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diff --git a/1886-h/1886-h.htm b/1886-h/1886-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c87a68b --- /dev/null +++ b/1886-h/1886-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7722 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Bunyan Characters (Second Series)</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Bunyan Characters (Second Series), by Alexander Whyte</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Bunyan Characters (Second Series), by +Alexander Whyte + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Bunyan Characters (Second Series) + + +Author: Alexander Whyte + +Release Date: April 13, 2005 [eBook #1886] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BUNYAN CHARACTERS (SECOND SERIES)*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1894 Oliphant Anderson and Ferrier edition by +David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>BUNYAN CHARACTERS—SECOND SERIES<br /> +Lectures delivered in St. George’s Free Church Edinburgh<br /> +By Alexander Whyte, D.D.</h1> +<h2>IGNORANCE</h2> +<blockquote><p>“I was alive without the law once.”—<i>Paul</i>.</p> +<p>“I was now a brisk talker also myself in the matter of religion.”—<i>Bunyan</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is a new kind of pilgrim. There are not many pilgrims +like this bright brisk youth. A few more young gentlemen like +this, and the pilgrimage way would positively soon become fashionable +and popular, and be the thing to do. Had you met with this young +gentleman in society, had you noticed him beginning to come about your +church, you would have lost no time in finding out who he was. +I can well believe it, you would have replied. Indeed, I felt +sure of it. I must ask him to the house. I was quite struck +with his appearance and his manners. Yes; ask him at once to your +house; show him some pointed attentions and you will never regret it. +For if he goes to the bar and works even decently at his cases, he will +be first a sheriff and then a judge in no time. If he should take +to politics, he will be an under-secretary before his first parliament +is out. And if he takes to the church, which is not at all unlikely, +our West-end congregations will all be competing for him as their junior +colleague; and, if he elects either of our Established churches to exercise +his profession in it, he will have dined with Her Majesty while half +of his class-fellows are still half-starved probationers. Society +fathers will point him out with anger to their unsuccessful sons, and +society mothers will smile under their eyelids as they see him hanging +over their daughters.</p> +<p>Well, as this handsome and well-appointed youth stepped out of his +own neat little lane into the rough road on which our two pilgrims were +staggering upward, he felt somewhat ashamed to be seen in their company. +And I do not wonder. For a greater contrast you would not have +seen on any road in all that country that day. He was at your +very first sight of him a gentleman and the son of a gentleman. +A little over-dressed perhaps; as, also, a little lofty to the two rather +battered but otherwise decent enough men who, being so much older than +he, took the liberty of first accosting him. “Brisk” +is his biographer’s description of him. Feather-headed, +flippant, and almost impudent, you might have been tempted to say of +him had you joined the little party at that moment. But those +two tumbled, broken-winded, and, indeed, broken-hearted old men had +been, as an old author says, so emptied from vessel to vessel—they +had had a life of such sloughs and stiff climbs—they had been +in hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness so often—that it was +no wonder that their dandiacal companion walked on a little ahead of +them. ‘Gentlemen,’ his fine clothes and his cane and +his head in the air all said to his two somewhat disreputable-looking +fellow-travellers,—“Gentlemen, you be utter strangers to +me: I know you not. And, besides, I take my pleasure in walking +alone, even more a great deal than in company, unless I like it better.” +But all his society manners, and all his costly and well-kept clothes, +and all his easy and self-confident airs did not impose upon the two +wary old pilgrims. They had seen too much of the world, and had +been too long mixing among all kinds of pilgrims, young and old, true +and false, to be easily imposed upon. Besides, as one could see +from their weather-beaten faces, and their threadbare garments, they +had found the upward way so dreadfully difficult that they both felt +a real apprehension as to the future of this light-hearted and light-headed +youth. “You may find some difficulty at the