the bachelors, the
undergraduates, the townsmen, all crowded to hear the venerable
preacher. They hung on his words and listened with the deepest
reverence.
His closing days were singularly bright and happy. Three weeks before
his death a friend, seeing him look more than usually calm and
peaceful, asked him what he was thinking of.
"I don't think now," he answered brightly; "I enjoy."
At another time his friends, believing the end was at hand, gathered
round him.
"You want to see," he remarked, "what is called a dying scene. That I
abhor.... I wish to be alone with my God, the lowest of the low."
One evening those watching beside him thought he was unconscious, his
eyes having been closed for some hours. But suddenly he remarked:--
"If you want to know what I am doing, go and look in the first chapter
of Ephesians from the third to the fourteenth verse; there you will
see what I am enjoying now."
On Sunday, 13th November, just as the bells of St. Mary's were calling
together the worshippers to service he passed away. He had accepted
an invitation to preach a course of four sermons, and would have
delivered the second of the course on that very afternoon. I am
permitted, by the kindness of the Rev. H.C.G. Moule, from whose
delightful biography the foregoing sketch has been compiled, to
reproduce a page from this address.
"Who would ever have thought I should behold such a day as this?"
wrote Simeon. "My parish sweetly harmonious, my whole works
stereotyping in twenty-one volumes, and my ministry not altogether
inefficient at the age of seventy-three.... But I love the valley of
humiliation."
In that last sentence, perhaps, lies the secret of the man's
far-reaching and undying influence.