John Newton's Letters
A believer's frames
Dear Sir,
You ask me, in your letter, what should one do when one finds one's self
always still, quiet, and stupid—except in the pulpit; is made useful there,
but cannot get either comfort or sorrow out of it, or but very rarely? You
describe a case which my own experience has made very familiar to me. I
shall take the occasion to offer you a few miscellaneous thoughts upon the
subject of a believer's frames; and I send them to you, not by the post, but
from the press; because I apprehend the exercise you speak of is not
peculiar to you or to me, but is in a greater or less degree the burden of
all who are spiritually minded, and duly attentive to what passes in their
own hearts, whether they are in the ministry or not.
As you intimate that you are in the main favored with
liberty and usefulness in the pulpit, give me leave to ask you, What you
would do if you did not find yourself occasionally poor, insufficient, and,
as you express it, stupid, at other times? Are you aware of what might be
the possible, the probable, the almost certain consequences, if you always
found your spirit enlarged, and your frames lively and comfortable? Would
you not be in great danger of being puffed up with spiritual pride? Would
you not be less sensible of your absolute dependence upon the power of
Christ, and of your continual need of his blood, pardon, and intercession?
Would you not be quite at a loss to speak suitably and feelingly to the case
of many gracious souls, who are groaning under those effects of a depraved
nature, from which, upon that supposition, you would be exempted? How could
you speak properly upon the deceitfulness of the heart, if you did not feel
the deceitfulness of your own; or adapt yourself to the changing experiences
through which your hearers pass, if you yourself were always alike, or
nearly so? Or how could you speak pertinently of the inward warfare, the
contrary principles of flesh and spirit fighting one against another—if your
own spiritual desires were always vigorous and successful, and met with
little opposition or control?
The Apostle Paul, though favored with a singular eminency
in grace, felt at times that he had no sufficiency in himself so much as to
think a good thought; and he saw there was a danger of his being exalted
above measure, if the Lord had not wisely and graciously tempered his
dispensations to prevent it. By "being exalted above measure," perhaps there
may be a reference not only to his spirit, lest he should think more highly
of himself than he ought, but likewise to his preaching, lest, not having
the same causes of complaint and humiliation in common with others, he
should shoot over the heads of his hearers, confine himself chiefly to speak
of such comforts and privileges as he himself enjoyed, and have little to
say for the refreshment of those who were discouraged and cast down by a
continual conflict with indwelling in.
The angel who appeared to Cornelius did not preach the
Gospel to him, but directed him to send for Peter: for though the glory and
grace of the Savior seems a fitter subject for an angel's powers than for
the poor stammering tongues of sinful men, yet an angel could not preach
experimentally, nor describe the warfare between grace and sin from his own
feelings. And if we could suppose a minister as full of comforts and as free
from failings as an angel, though he would be a good and happy man, I cannot
conceive that he would be a good or useful preacher; for he would not know
how to sympathize with the weak and afflicted of the flock, or to comfort
them under their difficulties with the consolations wherewith he himself, in
similar circumstances, had been comforted of God.
It belongs to your calling of God as a minister, that you
should have a taste of the various spiritual trials which are incident to
the Lord's people, that thereby you may possess the tongue of the learned,
and know how to speak a word in season to those who are weary; and it is
likewise needful to keep you perpetually attentive to that important
admonition, "Without me you can do nothing."
Thus much considering you as a minister. But we may
extend the subject so as to make it applicable to believers in general. I
would observe, therefore, that it is a sign of a sad declension, if one, who
has tasted that the Lord is gracious, should be capable of being fully
satisfied with anything short of the light of his countenance, which is
better than life. A resting in notions of Gospel truth, or in the
recollection of past comforts, without a continual thirst for fresh
communications from the Fountain of life, is, I am afraid, the canker which
eats away the beauty and fruitfulness of many professors in the present day;
and which, if it does not prove them to be absolutely dead, is at least a
sufficient evidence that they are lamentably sick. But if we are conscious
of the desire, if we seek it carefully in the use of all appointed means, if
we willingly allow ourselves in nothing which has a known tendency to grieve
the Spirit of God, and to dampen our sense of divine things; then, if the
Lord is pleased to keep us short of those comforts which he has taught us to
prize, and, instead of lively sensations of joy and praise, we feel a
languor and deadness of spirit, provided we do indeed feel it, and are
humbled for it—we have no need to give way to despondency or excessive
sorrow.
Still the foundation of our hope, and the ground of our
abiding joys, is the same; and the heart may be as really alive to God, and
grace as truly in exercise, when we walk in comparative darkness and see
little light, as when the frame of our spirits is more comfortable.
Neither the reality, nor the measure of grace, can be properly estimated by
the degree of our sensible comforts. The great question is—How we are
practically influenced by the word of God, as the ground of our hope, and as
the governing rule of our tempers and conversation? The Apostle exhorts
believers to rejoice in the Lord always. He well knew that they were exposed
to trials and temptations, and to much trouble from an evil heart of
unbelief; and he prevents the objections we might be ready to make, by
adding, "And again I say, Rejoice," as if he had said, I speak upon mature
consideration; I call upon you to rejoice, not at some times only, but at
all times; not only when upon the mount, but when in the valley; not only
when you conquer, but while you are fighting; not only when the Lord shines
upon you, but when he seems to hide his face. When he enables you to do all
things, you are no better in yourselves than you were before; and
when you feel you can do nothing, you are no worse. Your
experiences will vary: but his love and promises are always unchangeable.
