John Berridge
by J. C. Philpot
The middle and latter end of the last century was a
remarkable period. A chain of ministers, commencing with Whitefield, and
embracing in its links Toplady, Berridge, Newton, Romaine, Huntington, and
Hawker, extends itself down to our degenerate days. However differing in
gifts, all these men were evidently taught by the same Spirit, and preached
the same gospel. Toplady, like a lamp fed with spirit, flamed forth,
blazed, and died, from shortness of wick, not from lack of supply. Newton,
snatched from Africa's burning shore, and from worse than African servitude,
united to much sound wisdom great tenderness of spirit, and an experience of
divine things which, if not very deep, was sound and varied. He knew much of
his own heart, was singularly frank and sincere, had much sympathy with the
tried and afflicted, and, being gifted with an easy, fluent style, has left
behind him many useful and excellent letters. Romaine was a burning and
shining light, who lived the faith which he preached, and in the midst of
the metropolis for half a century had but one theme, one subject, one
object—Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forever.
In many points widely differing, but united by the same
faith to the same glorious Head of influence, light, life, liberty, and
love, was John Berridge. As all the lines of a circle radiate towards
the center, all necessarily meet in one point. So, however the servants of
Christ may differ in ability, gifts, time, place, and usefulness, yet all
meet in one point the central Sun of the system—the crucified, risen,
ascended, and glorified Son of God. We hear of "the music of the spheres."
But without harmony, music there is none. If there be music in the revolving
spheres, it is because each planet preserves its circuit, rolling round the
sun at the appointed distance, and with the appointed velocity. And what are
the servants of God but planets to the Sun of Righteousness, each having his
appointed orbit, fixed as definitely by decree, as the orbit of the earth,
and enjoying only light, warmth, and motion in proportion to his proximity
to the glorified Immanuel? Shall they then jar and quarrel, and seek to
mingle orbits, envying each other's grace, gifts, or usefulness? The light
of each and all is but reflected light, the light of the Sun of
Righteousness shining into their hearts; "for what have they which they have
not received?"
Pride, cursed pride, is the root of that jealousy
which is cruel as the grave. Did ministers but view themselves, and did
others but view them, as mere instruments, they could and would no more
quarrel on the ground of superiority and inferiority than the flute would
quarrel with the violin, or the chisel with the saw. Romaine poring over
Hebrew roots in his study at Lambeth, and Berridge preaching from a
horse-block at Potton, mingling smiles and tears, and the quaintest humour
with the deepest pathos, were as different in natural disposition and
constitution as can well be imagined. But each sighed and groaned under a
body of sin and death, each dearly loved, and each highly exalted the dying
Friend of sinners, each was honored and blessed in his work, and each is now
in the bosom of his Lord and God. Of Berridge we now propose a slight
sketch.
John Berridge was the eldest son of a wealthy farmer
and grazier, and was born at Kingston, Nottinghamshire, March 1st, 1716. His
father's intention was to bring him up to his own business, but partly
through some early religious impressions and partly through an innate love
to study, the youthful farmer could never learn how to hold a plough or
handle a bullock. He was sent therefore to the University of Cambridge, his
father probably thinking that his first-born might have sufficient talent to
read prayers and preach a sermon, if not to learn the mysteries of a
four-shift course or sell a broken-mouthed ewe. To Cambridge, therefore,
John went; and when his father was asked what had become of the youthful
student, he is said to have jocularly replied that "he was gone to be a
light to the Gentiles." At the University he studied hard, but lost much of
his early religious impressions, so much so as to give up almost entirely
secret prayer for ten years, and to have drunk deeply into Arian and
Socinian views, which at that time were widely prevalent. These last
sentiments, however, he abandoned, from seeing that they lowered God the
Father, as well as God the Son, and were destructive of all vital religion.
The experience of Berridge is best seen in his
hymns. In them his whole heart is open. They were written in the furnace
of a long and trying illness, and the fruits of the furnace are seen in
them.
1. What honesty and sincerity are stamped
upon them! Berridge knew himself. The Holy Spirit had taken him into the
chambers of imagery, and shown him "The creeping things portrayed upon the
walls round about." The veil of self-righteousness and self-complacency had
been taken from off his heart, and he had seen light in God's light. This
made him honest. No disguise, he knew, could shroud him from the eyes of
Omniscience. "You God see me" was engraved on his heart. And to this we owe
the transparency of his character, his freedom from deceit and hypocrisy.
2. Though a man of learning, his language was
simplicity itself. Simplicity is always beautiful. God's works in
nature, how beautifully simple! From a blade of grass to an oak; from a fly
to an elephant; from the sand under our feet to the stars in the sky!
Wherever the fingers of God are there is simplicity. And his word how
simple! The parables of Jesus, the sermon on the mount, the farewell
chapters with his disciples in the Gospel of John, what beauty! what
simplicity shine throughout! True religion, real experience, vital
godliness, wants no rouge upon its cheek. It shines forth with the luster of
God, as the face of Moses when he came down from the mount of communion. It
is falsehood and hypocrisy that want disguise. Truth needs no adventitious
ornaments to set off its intrinsic beauty. To adorn it is to spoil it—to
array the virgin in the garb of a harlot. This beautiful simplicity was a
marked feature in the character of Berridge, and is stamped on all his
writings. He could afford to be sincere, as he alone can in whom the fear
and grace of God dwell.
3. We admire, too, in Berridge the emptiness and
self-destitution which form such prominent features in his character. He
knew what Pharisaism was from a long experience of it in his own heart; and
he abhorred the resident.
4. With this feature of destitution, poverty, and
soul-emptiness which characterize Berridge, we see combined its inseparable
companion, self-abhorrence. How feelingly he says,
"Self-condemned and abhorred,
How shall I approach the Lord."
And again,
"I drop my vile heart in the dust."
5. But Berridge knew also the gospel of the grace of
God. Here he preeminently shines. The gospel flowed purely into his
soul, and thence pure out of his mouth, not turbid and tainted like a ditch
with the rotting leaves that Adam would gladly have covered himself with,
but bright and sparkling as the river of life. Christ was indeed his all
in all.
6. One point more we would call attention to lest we
dwell too long upon this part of our subject. We mean the sweet and
indescribable savor that rests upon Berridge's Hymns. They are "seasoned
with salt," and are thus preserved from corruption. How many thousands of
sermons, hymns, and tracts lave been written and published within this last
century! And who reads them now? They lacked that which God commanded never
to be lacking from the meat offering, (Lev. 2:13) "salt." Their sacrifice
was not seasoned with salt, (Mark 9:46; Col. 4:6,) and therefore lacked both
savor and preservation. Not so with Berridge. His hymns are seasoned with
salt; have therefore savor and flavor; have been preserved to our time, and
will go down to all generations.