_CAERNARVON AND LAST DAYS_.
Leading a Forlorn Hope again—More Chapel Debts—A Present of a Gig—Jack,
_bach_!—The One-eyed Man of Anglesea once more—The Old Man’s Reflections
in his Journal—Characteristic Letters on Church Discipline—Threescore
Years and Twelve—Starts on his Last Journey to liquidate a Chapel Debt—An
Affecting Appeal to the Churches—Laid up at Tredegar—Conversations—In
Swansea—This is my Last Sermon—Dying—Last Words—“Good-bye! Drive on!”
The last field of the great, good man’s pastorate was Caernarvon; thither
he removed when about sixty-seven years of age. It might be thought,
that after such a hard, and exhausting life of travel, and toil, some
plan might have been devised, by which his last days should be passed in
restfulness, and peace; but it was not to be so: throughout his life, his
had been up-hill work, no path of roses, no easy way; and, indeed, we
usually know that such spheres are reserved for men who can carry nothing
with them but the weight of dignified dulness. Of every sphere, from his
first settlement at Lleyn, we read, that the cause was in a prostrate
condition; and so, here, Christmas Evans appears to have been invited to
take the charge of the Caernarvon church because it consisted of about
thirty members, chiefly of the lowest class, of course quarrelling, and
disunited. The dissolution of the church was advised. There was a
fairly respectable place of worship, but it was £800 in debt, apparently,
to us, in these days, not a very large sum, but a sum of considerable
importance in Wales, and especially in that day.
So the question was discussed at a ministerial association, and some
brother minister present, delivered himself of a confirmatory dream he
had had on the subject, and the matter was practically settled, when a
young minister spoke up, in the conference, and said to the venerable
man, “Yes, you had better go to Caernarvon: it is not likely your talents
would suit, but you might do excellently well at Caernarvon.” The
impudent speech astounded all the ministers present, except the
unfortunate utterer of it. They knew not what to say. After a pause,
the brethren all struck utterly dumb, Christmas Evans opened his one
large eye upon his adviser, and, with some indignation, he said, “Ay,
where hast thou come from? How long is it since thou didst chip thy
shell?” Well, it was the very word: no one else could have, in so
summary a manner, crunched up the thin egg-shell of pretentious conceit.
There was a real desire, on the part of the trustees of Caernarvon, and
of English friends in Liverpool, that he should return to the north; and
some gentlemen facilitated his return by giving him a gig, so that he
might travel at his ease, and in his own way. This was not a very great
donation, but it added, materially, to his comfort: he was able to travel
pleasantly, and conveniently with Mrs. Evans. His horse, Jack, had been
his companion for twenty years, but the pair were very fond of one
another. Jack knew, from a distance, the tones of his master’s voice;
and Christmas, on their journeys, would hold long conversations with
Jack. The horse opened his ears the moment his master began to speak,
made a kind of neighing, when the rider said, as he often did, “Jack,
_bach_, we have only to cross one low mountain again, and there will be
capital oats, excellent water, and a warm stable,” etc.
So he bade farewell to Cardiff in 1832, and upon the following Sunday,
after his farewell there, he appears to have commenced his new ministry.
It seems pathetic to us, to think of the old man, but we have no idea
that he had any such pity, or sympathy for himself. Who can doubt,
either, that he favoured, and hailed the opportunity of the return to the
north? and Caernarvon, and Anglesea were almost one: he had but to cross
the Menai Straits to be again in Anglesea—Anglesea, the scene of so many
trials, and triumphs, where he had planted so many churches, sustained so
many spiritual conflicts, and enjoyed, in his Cildwrn cottage, no doubt,
years of much domestic happiness. It seems to us he ought never to have
left Anglesea; but he regarded his exile to Caerphilly as a mission, that
was to terminate, if success should crown it. And so he was back again
in the old neighbourhood, and it appears, that the announcement of his
return created universal delight, and joy, and strong excitement. He had
been absent for about seven years, and the people, on account of his
advanced age, when leaving them, expected to see him bowed with
infirmity, and his preaching power, they supposed, would rather
affectingly remind them of what he had been.
