"So stand fast in the Lord, my dearly beloved."--_Paul_.
In his supplementary picture of Standfast John Bunyan is seen at his very
best, both as a religious teacher and as an English author. On the
Enchanted Ground Standfast is set before us with extraordinary insight,
sagacity, and wisdom; and then in the terrible river he is set before us
with an equally extraordinary rapture and transport; while, in all that,
Bunyan composes in English of a strength and a beauty and a music in
which he positively surpasses himself. Just before he closes his great
book John Bunyan rises up and once more puts forth his very fullest
strength, both as a minister of religion and as a classical writer, when
he takes Standfast down into that river which that pilgrim tells us has
been such a terror to so many, and the thought of which has so often
affrighted himself.
When Greatheart and his charge were almost at the end of the Enchanted
Ground, so we read, they perceived that a little before them was a solemn
noise as of one that was much concerned. So they went on and looked
before them. And behold, they saw, as they thought, a man upon his
knees, with hands and eyes lift up, and speaking, as they thought,
earnestly to one that was above. They drew nigh, but could not tell what
he said; so they went softly till he had done. When he had done, he got
up and began to run towards the Celestial City. "So-ho, friend, let us
have your company," called out the guide. At that the man stopped, and
they came up to him. "I know this man," said Mr. Honest; "his name, I
know, is Standfast, and he is certainly a right good pilgrim." Then
follows a conversation between Mr. Honest and Mr. Standfast, in which
some compliments and courtesies are exchanged, such as are worthy of such
men, met at such a time and in such a place. "Well, but, brother," said
Valiant-for-truth, "tell us, I pray thee, what was it that was the cause
of thy being upon thy knees even now? Was it for that some special mercy
laid obligations upon thee, or how?" And then Standfast tells how as he
was coming along musing with himself, Madam Bubble presented herself to
him and offered him three things. "I was both aweary and sleepy and also
as poor as a howlet, and all that the wicked witch knew. And still she
followed me with her enticements. Then I betook me, as you saw, to my
knees, and with hands lift up and cries, I prayed to Him who had said
that He would help. So just as you came up the gentlewoman went her way.
Then I continued to give thanks for my great deliverance; for I verify
believe she intended me no good, but rather sought to make stop of me in
my journey. What a mercy is it that I did resist her, for whither might
she not have drawn me?" And then, after all this discourse, there was a
mixture of joy and trembling among the pilgrims, but at last they broke
out and sang:
"What danger is the pilgrim in,
How many are his foes,
How many ways there are to sin,
No living mortal knows!"
1. "Well, as I was coming along I was musing with myself," said
Standfast. You understand what it is to come along musing with yourself,
do you not, my brethren? "I will muse on the work of Thy hands," says
the Psalmist. And again, "While I was musing the fire burned." Well,
Standfast was much given to musing, just as David was. Each several
pilgrim has his own way of occupying himself on the road; but Standfast
could never get his fill just of musing. Standfast loved solitude.
Standfast liked nothing better than to walk long stretches at a time all
by himself alone. Standfast was like the apostle when he preferred to
take the twenty miles from Troas to Assos on foot and alone, rather than
to round the cape on shipboard in a crowd. "Minding himself to go
afoot," says the apostle's companion. It would have made a precious
chapter in the Acts of the Apostles had the author of that book been able
to give his readers some of Paul's musings as he crossed the Troad on
foot that day. But in the absence of Paul's musings we have here the
musings of a man whom Paul would not have shaken off had he foregathered
with him on that lonely road. For Standfast was in a deep and serious
muse mile after mile, when, who should step into the middle of his path
right before him but Madam Bubble with her body and her purse and her
bed? Now, had this hungry howlet of a pilgrim been at that moment in any
other but a musing mood of mind, he had to a certainty sold himself, soul
and body, Celestial City and all, to that impudent slut. But, as He
would have it who overrules Madam Bubble's descents, and all things,
Standfast was at that moment in one of his most musing moods, and all her
smiles and all her offers fell flat and poor upon him. Cultivate
Standfast's mood of mind, my brethren. Walk a good deal alone. Strike
across country from time to time alone and have good long walks and talks
with yourself. And when you know that you are passing places of
temptation see that your thoughts, and even your imaginations, are well
occupied with solemn considerations about the certain issue of such and
such temptations; and then, to you, as to Standfast,
"The arrow seen beforehand slacks its flight."
