The whole of the Oxford Methodists intended to devote their lives to the
service of the Church of England. This, at Oxford, was their highest wish
and holiest ambition. The future was hidden from them,—fortunately so.
Without this, their brotherhood would not have lasted for a single week;
and many of the results of their godly intercourse would never have been
realized. How different from the course of Clayton was that of Ingham;
and how different again was that of Gambold from that of Whitefield and
the Wesley brothers; and again, how different was that of Hervey and
Broughton from any of the others! Men would have ordered it otherwise;
but who will say that the way of Providence was not infinitely better?
There may be much in the lives of men that is mysterious and perplexing;
but of all the sincerely pious it may be confidently asserted,—“A man’s
heart deviseth his ways, but the Lord directeth his steps.” The subject
of the following memoir is no exception.
John Gambold was born April 10th, 1711, at Puncheston, in Pembrokeshire,
South Wales. His father, a clergyman of the Church of England, lived an
ornament to his profession, and was greatly respected, for his unaffected
piety and purity of manners. The children of this devout minister were
educated with the utmost care and attention, and no pains were spared
to instil into their minds the principles and precepts of the Christian
religion.
Nothing is known of the early life of young Gambold, except, that he was
greatly benefited by his father’s instructions; and, at the early age of
fifteen, went to the University of Oxford, where he entered as servitor
in Christ Church College, and soon became eminent for his diligent
devotion to reading and study. He was naturally of a vivacious and active
spirit; and, besides his attention to his collegiate exercises, employed
himself in an extensive perusal of the most approved dramatists and poets
in the English language.[121]
Two years after he went to Oxford, his father died; and this event,
together with the exhortations and counsels he received from the dying
minister in his last moments, so affected him, that he at once abandoned
poetry and plays, lost his liveliness of disposition, sunk into a state
of melancholy, and made the salvation of his soul the chief business
of life. Painful experience was the inspirer of a short poem of his,
afterwards published in his collected works:—
“In nature’s ebbs, which lay the soul in chains,
Beneath weak nerves and ill-sufficing veins,
Who can support bare being, unendow’d
With gust voluptuous, or reflection proud?
No more bright images the brain commands,—
No great design the glowing heart expands,—
No longer shines the animated face,—
Motion and speech forget their conscious grace.
How can the brave, the witty, and the gay
Survive, when mirth, wit, courage die away?
None but the Christian’s all-comprising power
Subdues each chance, and lives through every hour:
Watchful, he suffers all, and feels within
All smart proportion’d to some root of sin;
He strikes each error with his Maker’s rod,
And, by self-knowledge, penetrates to God.”
Gambold entered Christ Church College in the same year that Charles
Wesley did, the latter being more than two years older than the former.
John Wesley also was a member of the same college, and twelve months
before, on September 19, 1725, had been ordained a deacon. In 1729, the
society of Oxford Methodists was formed by Charles Wesley; and, a year
afterwards, Gambold, still only in his teens, became one of them. He
shall narrate his own story, written when Wesley was in Georgia. The
account is long; but, containing as it does a full description of the
rise and peculiarities of the “Holy Club,” and a faithful delineation
of the character and influence of their confessed “curator,” it is too
important to be omitted. Gambold writes:—
“Mr. Wesley, late of Lincoln College, has been the instrument
of so much good to me, that, I shall never forget him. Could
I remember him as I ought, it would have very near the same
effect as if he was still present; for a conversation so
unreserved as was his, so zealous in engaging his friends to
every instance of Christian piety, has left nothing now to be
said, nothing but what occurs to us as often as we are disposed
to remember him impartially.
“About the middle of March, 1730, I became acquainted with
Mr. Charles Wesley, of Christ Church. I was just then come up
from the country, and had made a resolution to find out some
pious persons of religion to keep company with, or else to
instil something of it into those I knew already. I had been,
for two years before, in deep melancholy: so God was pleased
to order it, to disappoint and break a proud spirit, and to
embitter the world to me; as I was inclining to relish its
vanities. During this time, I had no friend to whom I could
open my mind, to any purpose. No man did care for my soul; or
none, at least, understood its paths. They, that were at ease,
could not guess what my sorrow was for. The learned endeavoured
to give me right notions, and the friendly to divert me. But
I had a weight upon my heart, which only prayer could in some
degree remove. I prepared myself to make trial of the value
and comfort of society, being a little recovered. One day, an
old acquaintance entertained me with some reflections on the
whimsical Mr. Wesley, his preciseness and pious extravagancies.
Though I had lived with him four years in the same college,
yet, so unable was I to take notice of anything that passed,
that I knew nothing of his character; but, upon hearing this,
I suspected he might be a good Christian. I therefore went to
his room, and, without any ceremony, desired the benefit of
his conversation. I had so large a share of it henceforth,
that hardly a day passed, while I was at college, but we were
together once, if not oftener.
“After some time, he introduced me to his brother John, of
Lincoln College. ‘For,’ said he, ‘he is somewhat older than
I, and can resolve your doubts better.’ This, as I found
afterwards, was a thing which he was deeply sensible of; for
I never observed any person have a more real deference for
another, than he constantly had for his brother. Indeed, he
followed his brother entirely. Could I describe one of them,
I should describe both. And therefore I shall say no more of
Charles, but that he was a man made for friendship; who, by his
cheerfulness and vivacity, would refresh his friend’s heart;
with attentive consideration, would enter into and settle all
his concerns; so far as he was able, would do anything for him,
great or small; and, by a habit of openness and freedom, leave
no room for misunderstanding.
“The Wesleys were already talked of for some religious
practices, which were first occasioned by Mr. Morgan, of Christ
Church. From these combined friends, began a little society;
for several others, from time to time, fell in; most of them
only to be improved by their serious and useful discourse; and
some few espousing all their resolutions and their whole way of
life.
“Mr. John Wesley was always the chief manager, for which he
was very fit; for he not only had more learning and experience
than the rest, but he was blest with such activity as to be
always gaining ground, and such steadiness that he lost none.