Shortly after his entrance upon the work of Caernarvon, a public occasion
presented itself for his appearance in Anglesea. The whole neighbourhood
flocked out, to see the patriarch. As he appeared on the platform, or
preaching-place, in the open-air,—for no chapel could have contained the
multitude,—the people said, “Why, he does not seem at all older! he looks
more like a man of forty-five, than sixty-five, or sixty-six.” And his
preaching was just the same, or, possibly, even richer, and greater: it
was his own old self, their own old Christmas Evans; the same rich, and
excursive fancy, the same energetic, and fiery delivery. The appearance
of such a man, under such circumstances,—one who has worn well, borne the
burden and heat of the day, and taken his part “on the high places of the
field,”—is a mighty awakening, and heart-healing time for old believers,
who find their love to each other renewed in the rekindled love to the
old pastor, and father in Christ. Old memories very tenderly touch
reciprocating hearts. The old words, and the old voice, awaken old
emotions, which now have become new. But, then, it is only a minister
with a heart, who can touch this well-spring of feeling: starched
respectability will not do it, eminent collegiate learning will not do
it, rolling rhetorical periods will not do it. It is only the great
hearts who can open these sluices of feeling, these fountains of emotion,
in which the past, and the present mingle together, as the hearers drink
refreshing streams from the fountains of recollection.
While in Caernarvon, he penned in his journal the following pious
reflections:—
“I have been thinking of the great goodness of the Lord unto me,
throughout my unworthy ministry; and now, in my old age, I see the
work prospering wonderfully in my hand, so that there is reason to
think that I am, in some degree, a blessing to the Church, when I
might have been a burden to it, or rather a curse, by which one might
have been induced to wish me laid in the earth, that I might no
longer prevent the progress of the work. Thanks be to God, that it
is not so! though I deserve no better, yet I am in the land of mercy.
This is unto me, according to the manner of God unto His people. My
path in the valley, the dangers, and the precipices of destruction
upon which I have stood, rush into my thoughts, and also the sinking
of many in death, and the downfall of others by immorality, and their
burial in Kibroth-Hattaavah, the graves of inordinate desire;
together with the withering, the feebleness, and the unfruitfulness
of some, through the influence of a secret departure from God, and of
walking in the hidden paths, that lead to apostasy.”
And here we may most appropriately insert a very characteristic letter,
which shows the exceedingly stringent ideas which Christmas Evans
entertained with regard to Church membership,—strait ideas, which, we
suppose, would be scarcely tolerable now:—
“LETTER TO A BROTHER MINISTER ON CHURCH DISCIPLINE.
“BELOVED BROTHER,—I write to you, August 5th, 1836, in the seventieth
year of my age, and in the fiftieth of my ministry, after conversing
much with ministerial brethren, earnestly desiring to see our
Associational Union brought into action, by representatives of the
churches, with a view to promote a determination,—1. To bear each
other’s burden more efficiently, in the denomination to which we
belong. I lament the deficiency in this point, and ardently wish to
see it effectually remedied. 2. To watch over and promote a holy
conversation among all the members, and all the preachers, in a more
efficient manner, to prevent persons of unbecoming conversation from
obtaining privileges, in any church, when they have been excluded in
another; for that would occasion blots, and blemishes to appear on
the bright countenance of the ministry. The Associational Union, in
which all the churches of the same faith, and order join, should be a
defence of the independence of the churches, through their
representatives: it should also operate as a sort of check upon
independency, lest it should become opposed to the general good, and
frustrate the co-operation of the whole body. _That they may all be
one_, is the motto.
“Respecting Church discipline. We cannot be certain that we are
doing right, by administering the same punishment to all offenders,
even for the same offence; for the general character weighs heavily,
in the balance of discipline. Also, a distinction should be made
between the seducer, and the seduced; and between being overcome, or
falling into sin, and living habitually in sin, and following it, as
a slave following his master. The denial of Peter, from weakness,
and without previous deliberation, was very different from the
betrayal of Judas, and his intentional selling of Christ. The
different characters of Saul, king of Israel, and that of David,
required different treatment, in discipline, on account of their
offences. The Lord’s discipline upon Saul was that of a rod of iron,
but upon David, the correcting rod of a Father, for his good, that he
might be a partaker of His holiness.