2. But, musing alone, the arrow seen beforehand, and all, Standfast
would have been a lost man on that lonely road that day had he not
instantly betaken himself to his knees. And it was while Standfast was
still on his knees that the ascending pilgrims heard that concerned and
solemn noise a little ahead of them. Did you ever suddenly come across a
man on his knees? Did you ever surprise a man at prayer as Greatheart
and his companions surprised Standfast? I do not ask, Did you ever enter
a room and find a family around their morning or evening altar? We have
all done that. And it left its own impression upon us. But did you ever
spring a surprise upon a man on his knees alone and in broad daylight? I
did the other day. It was between eleven and twelve o'clock in the
forenoon when I asked a clerk if his master was in. Yes, he said, and
opened his master's door. When, before I was aware, I had almost fallen
over a man on his knees and with his face in his hands. "I pray thee,"
said Valiant-for-truth, "tell us what it was that drew thee to thy knees
even now. Was it that some special mercy laid its obligations on thee,
or how?" I did not say that exactly to my kneeling friend, though it was
on the point of my tongue to say it. My dear friend, I knew, had his own
difficulties, though he was not exactly as poor as a howlet. And it
might have been about some of his investments that had gone out of joint
that he went that forenoon to Him who had said that He would help. Or,
like the author of the _Christian Perfection_ and _The Spirit of Prayer_,
it was the sixth hour of the day, and he may have gone to his knees for
his clerks, or for his boys at school, or for himself and for the man in
the same business with himself right across the street. I knew that my
friend had the charming book at home in which such counsels as these
occur: "If masters were thus to remember their servants, beseeching God
to bless them, letting no day pass without a full performance of this
devotion, the benefit would be as great to themselves as to their
servants." And perhaps my friend, after setting his clerks their several
tasks for the day, was now asking grace of God for each one of them that
they might not be eye-servants and men-pleasers, but the servants of
Christ doing the will of God from the heart. Or, again, he may have read
in that noble book this passage: "If a father were daily to make some
particular prayer to God that He would please to inspire his children
with true piety, great humility, and strict temperance, what could be
more likely to make the father himself become exemplary in these
virtues?" Now, my friend (who can tell?) may just that morning have lost
his temper with his son; or he may last night have indulged himself too
much in eating, or in drinking, or in debate, or in detraction; and that
may have made it impossible for him to fix his whole mind on his office
work that morning. Or, just to make another guess, when he opened the
book I had asked him to buy and read, he may have lighted on this
heavenly passage: "Lastly, if all people when they feel the first
approaches of resentment or envy or contempt towards others; or if in all
little disagreements and misunderstandings whatever they should have
recourse at such times to a more particular and extraordinary
intercession with God for such persons as had roused their envy,
resentment, or discontent--this would be a certain way to prevent the
growth of all uncharitable tempers." You may think that I am taking a
roundabout way of accounting for my friend's so concerned attitude at
twelve o'clock that business day; but the whole thing seemed to me so
unusual at such a time and in such a place that I was led to such guesses
as these to account for it. In so guessing I see now that I was
intruding myself into matters I had no business with; but all that day I
could not keep my mind off my blushing friend. For, like Mr. Standfast,
my dear friend blushed as he stood up and offered me the chair he had
been kneeling at. "But, why, did you see me?" said Mr. Standfast. "Yes,
I did," quoth the other, "and with all my heart I was glad at the sight."
"And what did you think?" said Mr. Standfast.
3. "Was it," asked Valiant-for-truth, in a holy curiosity, "was it some
special mercy that brought thee to thy knees even now?" Yes; Valiant-for-
truth had exactly hit it. Gracious wits, like great wits, jump together.