Though our desires of comfort, and what we call lively
frames, cannot be too importunate while they are regulated by a due
submission to his will, yet they may be inordinate for lack of such
submission. Sinful principles may, and too often do, mix with and defile our
best desires. I have often detected the two vile abominations Self-will and
Self-righteousness insinuating themselves into this concern: like Satan, who
works by them, they can occasionally assume the appearance of an angel of
light. I have felt an impatience in my spirit, utterly unsuitable to my
state as a sinner and a beggar, and to my profession of yielding myself and
all my concerns to the Lord's disposal. He has mercifully convinced me that
I labor under a multiplication of disorders, summed up in the word—sin. He
has graciously revealed himself to me as the infallible physician; and has
enabled me, as such, to commit myself to him, and to expect my cure from his
hand alone. Yet how often, instead of thankfully accepting his
prescriptions, have I foolishly and presumptuously ventured to prescribe to
him, and to point out how I would have him deal with me! How often have I
thought something was necessary which he saw best to deny, and that I could
have done better without those dispensations which his wisdom appointed to
work for my good! He is God, and not man, or else he would have been weary
of me, and left me to my own management long ago. How inconsistent! to
acknowledge that I am blind, to entreat him to lead me, and yet to want to
choose my own way, in the same breath! I have limited the Holy One of
Israel, and not considered that he magnifies his wisdom and grace in working
by contraries, and bringing good out of apparent evil. It has cost me
something to bring me to confess that he is wiser than I; but I trust,
through his blessing, I have not suffered wholly in vain. My sensible
comforts have not been great: the proofs I have had of the evils of my
sinful nature, my incapacity and aversion to good, have neither been few nor
small; but by these unpromising means I hope he has made his grace and
salvation precious to my soul, and in some measure weaned me from leaning to
my own understanding.
Again: self-righteousness has had a considerable hand in
dictating many of my desires for an increase of comfort and spiritual
strength. I have wanted some stock of my own. I have been wearied of being
so perpetually beholden to him, necessitated to come to him always in the
same strain, as a poor miserable sinner. I would have liked to have done
something for myself upon common occasions, and to have depended upon him
chiefly upon extraordinary occasions. I have found indeed, that I could do
nothing without his assistance, nor anything even with it, but what I have
reason to be ashamed of. If this had only humbled me, and led me to rejoice
in his all-sufficiency, it would have been well. But it has often had a
different effect, to make me sullen, angry, and discontented, as if it was
not best and most desirable that he should have all the glory of his own
work, and I should have nothing to boast of, but that in the Lord I have
righteousness and strength. I am now learning to glory only in my
infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me; to be content to be
nothing, that he may be All in All. But I find this a hard lesson; and when
I seem to have made some proficiency, a slight turn in my spirit throws me
back, and I have to begin all over again.
There is an inseparable connection between causes and
effects. There can be no effect without a cause, no active cause without a
proportionable effect. Now indwelling sin is an active cause; and therefore,
while it remains in our nature, it will produce effects according to its
strength. Why then should I be surprised, that, if the Lord suspends his
influence for a moment, in that moment sin will discover itself? Why should
I wonder that I can feel no lively exercise of grace, no power to raise my
heart to God, any farther than he is pleased to work in me mightily; any
more than wonder that I do not find fire in the bottom of a well, or that it
should not be day when the sun is withdrawn from the earth? Humbled I ought
to be, to find I am so totally depraved; but not discouraged, since Jesus is
appointed to me as my wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption;
and since I find that, in the midst of all this darkness and deadness, he
keeps alive the principle of grace which he has implanted in my heart.
As to Mr. Rutherford's expression which you mention, that
"there is no temptation like being without temptation;" I allow it in a
qualified sense; that is, it is better of the two to suffer from Satan's
fiery darts, than to be lulled asleep, and drawn into a careless security,
by his more subtle, though less perceptible devices; so as to grow
indifferent to the means of grace, and sink into a worldly spirit, or, like
the church of Laodicea, to imagine ourselves rich, and increased in goods,
and that we have need of nothing. But I am persuaded this is not your case;
the deadness you complain of, and which is a burden you groan under, is a
very different thing. And I advise you to be cautious how you indulge a
desire to be exercised with Satan's temptations, as supposing they would be
conducive to make you more spiritual, or would of course open you a way to
greater consolations. If you have such a desire, I may say to you, in our
Lord's words, "you know not what you ask."
He who knows our weakness, and the power of our
adversary, has graciously directed us to pray, that we enter not into
temptation. Have you considered what the enemy can do, if he is permitted to
come in like a flood? In one hour he could raise such a storm as would put
you to your wit's end. He could bring such a dark cloud over your mind, as
would blot out all remembrance of your past comforts, or at least prevent
you from deriving the least support from them. He could not only fight
against your peace, but shake the very foundations of your hope, and bring
you to question, not only our interest in the promises, but even to doubt of
the most important and fundamental truths upon which your hopes have been
built. Be thankful, therefore, if the Lord restrains his malice. A young
sailor is often impatient of a short calm; but the experienced mariner, who
has been often tossed with tempests, and upon the point of perishing, will
seldom wish for a storm. in a word, let us patiently wait upon the Lord, and
be content to follow as he leads, and he will surely do us good.