What proposals he made to any was sure to charm them, because
he was so much in earnest; nor could they afterwards slight
them, because they saw him always the same. What supported this
uniform vigour, was the care he took to consider well of every
affair before he engaged in it, making all his decisions in
the fear of God, without passion, humour, or self-confidence:
for, though he had naturally a very clear apprehension, yet,
his exact prudence depended more on humanity and singleness
of heart. To this I may add, that he had, I think, something
of authority in his countenance; though, as he did not want
address, he could soften his manner, and point it as occasion
required. Yet, he never assumed anything to himself above his
companions. Any of them might speak their mind, and their words
were as strictly regarded by him as his were by them.
“It was their custom to meet most evenings, either at his
chamber or one of the others, where, after some prayers, (the
chief subject of which was charity,) they ate their supper
together, and he read some book. But the chief business was
to review what each had done that day, in pursuance of their
common design, and to consult what steps were to be taken the
next.
“Their undertaking included these several particulars:—to
converse with young students; to visit the prisons; to instruct
some poor families; and to take care of a school, and a parish
workhouse.
“They took great pains with the younger members of the
University, to rescue them from bad company, and encourage them
in a sober, studious life. If they had some interest with any
such, they would get them to breakfast; and, over a dish of
tea, endeavour to fasten some good hint upon them. They would
bring them acquainted with other well disposed young men. They
would help them in those parts of learning which they stuck at.
They would close with their best sentiments, drive on their
convictions, give them rules of piety, when they would receive
them, and watch over them with great tenderness.
“Some or other of them went to the Castle every day; and
another most commonly to Bocardo. Whoever came to the Castle
was to read in the chapel to as many prisoners as would attend,
and to talk to the man or men whom he had taken particularly
in charge. Before reading, he asked: Whether they had prayers
yesterday? (For some serious men among the prisoners read
family prayers with the rest.) Whether they had read over again
what was read last, and what they remembered of it? Then he
went over the heads of it to them; and afterwards went on in
the same book for a quarter of an hour. The books they used
were the ‘Christian Monitor,’ the ‘Country Parson’s Advice
to his Parishioners,’ and such-like. When he had done, he
summed up the several particulars that had been insisted on,
enforced the advice given, and reduced it at last to two or
three sentences, which they might easily remember. Then he took
his man aside, and asked him, Whether he was in the chapel
yesterday? and other questions concerning his care to serve
God, and learn his duty.
“When a new prisoner came, their conversation with him, for
four or five times, was particularly close and searching.
Whether he bore no malice towards those that did prosecute him,
or any others? The first time, after professions of good-will,
they only inquired of his circumstances in the world. Such
questions imported friendship, and engaged the man to open
his heart. Afterwards, they entered upon such enquiries as
most concern a prisoner. Whether he submitted to this disposal
of Providence? Whether he repented of his past life? Last
of all, they asked him, Whether he constantly used private
prayer, and whether he had ever communicated? Thus, most or
all of the prisoners were spoken to in their turns. But, if
any one was either under sentence of death, or appeared to
have some intentions of a new life, they came every day to
his assistance; and partook in the conflict and suspense of
those who should now be found able, or not able, to lay hold
on salvation. In order to release those who were confined
for small debts, and were bettered by their affliction, and
likewise to purchase books, physic, and other necessaries,—they
raised a small fund, to which many of their acquaintance
contributed quarterly. They had prayers at the Castle most
Wednesdays and Fridays, a sermon on Sundays, and the Sacrament
once a month.
“When they undertook any poor family, they saw them, at least,
once a week; sometimes gave them money; admonished them of
their vices; read to them, and examined their children.
“The school was, I think, of Mr. Wesley’s own setting up. At
all events, he paid the mistress, and clothed some, if not all,
of the children. When they went thither, they enquired how each
child behaved; saw their work (for some could knit and spin);
heard them read; heard them their prayers and catechism; and
explained part of it.
“In the same manner, they taught the children in the workhouse;
and read to the old people as they did to the prisoners.
“Though some practices of Mr. Wesley and his friends were
much blamed,—as their fasting on Wednesday and Friday, after
the custom of the Primitive Church,—their coming on those
Sundays, when there was no sacrament in their own colleges, to
receive it at Christ Church,—yet nothing was so much disliked
as these charitable employments. They seldom took any notice
of the accusations brought against them; but, if they made
any reply, it was commonly such a plain and simple one, as
if there was nothing more in the case, but that they had
heard such doctrines of their Saviour, and believed and done
accordingly,—‘Shall we be the more happy in another life, the
more virtuous we are in this? Are we the more virtuous, the
more intensely we love God and man? Is love, as all habits, the
more intense, the more we exercise it? Is either helping, or
trying to help man, for God’s sake, an exercise of love to God
or man? Particularly, Is the feeding the hungry, the giving
drink to the thirsty, the clothing the naked, the visiting sick
persons, or prisoners, an exercise of love to God or man? Is
the endeavouring to teach the ignorant, to admonish sinners, to
encourage the good, to comfort the afflicted, to confirm the
wavering, and to reconcile enemies, an exercise of love to God
or man? Shall we be the more happy in another life, if we do
the former of these things, and try to do the latter? Or if we
do not the one, nor try to do the other?”
In the above extracts, the reader has the practices which principally
distinguished the Oxford Methodists from their fellows. The account is
full of interest, and of great importance, being written by one of the
members of this godly brotherhood, and immediately after that brotherhood
was broken up. The remainder of Gambold’s narrative is chiefly a defence
and eulogy of Wesley, their “Curator;” and only such parts of it will be
given as affect the whole of these earnest students. Gambold continues:—
“What I would chiefly remark upon, is the manner in which Mr.
Wesley directed his friends.
“Because he required such a regulation of our studies, as might
devote them all to God, he has been cried out upon as one that
discouraged learning. Far from that;—the first thing he struck
at in young men, was that indolence which would not submit to
close thinking. Nor was he against reading much, especially
at first; because then the mind ought to fill itself with
materials, and try every thing that looks bright and perfect.
“He earnestly recommended to them a method and order in all
their actions. After their morning devotions (which were at
a fixed and early hour, from five to six being the time,
morning as well as evening), he advised them to determine with
themselves what they were to do all the parts of the day. By
such foresight, they would, at every hour’s end, not be in
doubt how to dispose of themselves; and, by bringing themselves
under the necessity of such a plan, they might correct the
impotence of a mind that had been used to live by humour and
chance, and prepare it by degrees to bear the other restraints
of a holy life.