"Yes," confessed Standfast, "I continue to give thanks for my great
deliverance." My brethren, you all pray importunately in your time of
sore trouble. Everybody does that. But do you feel an obligation, like
Standfast, to abide still on your knees long after your trouble is past?
Nature herself will teach us to pray; but it needs grace, and great grace
continually renewed, to teach us to praise, and to continue all our days
to praise. How we once prayed, ay, as earnestly, and as concernedly, and
as careless as to who should see or hear us as Standfast himself! How
some of us here to-night used to walk across a whole country all the time
praying! How we hoodwinked people in order to get away from them to pray
for twenty miles at a time all by ourselves! Under that bush--it still
stands to mark the spot; in that wood, long since cut down into ploughed
land--we could show our children the spot to this day where we prayed,
till a miracle was wrought in our behalf. Yes, till God sent from above
and took us as He never took a psalmist, and set our feet upon a still
more wonderful rock. How He, yes, HE, with His own hand cut the cords,
broke the net, and set us free! Come, all ye that fear God! we then
said, and said it with all sincerity too. And yet, how have we forgotten
what He did for our soul? We start like a guilty thing surprised when we
think how long it is since we had a spell of thanksgiving. Shame on us!
What treacherous hearts we have! What short memories we have! How soon
we forgive ourselves, and so forget the forgiveness of our God! Brethren,
let us still lay plans for praise as we used to do for prayer. If our
friends will go out with us, let us at least insist on walking home
alone. Let us say with Paul that we get sick at sea; and, besides, that
we have some calls to make and some small accounts to settle before we
leave the country. Tell them not to wait dinner for us. And then let us
take plenty of time. Let us stop at all our old stations and call back
all our old terrors; let us repeat aloud our old psalms--the
twenty-fifth, the fifty-first, the hundred and third, and the hundred and
thirtieth. We used to terrify people with our prayers as Standfast
terrified the young pilgrims that day; let us surprise and delight them
now with our psalms of thanksgiving. For, with all our disgraceful
ingratitude in the past, if William Law is right, we are even yet not far
from being great saints, if he is not wrong when he asks: "Would you know
who is the greatest saint in the world? It is not he who prays most or
fasts most; it is not he who gives most alms, or is most eminent for
temperance, chastity, or justice. But it is he who is most thankful to
God, and who has a heart always ready to praise God. This is the
perfection of all virtues. Joy in God and thankfulness to God is the
highest perfection of a divine and holy life." Well, then, what an
endless cause of joy and thankfulness have we! Let us acknowledge it,
and henceforth employ it; and we shall, please God, even yet be counted
as not low down but high up among the saints and the servants of God.
4. Christiana said many kind and wise and beautiful things to all the
other pilgrims before she entered the river, but it was observed that
though she sent for Mr. Standfast, she said not one word to him when he
came; she just gave him her ring. "The touch is human and affecting,"
says Mr. Louis Stevenson, in his delightful paper on Bagster's "Bunyan,"
in the _Magazine of Art_. By the way, do you who are lovers of Bunyan
literature know that remarkable and delicious paper? The Messrs. Bagster
should secure that paper and should issue an _edition de luxe_ of their
neglected "Bunyan," with Mr. Stevenson's paper for a preface and
introduction. Bagster's "Illustrated Bunyan," with an introduction on
the illustrations by Mr. Louis Stevenson, if I am not much mistaken,
would sell by the thousand.
5. Lord Rosebery knows books and loves books, and he has called
attention to the surpassing beauty of the English in the deathbed scenes
of the _Pilgrim's Progress_. And every lover of pure, tender, and noble
English must, like the Foreign Secretary, have all those precious pages
by heart. Were it not that we all have a cowardly fear at death
ourselves, and think it wicked and cruel even to hint at his approaching
death even to a fast-dying man, we would never let any of our friends lie
down on his sick-bed without having a reassuring and victorious page of
the _Pilgrim_ read to him every day. If the doctors would allow me, I
would have these heavenly pages reprinted in sick-bed type for all my
people. But I am afraid at the doctors. And thus one after another of
my people passes away without the fortification and the foretaste that
the deathbeds of Christian, and Christiana, and Hopeful, and Mr. Fearing,
and Mr. Feeble-mind, and Mr. Honest, and Mr. Standfast would most surely
have given to them. Especially the deathbed, if I must so call it, of
Mr. Standfast. But as Christiana said nothing that could be heard to Mr.