“There are two things, brother, which we ought to avoid in the
exercise of discipline: 1, we should avoid too great severity on the
one part; and, 2, too much leniency on the other part. Wisdom is
necessary here to distinguish the different characters,—those who
require severity, and those who claim tenderness: the two are to be
found blended in the principle of evangelical discipline. A
difference is to be made betwixt some, who may have been companions
in the same crime; snatching some of them as brands from the burning.
The ground of the distinction lies in the different amount of guilt,
which subsists between the seducer, and seduced.
“I have witnessed danger, and have sustained some harm myself, and
seen harm done in churches, by exercising tenderness towards some
persons, in the vain hope of their reformation. Receiving verbal
testimony, or mere fluent acknowledgments, from their lips, without
waiting for fruit, in action, also; some having been often accused;
and as often turning to the refuges frequented by them. I never
exercised tenderness towards such as these, without being repaid by
them afterwards, if they had opportunity: Shimei-like, they would
curse me, after I had shed the best oil of tenderness on their heads.
There are some in the Christian Church like Jezebel; and there are
some in our congregations like Joab, the son of Zeruiah, that you can
scarce discipline them without rending the kingdom, until they become
ripe for judgment; for they hardly ever repent, more than did Joab
and Shimei: they are ultimately suddenly broken, without any danger
to the Church from their fall.
“I perceive that the Scriptures make a difference between one that
falls into sin, and one wallowing in it; between one overtaken by a
party of marauders, and dragged into the camp, and made drunk at
supper, and one, like Judas, going to the party, and being secretly
one of them, having pistols as they had: such are hypocrites. I have
many times been the advocate of the fallen, and in a variety of
instances have observed this operating beneficially for the Church.
Sometimes I have found those who had been spared upon their own
verbal contrition, blessing God for His long forbearance of them, and
also their spiritual brethren, who had in a manner set their bones;
as the Scripture hath it, ‘Restore such an one in the spirit of
meekness.’
“We should be careful that discretion, and love, be in exercise,
though in strife, and contention it be not always an easy matter to
do this. When the beasts of dissension get loose from the caravan,
Satan sometimes drives them through the streets of Zion, that they
may enter the houses of the inhabitants; and like the lioness that
escaped from the keepers at Shrewsbury, and attacked the foremost
horse in the carriage, so contentions frequently attack the leaders,
in order to stop the carriage of the ministry as it travels on, in
the labours of the pulpit. In the midst of the noise of strife, the
man of God must raise his voice to heaven for courage, and
tenderness, so that the oil of Christ’s love to the souls of men may
be found in the oil-flagon of reproof, which is poured on the head;
for if anger, and revenge enter in, they will drop, like the spider
in Germany, into the pot, and that will prevent the salutary effect
of the oil, because the poison of wrath is mixed with it. The
righteousness of God cannot be fulfilled in this manner in the
discipline. Oh, brother! who is sufficient for these things, without
constant help from heaven? How awful is this place! This is the
house of God, and the gate of heaven; and here is a ladder, by which
we may climb up for help, and a school, in which we may learn how to
conduct ourselves in the house of God.
“You cannot but be conscious, brother, of the great difficulty there
is not to speak unadvisedly with our lips, as did Moses, whilst
drawing water for the rebellious Israelites. The rebellion of the
people had embittered his spirit, so that his obduracy stood like a
cloud between the people, and the tenderness of the Lord, when He was
showing mercy upon them by giving them water. Moses upbraided their
rebellion instead of showing mercy, as the dispensation of God now
required; a dispensation which contained in it a secret intimation of
the great mercy to be shown by the death of Christ on the cross.
Their strife was the cause of embittering the spirit of Moses, yet he
should have possessed his soul in patience.