“The next thing was to put them upon keeping the fasts,
visiting poor people, and coming to the weekly Sacrament: not
only to subdue the body, increase charity, and obtain Divine
grace; but (as he expressed it) to cut off their retreat to
the world. He judged, that, if they did these things, men
would cast out their name as evil, and, by the impossibility
of keeping fair any longer with the world, oblige them to
take their whole refuge in Christianity. But those, whose
resolutions he thought would not bear this test, he left to
gather strength by their secret exercises.
“It was his earnest care to introduce them to the treasures of
wisdom and hope in the Holy Scriptures: to teach them not only
to endure that book, but to form themselves by it, and to fly
to it as the great antidote against the darkness of this world.
For some years past, he and his friends read the New Testament
together at evening. After every portion of it, having heard
the conjectures the rest had to offer, he made his observations
on the phrase, design, and difficult places. One or two wrote
these down from his mouth.
“He laid much stress upon self-examination. He taught them
(besides what occurs in his Collection of Prayers) to take
account of their actions in a very exact manner, by writing a
constant diary. In this, they noted down in cipher, once if not
oftener in the day, what chiefly their employments had been
in the several parts of it, and how they had performed each.
Mr. Wesley had these records of his life by him for many years
past. And some I have known, who, to seal their convictions
and make their repentance more solemn, would write down such
reflections upon themselves as the anguish of their soul at
that time suggested, adding any spiritual maxim which some
experience of their own had confirmed to them.
“Then, to keep in their minds an awful sense of God’s presence,
with a constant dependence on His help, he advised them to
ejaculatory prayers. They had a book of Ejaculations relating
to the chief virtues, and, lying by them as they stood at their
studies, they at intervals snatched a short petition out of it.
But at last, instead of that variety, they contented themselves
with the following aspirations (containing acts of faith, hope,
love, and self-resignation at the end of every hour)—‘Consider
and hear me,’ etc.
“The last means he recommended was meditation. Their usual time
for this was the hour next before dinner.
“After this, he committed them to God. What remained for him to
do, was to encourage them in the discomforts and temptations
they might feel, and to guard them against all spiritual
delusions. In this spiritual care of his acquaintance, Mr.
Wesley persisted amidst all discouragements. He overlooked
not only one’s absurd or disagreeable qualities, but even
his coldness and neglect of him, if he thought it might be
conquered. He helped one in things out of religion, that he
might be more welcome to help him in that. His knowledge of the
world, and his insight into physic, were often of use to us.
“If any one could have provoked him, I should; for I was slow
in coming into his measures, and very remiss in doing my part.
I frequently contradicted his assertions; or, which is much the
same, distinguished upon them. I hardly ever submitted to his
advice at the time he gave it, though I relented afterwards.
One time he was in fear, that, I had taken up notions that were
not safe, and pursued my spiritual improvement in an erroneous,
because inactive, way. So he came over and stayed with me near
a week. He accosted me with the utmost softness, condoled with
me the incumbrances of my constitution, heard all I had to say,
endeavoured to pick out my meaning, and yielded to me as far as
he could. I never saw more humility in him than at this time.
It was enough to cool the warmest imaginations that swell an
overweening heart. It was, indeed, his custom to humble himself
most before the proud,—not to reproach them; but, in a way of
secret intercession, to procure their pardon.
“He had not only friends in Oxford to assist, but a great many
correspondents. He set apart one day at least in the week (and
he was no slow composer) for writing letters; in which, without
levity or affectation, but with plainness and fervour, he gave
his advice in particular cases, and vindicated the strict
original sense of the Gospel precepts.”[122]
This long account does something more than give a general idea of the
Oxford Methodists and of their distinguished leader. It exhibits the
course of life adopted by Gambold in his twentieth year. Like the rest
of his youthful friends, he became an earnest religionist; but he was
not happy. “He gave way to desponding thoughts; neglected his person and
apparel; confined himself as much as possible to his room; and applied,
in search of information and comfort, to the works of such authors as
he supposed could satisfy his inquiries, namely, the fathers of the
first ages of the Christian Church. Of these, the most abstruse were his
greatest favourites, and particularly those which are called mystics.
Being well versed in the Greek language, he was much pleased with that
energy of expression in which it excels. The deep speculations of these
ancient writers, their beautiful allusions, the richness of style with
which they clothed their ideas, and the strain of piety running through
the whole, suited his taste, and so far influenced his understanding,
that he adopted their sentiments, went the same lengths with them in
the scenes of imagination, and, by degrees, became so much like one of
them, that his cast of mind bore a nearer resemblance to that which was
peculiar in them, than to any that appeared among the modern. By a close
attention to writers of this stamp, he contracted such a turn of mind,
and imbibed such an exalted notion of internal purity, that he could not
be satisfied with himself, unless he became such a refined being as those
philosophical Christians portrayed. This being the state to which his aim
was directed, he spared no pains to model himself according to the idea
which he had formed of it. His exertions were abortive. Disappointment
occasioned great concern;” and it was not until after years of laborious
endeavour to form and establish a righteousness of his own, that he was
led to submit to “the righteousness of God, by faith of Jesus Christ.”
In September, 1733, he was ordained, by Dr. Potter, Bishop of Oxford;
and, as soon as he was capable of holding a living, was instituted
to that of Stanton-Harcourt. In this sequestered village, where his
parochial duties were not numerous, he had more leisure than was
desirable to pursue his philosophical inquiries. He loved retirement,
and seldom went abroad. But whenever he could prevail upon himself to
visit any of his friends, and, among the rest, Lord Harcourt, he was
received with much respect. His abilities, both natural and acquired,
were great, but his unfeigned humility was so apparent to every one with
whom he conversed, that, his superior powers excited no dislike in any.
Indeed, his whole conduct was so inoffensive, that he very rarely, if
ever, made himself an enemy. Still, his philosophical and platonic kind
of religion failed to make him happy, and was of little use to his rustic
parishioners. Four years were spent,—almost wasted,—in those high flights
of imagination, deep speculation, intense reflection, and metaphysical
reasoning, to which his natural disposition inclined him.