gate,” +somewhat bluntly broke in the oldest of the two pilgrims on their young +comrade. “I shall, no doubt, do at the gate as other good +people do,” replied the young gentleman briskly. “But +what have you to show at the gate that may cause that the gate be opened +to you?” “Why, I know my Lord’s will, and I +have been a good liver all my days, and I pay every man his own. +I pray, moreover, and I fast. I pay tithes, and give alms, and +have left my country for whither I am going.” Now, before +we go further: Do all you young gentlemen do as much as that? +Have you always been good livers? Have you paid every man and +woman their due? Do you pray to be called prayer? And, if +so, when, and where, and what for, and how long at a time? I do +not ask if your private prayer-book is like Bishop Andrewes’ <i>Devotions</i>, +which was so reduced to pulp with tears and sweat and the clenching +of his agonising hands that his literary executors were with difficulty +able to decipher it. Clito in the <i>Christian Perfection</i> +was so expeditious with his prayers that he used to boast that he could +both dress and do his devotions in a quarter of an hour. What +was the longest time you ever took to dress or undress and say your +prayers? Then, again, there is another Anglican young gentleman +in the same High Church book who always fasts on Good Friday and the +Thirtieth of January. Did you ever deny yourself a glass of wine +or a cigar or an opera ticket for the church or the poor? Could +you honestly say that you know what tithes are? And is there a +poor man or woman or child in this whole city who will by any chance +put your name into their prayers and praises at bedtime to-night? +I am afraid there are not many young gentlemen in this house to-night +who could cast a stone at that brisk lad Ignorance, Vain-Hope, door +in the side of the hill, and all. He was not far from the kingdom +of heaven; indeed, he got up to the very gate of it. How many +of you will get half as far?</p> +<p>Now (what think you?), was it not a very bold thing in John Bunyan, +whose own descent was of such a low and inconsiderable generation, his +father’s house being of that rank that is meanest and most despised +of all the families in the land—was it not almost too bold in +such a clown to take such a gentleman-scholar as Saul of Tarsus, the +future Apostle of the Lord, and put him into the <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i>, and there go on to describe him as a very brisk lad and +nickname him with the nickname of Ignorance? For, in knowledge +of all kinds to be called knowledge, Gamaliel’s gold medallist +could have bought the unlettered tinker of Elstow in one end of the +market and sold him in the other. And nobody knew that better +than Bunyan did. And yet such a lion was he for the truth, such +a disciple of Luther was he, and such a defender and preacher of the +one doctrine of a standing or falling church, that he fills page after +page with the crass ignorance of the otherwise most learned of all the +New Testament men. Bunyan does not accuse the rising hope of the +Pharisees of school or of synagogue ignorance. That young Hebrew +Rabbi knew every jot and tittle of the law of Moses, and all the accumulated +traditions of the fathers to boot. But Bunyan has Paul himself +with him when he accuses and convicts Saul of an absolutely brutish +ignorance of his own heart and hidden nature. That so very brisk +lad was always boasting in himself of the day on which he was circumcised, +and of the old stock of which he had come; of his tribe, of his zeal, +of his blamelessness, and of the profit he had made of his educational +and ecclesiastical opportunities. Whereas Bunyan is fain to say +of himself in his <i>Grace Abounding</i> that he is “not able +to boast of noble blood or of a high-born state according to the flesh. +Though, all things considered, I magnify the Heavenly Majesty for that +by this door He brought me into this world to partake of the grace and +life that is in Christ by the Gospel.”</p> +<p>As we listen to the conversation that goes on between the two old +pilgrims and this smartly appointed youth, we find them striving hard, +but without any sign of success, to convince him of some of the things +from which he gets his somewhat severe name. For one thing, they +at last bluntly told him that he evidently did not know the very A B +C about himself. Till, when too hard pressed by the more ruthless +of the two old men, the exasperated youth at last frankly burst out: +“I will never believe that my heart is thus bad!” +There is a warm touch of Bunyan’s own experience here, mixed up +with his so dramatic development of Paul’s morsels of autobiography +that he lets drop in his Epistles to the