“There are two things, brother, which you should observe. First, you
will be called upon to attend to causes of contention; and you will
find persons so hardened, that you will not be able to obtain
weapons, in all the armoury of God’s Word, that will terrify them,
and make them afraid of entering their old haunts. Such are persons
without faith, and without the fear of God, and the love of Christ
influencing their minds; and though you warn them of the consequences
of their contentions, that they are likely to deprive them of the
privileges of the house of God, and thus forfeit the promised land,
yet they stand unmoved, nothing terrified, for they value the
flesh-pots of Egypt, and their livelihood there, more than the manna,
and the land of promise. You cannot frighten them by speaking of the
danger, and loss of the immunities of the Church below, or that
above. Esau-like, they will sell their birthright, as Christian
professors, for a mess of pottage. A man who has no money is not
afraid to meet with robbers in the wood; but he who has gold to lose
will be cautious, and watchful, lest he should be robbed of his
property. On a night of great storm, when ships are broken to
pieces, and sinking, a person who has no share in any of them will
not tremble, or feel any concern on their account. Thus there are
some men, concerning whom it is impossible to make them dread going
out among the rapacious beasts of backslidings, and no storms can
keep them in fear. Their spirit is one with the marauders, and they
have no care, for they have nothing to lose in the tempests that blow
upon the cause of the religion of Christ. These are the tares, or
the children of the wicked one, in the Church.
“Secondly, for your own encouragement, brother, I remark that you
will have to attend to the exercise of discipline, and to treat with
persons that may be alarmed, and made to tremble at the Word of God,
and not rush on presumptuously in their evil course. These are
professors, who possess white garments, and the gold of faith, and
eye-salve from the unction of the Holy One. These individuals are
rich in faith. They are afraid of revolutions, and upsettings of the
constitutional order of the new covenant, for they have funds
invested in the stocks of God’s kingdom. They are afraid that any
storm, or rock of offence should come in the way of the Gospel ship,
for their treasure is on board it, and they have an interest in it.
They dread the thought of walking unwatchfully, and licentiously,
lest they should be robbed of their riches, and forfeit the
fellowship of God in prayer, lose the light of His countenance, and
His peace in the means of grace, and lest they should be deprived of
their confidence in the merits of Christ, and a good conscience.
They have denied themselves, and have pulled out the right eye, lest
they should not be acceptable before God. They dread harbouring in
their bosoms the old guilt and former doubts. They are cautious not
to give a night’s lodging to such miscreants as anger, revenge, lust,
and things which are of the earth; for they know that these are
robbers, and if they have any indulgence they will steal away the
_title-deeds_ of assurance to the inheritance. They are well aware,
also, that they will sustain the loss of a pure conscience, which has
been purged by the blood of Christ, and which, as a golden chest, is
a preserver of our confidence, immovable unto the end. It is
possible, brother, to manage, and discipline such professors. They
have something to lose, consequently they will not flee from their
refuge, lest they should be destroyed. _Keep that which thou hast_.
David lost for a season the enjoyment of the above blessings; but he
was cleansed with hyssop, had his spirit renewed, and his riches were
restored to him by faith’s view of the Messiah, for which he vowed to
sing aloud for ever, and ever. He prayed, after this, to be
delivered from presumptuous sins, lest he should be imprisoned a
second time by a party so wicked, and detestable. May the spiritual
gift be kindled in you, brother. Grace be with you, for ever, and
ever.
“Affectionately,
“CHRISTMAS EVANS.
“_Caernarvon_, _August_ 5_th_, 1836.”
But it was hard work in Caernarvon. The debt upon the chapel was a
perpetually-recurring trouble. We have said when he went there eight
hundred pounds was the burden, and that the people were very poor. Of
this eight hundred, four hundred seems to have been collected by a Mr.