Meanwhile, his friendship with the Wesleys was continued. Charles
returned from Georgia in the month of December, 1736; and, in the
following February, speaks of meeting his “good friend Mr. Gambold,” at
Oxford, who was “right glad to see” him. In fact, at this period and more
or less for at least a year and a half afterwards, Kezziah Wesley, the
youngest surviving sister of John and Charles, was domiciled with Gambold
and his sister (who kept his house,) at Stanton-Harcourt. Poor Kezziah,
from childhood, had been delicate, and her health had not been bettered
by her residence at Lincoln, where, at nineteen years of age, she became
a teacher in a boarding-school, and was painfully in want of both clothes
and money. Her life was a wandering one. For a time, she lived in the
house of the Vicar of Bexley, the Rev. Mr. Piers, and, afterwards, she
resided with an aunt at Islington. It was not long that she needed the
kindness of her friends, for, at the age of thirty-one, nearly a year
and a half before the decease of her Christian mother, she peacefully
expired, on the 9th of March, 1741.[123]
John Wesley landed in England on February 1, 1738; and, a week
afterwards, met with Peter Böhler, just arrived from Germany. Within a
fortnight, the two Wesleys, accompanied by Böhler, set out for Oxford,
whence all the first brotherhood of Oxford Methodists were now dispersed.
The elder Wesley writes:—
“I found not one of those who had formerly joined with me; and
only three gentlemen who trod in their steps, building up one
another in the faith.”
The nearest to Oxford was Gambold; and, accordingly, on February 18th,
Wesley says:—
“We went to Stanton-Harcourt, to Mr. Gambold, and found my
old friend recovered from his mystic delusion, and convinced
that St. Paul was a better writer than either Tauler or Jacob
Behmen.”
Gambold was already returning to gospel simplicity; and his acquaintance
with Böhler rendered him service of the highest importance. Böhler held
meetings in Oxford, attended both by members of the university and
citizens. He delivered discourses in Latin, and Gambold interpreted them
for the benefit of those of his audiences who were unfamiliar with that
language. This friendship with the newly arrived German, proved the
means, not only of the conversion of the two Wesleys, but, ultimately of
Gambold also.
“After many struggles and conflicting thoughts, arising from
repeated attempts to combine philosophy with the simplicity
of the gospel; he, at length, by the grace of God, yielded
to the power of the latter. He saw and lamented his natural
depravity and consequent alienation from God, and also the
insufficiency of his best works to merit heaven. He rejoiced
in the sufficiency of the atonement of Jesus to sanctify and
justify every true believer in Him. His former melancholy was
dissipated; his spirit was made joyful in God his Saviour; and
he became, in the fullest sense of the term, a new man.”[124]
The following letters will show the change which took place in Gambold’s
views and feelings. The first was addressed to Wesley, and has never
before been published. As will be seen, it was written three days
before Wesley’s return from Georgia, and, consequently, before Wesley
and Gambold became acquainted with Böhler. It is given here without
abridgment, and verbatim.
“_January 27, 1737-8._
“DEAR SIR,—The point you mention has long been a difficulty to
me; of which I could find no end, but that general solution of
all doubt, and cure of all anxieties, resignation to eternal
Providence. Can I offer a more particular solution now? No; but
I will let you see, that I, and doubtless many more, labour
under the same perplexity; which will incline one to believe,
that, as God has a fire of grace to cleanse us from our common
pollutions, so he has also a light in reserve, (and the needs
of so many strongly call for it,) that would give a comfortable
turn to our common speculations.
“O, what is regeneration? And what doth baptism? How shall we
reconcile faith and fact? Is Christianity become effete, and
sunk again into the bosom of nature? Was the short triumph of
it over flesh and blood designed as the standing enjoyment,
or standing humiliation of succeeding ages? Was the Church to
condemn the world as God does, in order to meet and embrace it
at last?
“What advantage would a deist make of the present appearance
of things? He would say, that, when the gospel, by setting
up some particular institutions, made a separation from
natural religion, it was only an economical enmity;—the new
dispensation did operate upon the old, as plaisters do upon
the body, which, when they have spent their strength in
expelling its diseases, drop off, and leave it sound, clean,
and beautiful. That, the distance it stood in from it, was only
a means to correct the prejudices, and manage the affections
of mankind; and, as these ends were served, Christianity and
natural religion were to come closer. That, the former was to
lose its name in the latter, when its whole light was kindled
up,—when the grace of a Redeemer, the inward touches of divine
power, and the obligations of penance and self-denial, which
were received for a while as extraneous appendages to natural
religion, were found to be involved in the very bowels of it.
That, the restitution of all things is the time when they shall
fully be reconciled; when nature and grace shall be at their
height, and the perfection of both be the same thing. That,
this conclusion seems to be nigh us in the present age, when
evangelical and moral virtue, which formerly stood in points
so remote from each other, are so near falling into coincident
lines, that, men have much ado to make any distinction that
will hold in fact.
“But to come to the point. That regeneration is the beginning
of a life which is not fully enjoyed but in another world, we
all know. But how much of it may be enjoyed at present? What
degree of it does the experience of mankind encourage us to
expect? And by what symptoms shall we know it?
“Let us consult our observation as to the gradual progress
of a religious life. At first, men are solicited with strong
convictions of conscience: the pain of these and the sensible
pleasure they feel as rewarding their acts of duty, are
their bias to religion; while an overwhelming admiration of
divine things, and a view to the issues of eternity, check
their natural boldness and levity; at once abase and enlarge
the understanding; and, from the anguish of hope and fear,
produce zeal. Then, having reformed all crying disorders, and
being prompt and expert in exercises of devotion, there is
less matter for vehement remorse or fear; and the peace and
congratulation of conscience hereupon being comfort sufficient,
the more transporting flashes of joy are withdrawn; and thus,
the man, having no religious passions, and being in war with
corrupt passions, acquaints himself with the measures, motives,
and fitness of virtues, and acts them in the strength of
rational consideration.