Philippians and to the Galatians. +“Now was I become godly; now I was become a right honest man. +Though as yet I was nothing but a poor painted hypocrite, yet I was +proud of my godliness. I read my Bible, but as for Paul’s +Epistles, and such like Scriptures, I could not away with them; being, +as yet, but ignorant both of the corruptions of my nature and of the +want and worth of Jesus Christ to save me. The new birth did never +enter my mind, neither knew I the deceitfulness and treachery of my +own wicked heart. And as for secret thoughts, I took no notice +of them.” My brethren, old and young, what do you think +of all that? What have you to say to all that? Does all +that not open a window and let a flood of daylight into your own breast? +I am sure it does. That is the best portrait of you that ever +was painted. Do you not see yourself there as in a glass? +And do you not turn with disgust and loathing from the stupid and foolish +face? You complain and tell stories about how impostors and cheats +and liars have come to your door and have impudently thrust themselves +into your innermost rooms; but your own heart, if you only knew it, +is deceitful far above them all. Not the human heart as it stands +in confessions, and in catechisms, and in deep religious books, but +your own heart that beats out its blood-poison of self-deceit, and darkness, +and death day and night continually. “My heart is a good +heart,” said that poor ill-brought-up boy, who was already destroyed +by his father and his mother for lack of self-knowledge. I entirely +grant you that those two old sinners by this time were taking very pessimistic +and very melancholy views of human nature, and, therefore, of every +human being, young and old. They knew that no language had ever +been coined in any scripture, or creed, or catechism, or secret diary +of the deepest penitent, that even half uttered their own evil hearts; +and they had lived long enough to see that we are all cut out of one +web, are all dyed in one vat, and are all corrupted beyond all accusation +or confession in Adam’s corruption. But how was that poor, +mishandled lad to know or believe all that? He could not. +It was impossible. “You go so fast, gentlemen, that I cannot +keep pace with you. Go you on before and I will stay a while behind.” +Then said Christian to his companion: “It pities me much for this +poor lad, for it will certainly go ill with him at last.” +“Alas!” said Hopeful, “there are abundance in our +town in his condition: whole families, yea, whole streets, and that +of pilgrims too.” Is your family such a family as this? +And are you yourself just such a pilgrim as Ignorance was, and are you +hastening on to just such an end?</p> +<p>And then, as a consequence, being wholly ignorant of his own corruption +and condemnation in the sight of God, this miserable man must remain +ignorant and outside of all that God has done in Christ for corrupt +and condemned men. “I believe that Christ died for sinners +and that I shall be justified before God from the curse through His +gracious acceptance of my obedience to His law. Or, then, to take +it this way, Christ makes my duties that are religious acceptable to +His Father by virtue of His merits, and so shall I be justified.” +Now, I verify believe that nine out of ten of the young men who are +here to-night would subscribe that statement and never suspect there +was anything wrong with it or with themselves. And yet, what does +Christian, who, in this matter, is just John Bunyan, who again is just +the word of God—what does the old pilgrim say to this confession +of this young pilgrim’s faith? “Ignorance is thy name,” +he says, “and as thy name is, so art thou: even this thy answer +demonstrateth what I say. Ignorant thou art of what justifying +righteousness is, and as ignorant how to secure thy soul through the +faith of it from the heavy wrath of God. Yea, thou also art ignorant +of the true effect of saving faith in this righteousness of Christ’s, +which is to bow and win over the heart to God in Christ, to love His +name, His word, His ways, and His people.” Paul sums up +all his own early life in this one word, “ignorant of God’s +righteousness.” “Going about,” he says also, +“to establish our own righteousness, not submitting ourselves +to be justified by the righteousness that God has provided with such +wisdom and grace, and at such a cost in His Son Jesus Christ.” +Now, young men, I defy you to be better born, better brought up, or +to have better prospects than Saul of Tarsus had. I defy you to +have profited more by all your opportunities and advantages than he +had done. I defy you to be more blameless in your opening manhood +than he was. And yet it all went like smoke when he got a true +sight of himself, and, with that, a true sight of Christ and His justifying +righteousness. Read at home to-night, and read when alone, what +that great man of God says about all that in his classical epistle to +the Philippians, and refuse to sleep till you have made the same submission. +And, to-night, and all your days, let <i>submission</i>, Paul’s +splendid submission, be the soul and spirit of all your religious life. +Submission to be searched by God’s holy law as by a lighted candle: +submission to be justified from all that that candle discovers: submission +to take Christ as your life and righteousness, sanctification and redemption: +and submission of your mind and your will and your heart to Him at all +times and in all things. Nay, stay still, and say where you sit, +Lord, I submit. I submit on the spot to be pardoned. I submit +now to be saved. I submit in all things from this very hour and +house of God not any longer to be mine own, but to be Thine, O God, +Thine, Thine, for ever, in Jesus Christ Thy Son and my Saviour!</p> +<p>“But, one day, as I was passing in the field, and that, too, +with some dashes in my conscience, fearing lest all was not right, suddenly +this sentence fell upon my soul, Thy Righteousness is in heaven! +And, methought, I saw with the eyes of my soul Jesus Christ at God’s +right hand. There, I saw, was my Righteousness. I also saw, +moreover, that it was not my good frame of heart that made my Righteousness +better, nor my bad frame of heart that made my Righteousness worse: +for my Righteousness was Jesus Christ Himself, the same yesterday, and +to-day, and for ever. ’Twas glorious to me to see His exaltation, +and the worth and prevalency of His benefits. And that because +I could now look from myself to Him and should reckon that all those +graces of God that were now green in me were yet but like those crack-groats +and four-pence halfpennies that rich men carry in their purses when +their gold is in their trunks at home! Oh, I saw that day that +my gold was all in my trunk at home! Even in Christ, my Lord and +Saviour! Now, Christ was all to me: all my wisdom, all my righteousness, +all my sanctification and all my redemption.”</p> +<blockquote><p>“Methinks in this God speaks,<br /> +No tinker hath such power.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>LITTLE-FAITH</h2> +<blockquote><p>“O thou of little faith.”—<i>Our Lord</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Little-Faith, let it never be forgotten, was, all the time, a good +man. With all his mistakes about himself, with his sad misadventure, +with all his loss of blood and of money, and with his whole after-lifetime +of doleful and bitter complaints,—all the time, Little-Faith was +all through, in a way, a good man. To keep us right on this all-important +point, and to prevent our being prematurely prejudiced against this +pilgrim because of his somewhat prejudicial name—because give +a dog a bad name, you know, and you had better hang him out of hand +at once—because, I say, of this pilgrim’s somewhat suspicious +name, his scrupulously just, and, indeed, kindly affected biographer +says of him, and says it of him not once nor twice, but over and over +and over again, that this Little-Faith was really all the time a truly +good man. And, more than that, this good man’s goodness +was not a new thing with him it was not a thing of yesterday. +This man had, happily to begin with, a good father and a good mother. +And if there was a good town in all those parts for a boy to be born +and brought up in it was surely the town of Sincere. “Train +up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart +from it.” Well, Little-Faith had been so trained up both +by his father and his mother and his schoolmaster and his minister, +and he never cost either of them a sore heart or even an hour’s +sleep. One who knew him well, as well, indeed, as only one young +man knows another, has been fain to testify, when suspicions have been +cast on the purity and integrity of his youth, that nothing will describe +this pilgrim so well in the days of his youth as just those beautiful +words out of the New Testament—“an example to all young +men in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith even, +and in purity”—and that, if there was one young man in all +that town of Sincere who kept his garments unspotted it was just our +pilgrim of to-night. Yes, said one who had known him all his days, +if the child is the father of the man, then Little-Faith, as you so +unaccountably to me call him, must have been all along a good man.