Sanctified Letter-Writing.
Fletcher's correspondence was an unusually heavy one; his letters make
quite as spiritual reading as his sermons, yet he gave the choicest of
reasons for _not_ writing to one man who expected a letter: "Tell
Mr. Keen," he wrote to Whitefield, "I am a letter in his debt, and
_postpone writing it till I have had such a sight of Christ as to
breathe His love through every line_."
Many pearls of thought were contained in these epistles; while the
advice in them was quaintly put, it was always helpful, and never
hurled at random.
"Your dulness in private prayer," wrote he to Miss Hatton, "arises
from the want of familiar friendship with Jesus. To obviate it, go to
your closet as if you were going to meet your dearest friend; cast
yourself at His feet, bemoan your coldness, extol His love to you, and
let your heart break with a desire to love Him. Get _recollection_
--a dwelling within ourselves--a being abstracted from the creature
and turned towards God. For want of such a frame, our times of prayer
are frequently dry and useless; imagination prevails, and the heart
wanders, whereas we pass easily from recollection to delightful
prayer."
To the same person, however, he recommended the cultivation of a
wholesome naturalness in religion which would ensure acknowledgment of
its beauty in those around her:--
"There is no sin in _looking cheerful_. '_Rejoice
evermore_'; and if it is our duty always to be _filled with
joy_, it is our duty to _appear_ what we are in reality. I
hope, however, your friends know how to distinguish between
_cheerfulness_ and _levity_.
"Beware of stiff singularity in things _barely indifferent_: it
is _self_ in disguise; and it is so much the more dangerous when
it comes recommended by a serious, self-denying, religious
appearance."
It is evident from a glance at his correspondence that Fletcher's
extremely frugal habits and large generosity to others gave not a
little anxiety to those who loved him. A wealthy merchant of Bristol,
named Mr. Ireland, a constant, true, and close friend, sent him a
parcel of broadcloth as a gift, beseeching him kindly not to send his
coat again to be patched. His thanks were thus concluded:--
"Your broadcloth can lap me round two or three times; but the mantle
of Divine love, the precious fine robe of Jesus's righteousness, can
cover your soul a thousand times. The cloth, fine and good as it is,
will not keep out a hard shower; but that garment of salvation will
keep out even a shower of brimstone and fire. Your cloth will wear
out; but that fine linen, the righteousness of saints, will appear
with a finer lustre the more it is worn. The moth may fret your
present, or the tailor may spoil it in cutting it, but the present
which Jesus has made you is out of reach of the spoiler, and ready for
present wear. Let me beseech you, my dear friend, to accept of this
heavenly present as I accept of your earthly one. I did not send you
one farthing to purchase it; it came unsought, unasked, unexpected, as
the seed of the woman came. It came just as I was sending a tailor to
buy me cloth for a new coat, and I hope when you next see me it will
be in your present; now let Jesus see you in His. Accept it freely.
Wear no more the old rusty coat of nature and self-righteousness. Send
no more to have it _patched_. Make your boast of an unbought
suit, and love to wear the livery of Jesus."
John Fletcher's letters all tended to the same point as his sermons--a
personal appeal to the soul to whom he addressed himself. To the Rev.
Joseph Benson he wrote:--
"The few professors I see in these parts are so far from what I could
wish them and myself to be, that I cannot but cry out, 'Lord, how long
wilt Thou give Thine heritage to desolation and barrenness? How long
shall the heathen say, Where is now their indwelling God?' I hope it
is better with you in the north. What are your heart, your pen, your
tongue doing? Are they receiving, sealing, spreading the truth
everywhere within your sphere? Are you dead to praise or dispraise?
Could you quietly pass for a mere fool, and have gross nonsense
fathered upon you without any uneasy reflection of self? The Lord
bless you! Beware of your grand enemy, earthly wisdom and unbelieving
reasonings. You will never overcome but by child-like, loving
simplicity."
In writing to his schoolmaster at Madeley, the Vicar gives a real
home-thrust, yet in so kindly a manner that it could hardly be
resented:--
"If I were not a minister I would be a _schoolmaster_, to have the
pleasure of bringing up children in the fear of the Lord. That
pleasure is yours, relish it, and it will comfort and strengthen you
in your work. The joy of the Lord and of charity is our strength.
Salute the children from me, and tell them I long to show them the way
to happiness and Heaven. Have you mastered the stiffness and shyness
of your temper? Charity gives a _meekness, an affability, a child-
like simplicity and openness_, which nature has denied you. Let me
find you shining by these virtues, and you will revive me much. God
bless your labour about the sheep and the lambs!"
An insight into his own persevering way of working may well be gained
from the directions he give's in a letter written from Bristol to Mr.
Wase, of Madeley:--
"MY DEAR BROTHER,--Go to Mrs. Cound, and tell her I charge her, in the
name of God, to give up the world, to set out with all speed for
Heaven, and to join the few about her who fear God. If she refuses,
call again; call weekly, if not daily, and warn her from me till she
is ripe for glory.... Give my love to George Crannage; tell him to
make haste to Christ, and not to doze away his last days."
To the whole of his parishioners he wrote, on one occasion, an epistle
through which we gain a glimpse of the tenderness and beauty of his
spirit, chastened still more, as it then was, by affliction:--
"MY DEAR COMPANIONS IN TRIBULATION,--All the children of God I love;
but of all the children of God, none have so great a right, to my love
as you. Your stated or occasional attendance on my poor ministry, as
well as the bonds of neighbourhood, and the many happy hours I have
spent with you before the throne of Grace, endear you peculiarly to
me. . . .
"I sometimes feel a desire of being buried where you are buried, and
of having my bones lie in a common earthen bed with yours; but I soon
resign that wish, and exult in thinking that, whatever distance there
may be between our graves, we can now bury our sins, cares, doubts,
and fears, in the one grave of our Divine Saviour. If I, your poor
unworthy shepherd, am smitten, be not scattered, but rather be more
closely gathered unto Christ, and keep near each other in faith and
love, till you all receive our second Comforter and Advocate, the Holy
Ghost, the third Person in our _Covenant God._ He is with you;
but if you plead the promise of the Father, 'which,' says Christ, 'ye
have heard of Me, He will be _in_ you.' He will fill your souls
with His light, love, und glory, according to that verse which we have
so often sung together:--
"Refining Fire, go through my heart,
Illuminate my soul;
Scatter Thy life through every part,
And sanctify the whole.
"This indwelling of the Comforter perfects the mystery of
sanctification in the believer's soul. This is the highest blessing of
the Christian covenant on earth. Rejoicing in God our Creator, in God
our Redeemer, let us look for the full comfort of God our Sanctifier.
So shall we live and die in the faith, going on from faith to faith,
from strength to strength, from comfort to comfort, till Christ is all
in all to us all."