“Here he labours long, and seems perhaps to have overcome all
his vicious inclinations; (unless some one may show itself,
more to his secret confusion and pain, than guilt,) being
always in a posture of religious care, severity of thought,
and habitual regularity of life. But then he complains of
a general lukewarmness,—his intercourse with God is not
enlivened with any particular successes, tender affections,
or noble discoveries. For this he is much afflicted; yet, in
the multitude of his thoughts within him, there is a good hope
towards God at the bottom, which becomes more explicit by
listening to the gospel. The redemption through Christ drops
like balm into his soul, and he scruples not now to confess
that his religious actions were but formal and worthless; yet,
through gratitude to his Saviour and joy in Him, he is more
ready than ever to continue the practice of them.
“Yet, he frequently falls into faintings and desolations. He
is chiefly troubled at the opposition which self-love and
pride make to the spirit of Christ within him. These make
him unfaithful in the happy moments of grace, and infest him
continually in his weaker intervals. Yea, he can trace them
through every action of his life, and begin to see the depth
and extent of his depravity. Hereupon, he keeps himself in
constant recollection, to watch and resist it. He rejoices
that, upon applying to God, a temptation vanishes; yet, very
often it dwells so obstinately upon his mind, that his thoughts
are shut up within the circle of their own folly and baseness,
and he can only send groanings that cannot be uttered after
the divine gift he once enjoyed. That gift, however, returns,
and sometimes so long together, that he is able to form some
idea of a spiritual life,—of the purity and long-suffering,
the humility and charity, the magnanimity and singleness of
heart, that are suitable for one in whom the Holy Spirit
dwells. His desire insensibly sets him on work to procure those
dispositions, which follow upon his wish; for the soul no
sooner conceives the temper it would be in, but the body (being
taught that obsequiousness by the strong recollection lately
used, which suspends, clarifies, and determines the animal
spirit) immediately furnishes the sensation, air, and whole
energy of that temper.
“These smooth and ready emotions of virtue, which seem to give
a man a more real and genuine possession of it than ever, do
also encourage the mind to launch out in sublime theories;
wherein it is much assisted by the repose and security it
enjoys towards God, and by the delicate philosophic joy
overflowing all the faculties, which raises the imagination
to greater magnificence and sagacity. Here the grand system
of Providence and all its various dispensations; the
correspondencies of heaven and earth, of time and eternity;
the gaiety and mournings of nature, and the greatness and
abjectness of man; the saving mystery of human life, and the
saving mystery of Christianity inserted into it;—all these
are inquired into, not out of vain curiosity, but at the
instigation of love, to salute the divine goodness in all its
works. This is the meridian of the religious man. His notions
and his virtues are at the height, in their full clearness and
fervour. The love of holiness shines through him, and unites
under it all the movements of nature. It commands and pierces
all that converse with him. All, after this, is, to the eye of
man, a decline and a fall; but a decline by a regular appointed
path, and a fall into the arms of secret and infinite mercy.
I need not explain to you what I mean; so I will shut up the
description.
“Now, where in all these stages shall we place our
regeneration? And what shall we say it is? There is reason to
think, that, we have no more real goodness (except experience)
in one of these states than another,—in the last than the
first; we only fill our minds with new sets of ideas, and, by
a temporary force, drive our constitution into something that
seems answerable to them. Let this force cease, and we are
the same as before; when we are in the most plausible posture
of virtue, let us but sleep upon it, or otherwise remit the
contention of the mind, and ’tis no more; affectation gives
place to nature.
“But, you will say, the operation of grace is a real thing. It
is so; but, for all the indications we commonly go by to prove
the peculiar presence of it, it may be nowhere or everywhere
to be found. Most people measure it by the relish they have
for some particular schemes and draughts of religion. Little
do they think, that, the persons whom they most condemn as
unspiritual and deluded, abating for what is merely accidental,
are in the same state of heart as themselves. It may be the
same complexional turn of the soul, (God also speaking peace
to it, and to every man in his own language,) that makes the
mystic happy in his prayer and quietness, the solifidian in his
imputed righteousness, and the moral man in a good conscience.
Nay, perhaps, what many a man calls divine love and joy in the
Holy Ghost, has nothing in it, beyond the alacrity of youth or
good blood in other people, but a set of phrases and notions
from the last book he read; which has given a determination
to that natural vigour and sweetness of temper, that were
indifferent to any other issue or exercise.
“I do not doubt but there is goodness in mankind, and a
goodness of God’s inspiring too; but, I believe it more evenly
distributed among them, and less annexed to particular ways of
thinking and behaviour. Nay, that it is not so annexed even to
Christianity, (though it does essentially depend on Christ,
the universal Redeemer,) but, that, as it was in being before
this particular institution, so it might be obtained if the
initiating rite should happen to be wanting. Yet, this rite
must always be used, for the same reason as it was at first
appointed, to be memorial to mankind of what is continually
done for them in their hearts. Therefore, it was attended
with such extraordinary effects at first, that, by these
manifestations of the divine life, the reality of it might be
firmly believed and depended on in succeeding times, as well as
sacramentally acknowledged. The same would still continue, if
we had more faith in, and zeal for, the Christian institution;
for, according as men believe and expect, God does unto them.
But, at present, He seems to have let the Church drop into the
world, and does not so much distinguish some from the rest, in
righteousness and salvation.
“Whether this be a right state of things, I cannot tell; but it
seems unavoidable when every one that is born, is, of course,
a member of the Church. If the safety and tolerable piety of
whole nations is thereby better provided for, the exemplariness
and instruction of an elect city set upon a hill cease. It
seems to be the order of Providence now, that none should have
much holiness, that all may have a little.
“Dear sir, I have given no particular answer to your questions;
but I have said something hastily, perhaps very wrong; but I
know to whom Miss Wesley[125] gives her love, and would have
written, but she is somewhat indisposed.
“Your affectionate brother and servant,
“J. GAMBOLD.”