Standfast about his or her latter end, but just looked into his eyes and
gave him her ring, so I may not be able to say all that is in my heart
when your doctor is standing close by. But you will understand what I
would fain say, will you not? You will remember, and will have this
heavenly book read to you alternately with your Bible, will you not? Even
the most godless doctor will give way to you when you tell him that you
know as well as he does just how it is with you, and that you are to have
your own way for the last time. I know a doctor who first forbade her
minister and her family to tell his patient that she was dying, and at
the same time told them to take away from her bedside all such alarming
books as the _Pilgrim's Progress_ and the _Saint's Rest_, and to read to
her a reassuring chapter out of _Old Mortality_ and _Pickwick_.
It will, no doubt, put the best-prepared of us into a deep muse, as it
put Standfast, when we are first told that we must at once prepare
ourselves for a change of life. But I for one would not for worlds miss
that solemn warning, and that last musing-time. It will all be just as
my Master pleases; but if it is within His will I shall till then
continue to petition Him that I may have a passage over the river like
the passage of Standfast. Or, if that may not now be, then, at least, a
musing-time like his. The post from the Celestial City brought Mr.
Standfast's summons "open" in his hand. And thus it was that Standfast's
translation did not take him by surprise. Standfast was not plunged
suddenly and without warning into the terrible river. He took the open
summons into big own hand and read it out like a man. After which he
went, as his manner was, for a good while into a deep and undisturbed
muse. As soon as he came out of his muse he would have Greatheart to be
sent for. And then their last conversation together proceeded. And no
one interfered with the two brave-hearted men. No one interposed, or
said that Greatheart would exhaust or alarm Standfast, or would
injuriously hasten his end. Not only so, but all the way till he was
half over the river, Standfast kept up his own side of the noble
conversation. And it is his side of that half-earthly, whole-heavenly
conversation that I would like to have put into suitable type and
scattered broadcast over all our sick-beds.
6. "Tell me," says Valdes to Julia in his _Christian Alphabet_, "have
you ever crossed a deep river by a ford?" "Yes," says Julia, "I have,
many times." "And have you remarked how that by looking upon the water
it seemed as though your head swam, so that, if you had not assisted
yourself, either by closing your eyes, or by fixing them on the opposite
shore, you would have fallen into the water in great danger of drowning?"
"Yes, I have noticed that." "And have you seen how by keeping always for
your object the view of the land that lies on the other side, you have
not felt that swimming of the head, and so have suffered no danger of
drowning?" "I have noticed that too," replied Julia. Now, it was
exactly this same way of looking, not at the black and swirling river,
but at the angelic conduct waiting for him at the further bank, and then
at the open gate of the Celestial City,--it was this that kept
Standfast's head so steady and his heart like a glowing coal while he
stood and talked in the middle of the giddy stream. You would have
thought it was Paul himself talking to himself on the road to Assos. For
I defy even the apostle himself to have talked better or more boldly to
himself even on the solid midday road than Standfast talked to himself in
the bridgeless river. "I see myself," he said, "at the end of my journey
now. My toilsome days are all ended. I am going now to see that head
that was crowned with thorns, and that face that was spat upon for me. I
loved to hear my Lord spoken of, and wherever I have seen the print of
His shoe in the earth I have coveted to set my foot also. His name has
been to me as a civet-box; yea, sweeter than all perfumes. His word I
did use to gather for my food, and for antidotes against my faintings. He
has held me, and I have kept me from my iniquities. Yea, my steps He has
strengthened in my way." Now, while Standfast was thus in discourse his
countenance changed, his strong man bowed down under him, and after he
had said "Take me!" he ceased to be seen of them. But how glorious it
was to see how the open region was now filled with horses and chariots,
with trumpeters and pipers, and with singers and players on stringed
instruments, all to welcome the pilgrims as they went up and followed one
another in at the beautiful gate of the city!