John Edwards, who used, as his introduction, in asking for contributions,
the specimen of Welsh eloquence to which we have referred (The Graveyard
World); so that Christmas Evans may, really, be regarded as the
liquidator of the debt to that extent. The time came when the whole
remaining sum had to be paid. What could be done? Over seventy years of
age, the old man started forth, on a tour through the south, to attempt
to raise the sum. In April, 1838, when he had been four years in
Caernarvon, he set off with his wife, and a young preacher, the Rev. John
Hughes. Before he set out, he wrote a circular to his brethren, which
was published in the _Welsh Magazine_. It is scarcely possible, we
think, to read it, remembering who wrote it, and the circumstances under
which it was written, without tears of feeling:—
“DEAR BRETHREN,—We have received notice to pay up three hundred
pounds. The term of the lease of life has expired in my case, even
threescore and ten years, and I am very much afflicted. I have
purposed to sacrifice myself to this object, though I am afraid I
shall die on the journey” (he did die on his journey); “and I fear I
shall not succeed in my errand for Christ. We have no source to
which we can now repair, but our own denomination in Wales, and
brethren, and friends of other communities, that may sympathize with
us. Oh, brethren, pray, with me, for protection on the journey—for
strength, and health this _once_, on occasion of my bidding farewell
to you all! pray for the light of the Lord’s countenance upon me in
preaching; pray for His own glory, and that His key may open the
hearts of the people, to contribute towards His cause in its present
exigency. Oh, help us, brethren!—when you see the old brother, after
having been fifty-three years in the ministry, now, instead of being
in the grave with his colleagues, or resting at home with three of
them who are yet alive—brethren Lewis of Llanwenarth, Davies of Velin
Voel, and Thomas of Aberduar,—when you see him coming, with the
furrows of death in his countenance, the flowers of the grave on his
head, and his whole constitution gradually dissolving; having
laboured fifty years in the ministry in the Baptist denomination. He
comes to you with hundreds of prayers, bubbling, as it were, from the
fountain of his heart, and with a mixture of fear, and confidence.
Oh, do not frown upon him!—he is afraid of your frowns. Smile upon
him, by contributing to his cause, this once for all. If you frown
upon me, ministers and deacons, by intimating an _irregular case_, I
am afraid I shall sink into the grave before returning home. This is
my last sacrifice for the Redeemer’s cause.”
Naturally, wherever he passed along, he was received by all the churches,
and throughout every county, with more than cordiality—with great joy.
He was very successful in raising money for the purpose which urged him
forth from home: perhaps his popularity was never so great as now. Mr.
Cross, one of his biographers, says, that wherever he preached, the place
was thronged at an early hour, and, frequently, multitudes remained
outside, unable to obtain admittance. He reached Monmouthshire, and
preached before the County Association; and it is said, that the sermon
evinced all his vigour of intellect, and splendour of genius, and as
perfect a command over the feelings of the great audience as ever. One
of his great images here was his description of the Gospel, on the day of
Pentecost, as a great electrical machine, Christ turning the handle,
Peter placing the chain in contact with the people, and the Holy Ghost
descending like a stream of ethereal fire, and melting the hearts of
three thousand at once. His text was, “By grace ye are saved.”
But the effort was too much for him, and he was laid up for a week at the
house of Mr. Thomas Griffith, a kind host, who, with his whole family,
attempted, in every way, to minister to his comfort, and, with
affectionate assiduity, sought to restore him. On the whole, he appears
to have been full of vivacity that week, and, during the intervals of
pain, cheered, and charmed his friends. He had, one day, come
downstairs, and Mr. James, the son-in-law of his host, was helping him up
again. He had only got a few steps, when he said buoyantly, “Mr. James,
I dare say if I thought the French were behind me with their bayonets, I
should be able to get upstairs without your help.” With the word he took
his arm from Mr. James’s shoulder, and briskly ran up the flight of
steps, laughing at his feat.
His conversation was, however, usually brightly religious. “This is the
Gospel,” he said once in the course of talk—“This is the Gospel: ‘He that
believeth shall be saved.’ Now, in order to the truth of this
declaration, every believer must be saved. If, in the last day, the
great enemy find one single soul not saved, who ever believed the Gospel,
he would take that soul up, present that soul to the Judge, and to the
immense assembly, and say, ‘The Gospel is not true.’ He would take that
lost believer through all the regions of pandemonium, and exhibit him in
triumph to the devils, and the damned.” “But,” said his host, “that
shall never be, Mr. Evans.” “No,” said he, planting the forefinger of
his right hand on his knee, as was his wont, and exclaiming, in a tone of
triumphant congratulation, “_Never_! _never_! _never_!”