Such was Gambold’s philosophical religion, previous to his acquaintance
with Peter Böhler. He was sincere and in earnest; but he was enveloped in
a mystic fog. His was a grand attempt to save himself, but how the thing
was to be accomplished he hardly knew. It was greatly to his credit, as
it was also to that of Wesley, that he was willing to be taught, even
by a German stranger. Twelve months after the date of the foregoing
letter, Gambold wrote another equally important. In the interval,
both he and the two Wesley’s had been “brought out of” Pharisaic and
Philosophic “darkness into marvellous light.” The two letters have only
to be compared to see the surprising change in the writer’s views. The
following was addressed to Wesley’s brother Charles:—
“_January 23rd, 1738-9._
“DEAR SIR,—I understand that you have written to me, but the
letter happened to be lost, and I did not receive it. Your
brother desired me to reed his sermon for him; which, God
willing, I shall do next Sunday.
“I have seen upon this occasion, more than ever I could have
imagined, how intolerable the doctrine of faith is to the mind
of man; how peculiarly intolerable, even to most religious
men. One may say the most unchristian things, even down to
deism; the most enthusiastic things, so they proceed but upon
mental raptures, lights, and unions; the most severe things,
even the whole rigour of ascetic mortification; and all this
will be forgiven. But if you speak of faith, in such a manner
as makes Christ a Saviour to the utmost,—a most universal help
and refuge,—in such a manner as takes away glorying, but adds
happiness to wretched man; as discovers greater pollution in
the best of us than we could before acknowledge, but brings a
greater deliverance from it, than we could before expect. If
any one offers to talk at this rate, he shall be heard with the
same abhorrence as if he were going to rob mankind of their
salvation, their Mediator, and their hopes of forgiveness.
“I am persuaded that a Montanist, or a Novatian, who, from the
height of his purity, should look down with contempt upon poor
sinners, and exclude them from all mercy, would not be thought
such an overthrower of the Gospel, as he who should learn, from
the Author of it, to be a friend of publicans and sinners, and
to sit down upon a level with them as soon as they begin to
repent. But this is not to be wondered at. For all religious
people have such a quantity of righteousness acquired by such
painful exercise, and formed at last into current habits, which
is their wealth both for this world and the next! Now all other
schemes of religion are either so complaisant, as to tell them
they are very rich, and have enough to triumph in; or else,
only a little rough, but friendly in the main, by telling
them their riches are not yet sufficient, but by such arts of
self-denial and mental refinement, they may enlarge the stock.
But the doctrine of faith is a downright robber. It takes away
all this wealth, and only tells us it is deposited for us
with some one else, upon whose bounty we must live like mere
beggars. Indeed, they who are truly beggars, vile and filthy
sinners till very lately, may stoop to live in this dependent
condition; it suits them well enough; but those who have long
distinguished themselves from the herd of vicious wretches,
or have even gone beyond moral men,—for them to be told, that
they are either not so well, or but the same needy, impotent,
insignificant vessels of mercy with the others,—this is more
shocking to reason than transubstantiation; for reason had
rather resign its pretentions to judge what is bread or flesh,
than have this honour wrested from it, to be the architect of
virtue and righteousness.
“But whither am I running? My design was only to give you
warning, that, wherever you go, this foolishness of preaching
will alienate hearts from you, and open mouths against you.
What are you then to do, my dear friend? I will not exhort
you to courage; we need not talk of that, for nothing that
is approaching is evil. I will only mention the prejudice we
shall be under if we seem in the least to lay aside universal
charity and modesty of expression. Though we love some persons
more than we did, let us love none less; and the rather,
because we cannot say any one is bad, or destitute of divine
grace, for not thinking as we do. He only less apprehends,
less enjoys that in Christianity, which is the refuge of the
weak and miserable, and will be his when he finds himself so.
Indignation at mankind is a temper unsuitable to this cause. If
we are indeed at peace with God in Christ, let it soften our
demeanour still more, even towards gainsayers. Let them reject
us: till then, and (as far as it will be admitted,) afterwards,
let our friendship with them continue inviolate.
“Then as to expressions. What has given most offence hitherto,
is what, perhaps, may be best spared,—as some people’s
confident and hasty triumphs in the grace of God; not by
way of humble thankfulness to Him for looking upon them, or
acknowledgment of some peace and strength unknown before; but
insisting on the completeness of their justification, the
completeness of their deliverance already from all sin, and
taking to them every apostolical boast in the strongest terms.
I do not deny but power over sin, and every Gospel privilege,
are bestowed, perhaps, in as large a degree, in the beginning
of grace, as at any time afterwards; for it depends upon the
actual operation of the Spirit that moment upon the heart, not
on a mere federal or habitual union with Him; and his operation
is particularly strong at the first entrance upon a new life.
Yet, as such converts must remember, that, as this absolute
degree of innocence, excluding for the most part even the
first motions of sin, may soon depart from them, and be given
them but sometimes; though till they fall from God, they will
still be free from wilful sins; so while it continues, it is
the most slippery and dangerous thing, among all the blessings
they receive, for themselves to reflect much upon, and the most
exceptionable that they can talk of to other men. Let us speak
of everything in such a manner, as may convey glory to Christ,
without letting it glance on ourselves by the way.
“JOHN GAMBOLD.”[126]
Though exception may be taken to some of the expressions, yet the above
is a most admirable letter; and shows that Gambold had embraced the same
faith as Wesley,—sinners are saved solely through the merits of Christ
Jesus; and on the simple exercise of faith in Him. It was not without a
struggle that he was brought to this conviction. Peter Böhler said to
Wesley, “My brother, my brother, that philosophy of yours must be purged
away.” The same might have been said to Gambold. His learning had to give
place to the simple teaching of the Word of God. He had to relinquish
philosophical theories; and submit to the authoritative utterances of
Christ and of His Apostles. Reason had to bend to revelation. In the case
of a sincere and earnest man, like Gambold, this mental transformation
was not a trifle. He himself, in a letter without date, and apparently
addressed to Wesley, refers to the difficulties, and obstacles he
encountered. His very learning was a hindrance in the way of his being
saved; and he was reluctantly convinced, that, when “the aphorisms of
learning pretend to describe and circumscribe the process of salvation,
then the words of any one who has but a good heart and common sense, are
generally more complete than those of a finished divine; and tally better
with the unsearchable divine economy.” He continues:—
“These obstacles of nature’s education, I have often sighed
under; and, imagining I knew where the shoe pinched in your
case also, I advised the most artless, direct, and confident
laying hold of the Scripture declaration, without the ceremony
and circuitions of a man of learning, and a man of prudence,
or a man of decorum, but simply as a _plain man_, who wants
for his own soul to experience the manifestation of redeeming
grace. The words of our Saviour and His apostles, which I said
we are to take quite simply, are such as these,—‘Come unto
Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest.’ ‘Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast
out.’ ‘He that believeth, shall not come into condemnation;
but is passed from death unto life.’ ‘If thou canst believe,
all things are possible to him that believeth.’ ‘My grace is
sufficient for thee; for My strength is made perfect in thy
weakness.’ ‘This is a faithful saying, that Jesus Christ came
into the world to save sinners,’ etc., etc.”
