To Miss M., August 24, 1852.
My beloved friend,
I most sincerely wish you a blessed evidence of your own election of God. To
others this evidence is already open, in many marks and tokens of the work
of grace, although to you it is at present sealed. (Jer. 32:11) Nor can you
get at this comfortable assurance until the Divine Witness (Rom. 8:16) of
the evidence opens and reads it to the joy of your heart. May He be pleased
soon to come forth in your soul as the Comforter, the Spirit of adoption,
and the Testifier of Jesus. His witnessing all your unbelief shall not be
able to gainsay or resist; for it is with demonstration and power; and
though feeling vile, and utterly black in yourself, that will not invalidate
His testimony at all, nor in the least way alter that adoption, which does
not originate in the merit of the creature—but in the sovereign will of the
Creator. "Of His own will He begat us," (Jas. 1:18) irrespective of anything
in ourselves. Though all our blackness is fully known to Him, yet it has no
influence upon His determination to put us among the children. Yes, He will
cause even this our vileness to turn to His own glory. We may feel the very
worst of all, and say, "I am not worthy to be called your child;" but the
relationship remains unaltered, and our Father will not make us as one of
His hired servants. The Prodigal must be brought in, and prove the
affections of a Father's tenderness, (Jer. 31:20) though there be a time in
experience when the child differs nothing from a servant, "but is under
tutors and governors until the time appointed of the Father." During this
time he is instructed and chastened (Psalm 94:12) out of the law, which "is
our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ." Its deep spirituality discovers,
by the light of the Spirit, our nature's deformity; for by the law is the
knowledge of sin. It judges also our thoughts, words, and actions, and
pronounces condemnation upon them all. Meanwhile, the conscience is
enlightened to see things as they really are; it fully joins with what the
law says, and in the discovery of so much evil the poor soul judges itself
unworthy of eternal life. Instead of finding proof that it belongs to the
royal family of heaven, it feels much more like the servant of sin, like one
who is led captive by Satan at his will; and yet all this time it is a child
of God, though not as yet realizing this by faith in Christ Jesus. But when
faith takes hold of Christ by the Spirit's power, there will be the witness
within (1 John 5:10) of adoption, of sonship, and then it will be, "Knowing,
beloved, your election of God;" and then you will stand astonished, both in
time and eternity, at the riches of that grace which put you in the number
of the Savior's family.
On recurring to your letter, I am reminded of North
Wales, which you mention. I must not say much about it, lest I revive in you
a pining for what you have not; but I may just say, I did exceedingly enjoy
that lovely locality so new to me, combining mountain and marine scenery,
both which were constantly before our windows—but not always visible, for
the majestic mountains were obscured days together, being enveloped in a
dense fog, something like that darkening unbelief which hides from the soul
those hills whence alone our help comes. But as with renewed delight we
hailed a returning view of the Welsh mountains, so does the poor soul
welcome a glimpse of those "lasting hills," which contain the "precious
things" just suited to its case. But we not only enjoyed nature's loveliness
and grandeur; we also found some gems of grace, such as the Lord will own
when He makes up His jewels: dear Welsh sisters, with whom we could take
sweet counsel; sweetly proving that whatever be the country, or natural
language--the new heart beats the same in all. Though I do almost
extravagantly enjoy the wonders of creation, yet the wonders of Redemption
are to me the cream of all; and to find one dear saint, though poor and
mean, and despised of men, is treasure to this heart. Such was our privilege
in North Wales, and amidst its many fascinations, this is the endearment of
the remembrance.
Forgive me, dearest friend, for hinting above about your
pining for what you have not; you will retrace from your own note whence the
thought originated, in your extreme disquiet for want of country air. I do
indeed think this is one point where your foe is gaining advantage, and
adding much to your torture, in setting your eyes and heart upon something
pleasing and in prospect, that you may fret for it; or upon something
displeasing and present, that you may fret against it; and thus between the
two you are kept too much kicking against the goads, and severe smarting is
the consequence. I know your case is deeply trying, and I do affectionately
feel for you, and long that it may be with you as Psalm 131:2, believing
such a state of passive resignation would much reduce the bitterness of
your suffering. I speak only in love, and hope you will not be pained.
Tell me if you are. I like to know how you feel, and would not therefrom
sharpen words to wound you; but I am thoroughly convinced it is as you say
in another part of your letter, that "we often magnify our trials by
fretting, and striving to resist them;" and anxiously do I desire that you
may be brought to bow your shoulder to bear, and yield your flesh a servant
to that tribute which the Lord sees fit to lay upon it.
I have lately been thinking that there is a great
difference in experience between being compelled to bear the daily cross, as
Simon was the literal one, (Matt. 27:32) and taking it up as our Lord
exhorts. (Luke 9:23) Oh, let us importunately seek grace from Him, that
we may come to this daily self-denial. He only exhorts us to hard things in
order to bring us to Himself for strength to do them, for "He gives more
grace," and, when brought to entire resignation, the thing which did most
distress us becomes much more endurable. Naturally, I have a very strong
will, and therefore, as you may suppose, it has been much crossed. Too well
I know the misery of fretting, and a little the mercy of being brought down,
and saying feelingly, with the thorn at my bosom, "Your will be done."
"Though He slays me, yet will I trust in Him." Now do not say this is out of
your reach: it is not, because "power belongs unto God," and all who are
brought to sweet submission under trials are brought to it by Him. Seek it
at His hands, that you may glorify Him in the fires.
The thing I am now seeking in my daily walk is a subdued
will. Will you not join me? I do painfully feel that I have a stubborn will;
but the acknowledgment of it will not do. I want it conquered, and for this,
look to Him who has all power in heaven and earth. You speak of thinking
yourself so much worse than I am. Oh, my dear friend, there is not under the
canopy of heaven—there is not in the pit of despair—a viler sinner than I.
This is a true confession. I may have been kept under more restraints than
yourself; but if not open to such temptations, what merit in not falling
into them? Besides, there needs not the outward act to constitute me guilty
of any sin. When tried by heart-evil, I am indeed unclean, unclean, and this
not only as knowing the seeds of all evil to be there—but as having felt the
abominations—having sunk in the pit of corruption, and become "a burden to
myself." You cannot go lower than I in guiltiness; but I have lately felt
that if I had a thousand such guilty souls I could trust them all with my
precious Savior, so great is the efficacy of His blood, so rich the merit of
His justifying righteousness; and He loves to get glory by such desperate
cases. Indeed, I believe He allows His redeemed to know so much of their
nature's evil to magnify the riches of His exceeding grace in their esteem.
I deeply loathe my evil—but do not regret that I have so deeply felt it; and
I often thank the Lord for it, because those who have felt the heaviest
load, "do prize forgiveness most." "I looked for hell"—I knew I deserved it,
and felt almost there—but "He gave me heaven." Oh! should I not praise Him?
And should not you be encouraged to hope? And now, farewell. The God of
peace give you peace by the blood of the Cross. Excuse my defects.
With affectionate love, your much attached,
R. B.
"May the Lord, Maker of heaven and earth, bless you from
Zion." Psalm 134:3
"The Lord delights in those who fear Him, who put their
hope in His unfailing love." Psalm 147:11