Leaving the house of Mr. Griffith, of Tredegar, he proceeded on his way,
preaching at Caerphilly, Cardiff, Cowbridge, Bridgend, and Neath, and he
reached Swansea on Saturday, July 14th. The next day, Sunday, he
preached twice—preached like a seraph, says one of his memorialists: in
the morning his subject was the Prodigal Son; the evening, “I am not
ashamed of the Gospel of Christ.” He was the guest of Daniel Davies, the
pastor of the Welsh Baptist Church in the town, the blind preacher, as he
was called, a man of great celebrity, and unquestioned power. He was to
be the last host of his greater brother, or rather father, in the
ministry. On the Monday evening, he went out to tea, with a friend who
was always glad to greet him, Mr. David Walters; and on the same evening
he preached, in English, in Mount Pleasant Chapel: his text was,
“Beginning at Jerusalem.” He was very feeble,—perhaps we need scarcely
wonder at that, after the two services of the day before. He always felt
a difficulty when preaching in English, and, upon this occasion, he
seemed much tried; gleams, and flashes of his ordinary brilliancy there
were, as in the following:—
“Beginning at Jerusalem! Why at Jerusalem? The Apostles were to begin
there, because its inhabitants had been witness to the life, and death of
Christ; there He had preached, wrought miracles, been crucified, and rose
again. Here, on the very spot of His deepest degradation, He was also to
be exalted: He had been crucified as a malefactor, He was now to be
elevated in the same place as a King; here were accorded to Him the
first-fruits of His resurrection.” This was the strain of the
sermon:—“‘At Jerusalem, Lord?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Why, Lord, these are the men who
crucified Thee; we are not to preach it to _them_?’ ‘Yes, preach it to
all.’ ‘To the man who plaited the crown of thorns, and placed it on Thy
Head?’ ‘Yes; tell him that from My degradation he may obtain a crown of
glory.’ ‘Suppose we meet the very man that nailed Thy hands and feet to
the cross, the very man that pierced Thy side, that spat in Thy face?’
‘Preach the Gospel to them all: tell them all that I am the Saviour; that
all are welcome to participate in the blessings of My salvation; I am the
same Lord over all, and rich unto all that call on Me.’” Such were some
of the most characteristic passages. As he was coming down the pulpit
stairs, he said, loud enough to be heard by many present, “_This is my
last sermon_!”
And it was even so. He was taken very ill during the night; the next day
he was worse, the next day worse still, and then medical assistance was
called in. But on the Thursday, he got up, and walked for some time in
the garden. It seems doubtful whether he thought that his end was so
near, although he had a dream, in one of the early evenings in the week,
in which he seemed to come up to a great river, which he did not then
cross, so that he scarcely thought his work or life might be over even
yet.
But on Thursday night he was worse again, and on Friday morning, at two
o’clock, he said to his friends, Mr. Davies, Mr. Hughes, and others round
his bed, “I am leaving you. I have laboured in the sanctuary fifty-three
years, and this is my comfort, that I have never laboured without blood
in the basin,”—the ruling power of imagination strong in him to the
close, evidently meaning that he had never failed to preach Christ and
Him crucified. A few more remarks of the same character: “Preach Christ
to the people, brethren. Look at me: in myself I am nothing but ruin,
but in Christ I am heaven, and salvation.” He repeated a verse from a
favourite Welsh hymn, and then, as if he had done with earth, he waved
his hand, and exclaimed, “GOOD-BYE! DRIVE ON!”
It seems another instance of the labour of life pervading by its
master-idea the hour of death. For how many years the “one-eyed man” of
Anglesea had gone to, and fro on his humble nag! As we have seen, lately
his friends had given him a gig, that he might be more at ease in his
Master’s service; still he had his old horse, companion of his many
journeys. While he was dying, the old mountain days of travel came over
his memory—“GOOD-BYE!” said he. “DRIVE ON!” He turned over, and seemed
to sleep. He slept indeed. His friends tried to rouse him, but the
angelic postman had obeyed the order,—the chariot had passed over the
everlasting hills. So he died, July 19th, 1838, in the seventy-third
year of his age, and fifty-fourth of his ministry.
His funeral took place four days after his death, in the burying-ground
attached to the Welsh Baptist Chapel, in Swansea. It is said there never
was such a funeral in Swansea, such a concourse, and crowd of mourners,
weeping their way to the grave, and following, as it had been their
father. Fountains of sorrow were everywhere unsealed throughout the
Principality, in Anglesea especially, where he had passed the greater
portion of his life; indeed, throughout the Principality, there was
scarcely a pulpit, of the order to which he belonged, which was not
draped in black; and it was evident that all felt “a prince and a great
man had fallen in Israel.”