There is another letter, written by Gambold, during his transition state,
which further illustrates his views and feelings at this important
crisis. It was addressed “to a studious young lady,”—probably Kezziah
Wesley,—and concerning it Wesley himself remarks:—“It well deserves the
attention of the serious and sensible reader. Indeed, unless read with a
good deal of attention, it will scarce be understood, the thoughts are so
deep, and so concisely expressed.” The following are brief extracts:—
“I will no more speak against reading, since, as you say,
you ‘take pleasure in nothing else in the world.’ For, I
cannot deny, but I should be glad myself to have some object
of pleasure in the world; something, whether great or mean,
I do not care, so it be innocent, that might be a relief to
my weary mind. In the situation I am in, not yet admitted to
the glorious comforts of faith, and yet sick of the burden of
corrupt nature, it seems necessary sometimes to set aside the
dejecting prospect, by some amusement, however low. The lower
it is, the fitter for me, till faith in Christ raises me from
spiritual darkness and death. Then I would hope for such solid
consolation, as may well supersede the poor amusements and
delights of the natural man.”
“There is no such lumber in the world, as our last year’s
notions, which yet, in their day, were wonderfully fine and
delightful. The fruit of the Tree of Knowledge will not keep:
it is pleasant enough when you first pluck it; but, if you
pretend to lay it up, it will rot. The man who has discovered,
as far as human thought can go, the manner how the world was
created, and how it shall be restored, the nature of the human
soul, and its state after death,—when he has done, what is
he the better? When the heat of thinking is over, will his
heart be found in any better or nobler condition, than other
men’s? Unless some bye-reasons engage him still to his old
speculations (as the respect paid him upon that account by
the world and by his juniors), will not he confess, that he
is now never the happier for them? Will not he prefer plain
common-sense before all such subtleties? Alas, alas! Under
the greatest accomplishments of the head, the heart remains
just the same as it was. This is very true, though it does not
presently appear to us. I cannot, therefore, agree to that fine
Platonical insinuation, that, ‘so much as we have of truth, so
much we have of God.’
“I heartily condole with you under the troubles of this life:
I am ready to sink under them myself. You suffered severely,
while you lived with us, from sickness and pain, bodily
hardships, etc. It grieves me to think, that ever it should
be your lot to struggle with these. Yet, while you continue
in this world, you must expect to bear your cross. Comfort
yourself under it as well as you can, by applying arguments for
patience; and if at any time you should not have strength of
mind to do this, God Himself will either support and comfort
you, or pity and accept you amidst your weakness.”
“Now, after all this long talk, the chief thing, that, by my
calling and my conscience, I ought to have spoken of, and
recommended to you, I have passed over; and that is faith in
Christ. This is the thing that I ought to speak of with zeal
and delight;—that ought to be the brightest in my imagination,
and nearest to my heart. How little do any other speculations
or reasonings conduce to this faith; and how insignificant are
they, if they do not conduce to it! I know, and actually make
the reflection upon myself, that, whatever I read, or write,
or speak, upon any other subject but this, I am a miserable
trifler. Perhaps then I do very ill, to trifle with you. It
may be, you have felt the great work of faith, cleansing you
from all sin in the blood of Christ;—that, being righteous
before God, you have peace therefrom, which passes all
understanding;—that, all things are become new with you; and
you have a new judgment and taste, as well as new satisfactions
and employments suggested to you by the Spirit of wisdom and
consolation. You seem to hint in the beginning of your letter,
that, either you are in this state, or the desire of your heart
is towards it; for you say, you now acquiesce in that, which
(by the description I could make of it), is the righteousness
of faith. If so, then you have cause to rejoice; and your joy
no man taketh from you.”
Some may think, that, in these quotations, the importance of human
learning is unduly lowered; but all will admit that the learned recluse
at Stanton-Harcourt, had embraced the simple method of human salvation,
by a simple and sole reliance on the sacrifice and merits of Christ
Jesus. This is the point which we are wishful to enforce; inasmuch as it,
not only is “the truth as it is in Jesus;” but, was the origin of the
great Methodist movement of the eighteenth century. Without this, England
would have been without its latest religious reformation. On this ground,
some other extracts from the works of Gambold, may be useful.
It is a fact, not generally noticed, that, though Gambold’s Tragedy,—the
Martyrdom of Ignatius, was not published until after the authors
death,[127] it was written as early as the year 1740; and, hence, may be
taken as an exposition of Gambold’s views and feelings, at this early
period of his life.
It certainly seems somewhat strange, that an earnest young clergyman,
twenty-nine years of age, and only recently brought to the enjoyment of
personal salvation, by penitent faith in Christ, should employ his time
and pen upon a dramatical production; but it must be borne in mind,—(1)
that, from his youth, Gambold had had a great fondness for dramatic
pieces, both ancient and modern, (2) that, Gambold’s Tragedy was never
intended for the stage, (3) that, its sentiments are unexceptionably
pure and good; and (4) that, he was not the first who had attempted to
represent the principles and practices of the Christian religion in such
a form.
Gambold’s work may be a defective drama; but it is a thoughtful poem, and
deserves attention. Take the following extracts, all bearing upon faith
in Christ and its immediate results.
“This is the sum, my brethren! Christ is all:
If e’er we lean to other things we fall.
Spirit, and rites, and reason too, are good,
If planted and if glorying in His blood.
Faith is so simple, whence all good doth spring,
Mankind can’t think it is so great a thing;
Still o’er this pearl steps their ambitious pride,
Pursuing gladly any form beside.”
“Come hither, ye, whom from an evil world
The name of Jesus draws! You count Him sweet,
And great, and mighty, by that glimm’ring light
Your novice minds have gained. You venerate
That full acquaintance, and that vital union
Whereby the faithful know Him; and to this
You now aspire. But can you then let go
Your manly wisdom, and become as babes,
To learn new maxims and the mind of Christ?
Can you forsake your former ease and sunshine,
T’ associate with a poor afflicted people,
The scorn of all mankind? Can you the weight
Of your whole souls, with all your hopes of God,
Rest on a long-past action; and that, such
As your Lord’s mystic but opprobrious death?”
“The friends of Christ
Don’t strive with sin, but trample under foot
Its poor, exploded, antiquated strength;
They don’t rely on some benign event
From the wide wheel of things; but pierce directly
Where Jesus now admits them, and ordains
Their thrones in bliss: hence they in spirit stand
Free from all spot, amidst the train of heaven,
And see God’s face, whose full and constant smile
Doth so attend them through the wilds of life,
That natural dejection, flitting fears,
And all vicissitude, are swallowed up
In one still dawn of that eternal day.”
“Are there not here
Men who can say, in soberness and truth,
That guilt is done away, and innocence,
Fearless and free, restored within their breasts?
That vice, with dark inextricable bands,
No more detains, nor drives to acts of shame
The blushing, reasoning, reluctant mind?
That, for the passions, which by turns inspire
The worthless life of nature,—anger, sloth,
And avarice, and pride,—pure love prevails,
Kindled by heaven, nor by a bad world quenched?
That, they have inwardly exchanged their climate,
And passed from death to life; so that their heart,
Healed and exulting, from its deep recess,
Returns this answer: That the power of evil,
The sting of pain, and terrors of the grave,
Are now no more, or but at distance rage
In faithless minds; while not a dart can reach
Their citadel of peace in Jesu’s love?
That they, in short, to God’s paternal face
And firm affection can appeal and look,
Nor earthly griefs dare intercept the prospect;
But still to every want they feel as men,—
To every priestly, charitable prayer
They breathe as saints of God; His ear and power
Are nigh; till, thus, by constant use and proof
Of aid celestial, heaven is, more than earth,
Their home, the country of their heart and commerce?”
More extracts are not needed. John Gambold, the learned, moping, gloomy,
philosophic Mystic, became an humble, happy, trustful believer in Christ
Jesus. He shall tell his own story. Though he was introduced to Böhler
in January, 1738, and became his interpreter when he preached, yet, for
two years after this, his state of mind was very painful. In a letter
dated April 3, 1740, he describes himself as being “mostly pensive and
dejected, surrounded with solitude, sickness, and silence; not gathering
strength, like the heroes, from rich circumstances, but, like vulgar
minds, contracting an abjectness that blunts every finer sentiment, and
damps every nobler ardour of the soul.” The day of his deliverance,
however, was drawing nigh. Speaking of the Moravians, he writes:—
“I looked upon them as a happy people, and their doctrine as
fundamentally true, but could not apply the comforts thereof
to myself, being discouraged from so doing by the deep sense
I had of my own guilt and depravity, and by being defeated in
the hopes of being happy in the notions which I had formerly
imbibed. Therefore, I despaired of being in a condition better
than the generality of mankind, or different from them. But,
in December, 1740, my younger brother, having been with the
Brethren in London, came to see me. The account which he gave
of the happy course he observed amongst them, struck me with
such an agreeable surprise, that I could not but return with
him thither. My design was to see the order established, and
to feel the spirit which prevailed amongst them where several
of them dwelt together. The purpose of my visit was answered
to my great satisfaction, and I could believe, not only that
they were right both in principle and practice, but that I
might have a share of the same grace which they enjoyed. After
having been again in their company, I perceived an impulse
upon my mind to devote myself entirely to Him who died for me,
and to live wholly for Him and to His service.”
It is a curious fact, that, in the same year in which Wesley seceded
from the London Moravians, Gambold became enamoured with them. Philip
Henry Molther had created immense confusion and bitterness, by preaching
the unscriptural doctrine, that, “to search the Scriptures, to pray, or
to communicate, before we have faith, is to seek salvation by works;
and such works must be laid aside before faith can be received.”
Strangely enough, Gambold, and also Westley Hall (another of the Oxford
Methodists), adopted this dangerous delusion. Hence the following from
Wesley’s Journal:—
“1741, January 28. Our old friends, Mr. Gambold and Mr. Hall,
came to see my brother and me. The conversation turned wholly
on silent prayer, and quiet waiting for God; which, they said,
was the only possible way to attain living, saving faith.
“Sirenum voces, et Circes pocula nosti?
“Was there ever so pleasing a scheme? But where is it written?
Not in any of those books which I account the oracles of God. I
allow, if there is a better way to God than the scriptural way,
this is it. But the prejudice of education so hangs upon me,
that I cannot think there is. I must, therefore, still wait in
the Bible-way, from which this differs as light from darkness.”
The reader has here a characteristic specimen of Wesley’s refined irony,
and determined adherence to the word of God. In the latter, Gambold
sometimes failed. He was still a young man of only thirty; and yet not
a few of the years of his past life had been worse than wasted, by his
indulging in the philosophical speculations of the ancients, instead
of taking the Scriptures for his guide; and now, when he had emerged
from the mists of the early ages of the Christian Church, he suddenly
plunged into the delusive fog of the newly-arrived Philip Henry Molther.
How long he continued there we have no means of knowing; but one thing
is certain, that, the above-named heresy occasioned contentions which
created a partial estrangement between him and his old friend Wesley.
In July, 1741, Wesley had to preach before the Oxford University, in
the church of St Mary’s; and, being in doubt as to the subject of his
sermon, whether it should be from the text, “Almost thou persuadest me to
be a Christian,” or from, “How is the faithful city become an harlot!” he
went to Oxford, a month before the time of its delivery, to advise with
Gambold concerning it, but met with a response far from friendly. Wesley
writes:—
“He seemed to think it of no moment; ‘For,’ said he, ‘all here
are so prejudiced, that they will mind nothing you say.’”