</p> +<p>It was said long ago in <i>Vanity Fair</i> about our present Premier +that if he were a worse man he would be a better statesman. Now, +I do not repeat that in this place because I agree with it, but because +it helps to illustrate, as sometimes a violent paradox will help to +illustrate, a truth that does not lie all at once on the surface. +But it is no paradox or extravagance or anything but the simple truth +to say that if Little-Faith had had more and earlier discoveries made +to him of the innate evil of his own heart, even if it had been by that +innate evil bursting out of his heart and laying waste his good life, +he would either have been driven out of his little faith altogether +or driven into a far deeper faith. Had the commandment come to +him in the manner it came to Paul; had it come so as that the sinfulness +of his inward nature had revived, as Paul says, under its entrance; +then, either his great goodness or his little faith must have there +and then died. God’s truth and man’s goodness cannot +dwell together in the same heart. Either the truth will kill the +goodness, or the goodness will kill the truth. Little-Faith, in +short, was such a good man, and had always been such a good man, and +had led such an easy life in consequence, that his faith had not been +much exercised, and therefore had not grown, as it must have been exercised +and must have grown, had he not been such a good man. In short, +and to put it bluntly, had Little-Faith been a worse sinner, he would +have been a better saint. “<i>O felix culpa</i>!” +exclaimed a church father; “O happy fault, which found for us +sinners such a Redeemer.” An apostrophe which Bishop Ken +has put into these four bold lines—</p> +<blockquote><p>“What Adam did amiss,<br /> +Turned to our endless bliss;<br /> +O happy sin, which to atone,<br /> +Drew Filial God to leave His throne.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And John Calvin, the soberest of men, supports Augustine, the most +impulsive of men, in saying the same thing. All things which happen +to the saints are so overruled by God that what the world regards as +evil the issue shows to be good. For what Augustine says is true, +that even the sins of saints are, through the guiding providence of +God, so far from doing harm to them, that, on the contrary, they serve +to advance their salvation. And Richard Hooker, a theologian, +if possible, still more judicious than even John Calvin, says on this +same subject and in support of the same great father, “I am not +afraid to affirm it boldly with St. Augustine that men puffed up through +a proud opinion of their own sanctity and holiness receive a benefit +at the hands of God, and are assisted with His grace, when with His +grace they are not assisted, but permitted, and that grievously, to +transgress. Ask the very soul of Peter, and it shall undoubtedly +make you itself this answer: My eager protestations, made in the glory +of my ghostly strength, I am ashamed of; but those crystal tears, wherewith +my sin and weakness were bewailed, have procured my endless joy: my +strength hath been my ruin, and my fall my stay.” And our +own Samuel Rutherford is not likely to be left far behind by the best +of them when the grace of God is to be magnified. “Had sin +never been we should have wanted the mysterious Emmanuel, the Beloved, +the Chief among ten thousand, Christ, God-man, the Saviour of sinners. +For, no sick sinners, no soul-physician of sinners; no captive, no Redeemer; +no slave of hell, no lovely ransom-payer of heaven. Mary Magdalene +with her seven devils, Paul with his hands smoking with the blood of +the saints, and with his heart sick with malice and blasphemy against +Christ and His Church, and all the rest of the washen ones whose robes +are made fair in the blood of the Lamb, and all the multitude that no +man can number in that best of lands, are all but bits of free grace. +O what a depth of unsearchable wisdom to contrive that lovely plot of +free grace. Come, all intellectual capacities, and warm your hearts +at this fire. Come, all ye created faculties, and smell the precious +ointment of Christ. Oh come, sit down under His shadow and eat +the apples of life. Oh that angels would come, and generations +of men, and wonder, and admire, and fall down before the unsearchable +wisdom of this gospel-art of the unsearchable riches of Christ!” +And always pungent Thomas Shepard of New England: “You shall find +this, that there is not any carriage or passage of the Lord’s +providence toward thee but He will get a name to Himself, first and +last, by it. Hence you shall find that those very sins that dishonour +His name He will even by them get Himself a better name; for so far +will they be from casting you out of His love that He will actually +do thee good by them. Look and see if it is not so with thee? +Doth not thy weakness strengthen thee like Paul? Doth not thy +blindness make thee cry for light? And hath not God out of darkness +oftentimes brought light? Thou hast felt venom against Christ +and thy brother, and thou hast on that account loathed thyself the more. +Thy falls into sin make thee weary of it, watchful against it, long +to be rid of it. And thus He makes thy poison thy food, thy death +thy life, thy damnation thy salvation, and thy very greatest enemies +thy very best friends. And hence Mr. Fox said that he thanked +God more for his sins than for his good works. And the reason +is, God will have His name.” And, last, but not least, listen +to our old acquaintance, James Fraser of Brea: “I find advantages +by my sins: ‘<i>Peccare nocet, peccavisse vero juvat</i>.’ +I may say, as Mr. Fox said, my sins have, in a manner, done me more +good than my graces. Grace and mercy have more abounded where +sin had much abounded. I am by my sins made much more humble, +watchful, revengeful against myself. I am made to see a greater +need to depend more upon Him and to love Him the more. I find +that true which Shepard says, ‘sin loses strength by every new +fall.’” Have you followed all that, my brethren? +Or have you stumbled at it? Do you not understand it? Does +your superficial gin-horse mind incline to shake its empty head over +all this? I know that great names, and especially the great names +of your own party, go much farther with you than the truth goes, and +therefore I have sheltered this deep truth under a shield of great names. +For their sakes let this sure truth of God’s best saints lie in +peace and undisputed beside you till you arrive to understand it.</p> +<p>But, to proceed,—the thing was this. At this passage +there comes down from Broadway-gate a lane called Dead-Man’s-lane, +so called because of the murders that are commonly done there. +And this Little-Faith going on pilgrimage, as we now do, chanced to +sit down there and fell fast asleep. Yes; the thing was this: +This good man had never been what one would call really awake. +He was not a bad man, as men went in the town of Sincere, but he always +had a half-slept half-awakened look about his eyes, till now, at this +most unfortunate spot, he fell stone-dead asleep. You all know, +I shall suppose, what the apostle Paul and John Bunyan mean by sleep, +do you not? You all know, at any rate, to begin with, what sleep +means in the accident column of the morning papers. You all know +what sleep meant and what it involved and cost in the Thirsk signal-box +the other night. <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a> +When a man is asleep, he is as good as dead, and other people are as +good as dead to him. He is dead to duty, to danger, to other people’s +lives, as well as to his own. He may be having pleasant dreams, +and may even be laughing aloud in his sleep, but that may only make +his awaking all the more hideous. He may awake just in time, or +he may awake just too late. Only, he is asleep and he neither +knows nor cares. Now, there is a sleep of the soul as well as +of the body. And as the soul is in worth, as the soul is in its +life and in its death to the body, so is its sleep. Many of you +sitting there are quite as dead to heaven and hell, to death and judgment, +and to what a stake other people as well as yourselves have in your +sleep as that poor sleeper in the signal-box was dead to what was coming +rushing on him through the black night. And as all his gnashing +of teeth at himself, and all his sobs before his judge and before the +laid-out dead, and before distracted widows and half-mad husbands did +not bring back that fatal moment when he fell asleep so sweetly, so +will it be with you. Lazarus! come forth! Wise and foolish +virgins both: Behold the Bridegroom cometh! Awake, thou that sleepest, +and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light!</p> +<p>And, with that, Guilt with a great club that was in his hand struck +Little-Faith on the head, and with that blow felled him to the earth, +where he lay bleeding as one that would soon bleed to death. Yes, +yes, all true to the very life. A man may be the boast and the +example of all the town, and yet, unknown to them all, and all but unknown +to himself till he is struck down, he may have had guilt enough on his +track all the time to lay him half dead at the mouth of Dead-Man’s-lane. +Good as was the certificate that all men in their honesty gave to Little-Faith, +yet even he had some bad enough memories behind him and within him had +he only kept them ever present with him. But, then, it was just +this that all along was the matter with Little-Faith. Till, somehow, +after that sad and yet not wholly evil sleep, all his past sins leapt +out into the light and suddenly became and remained all the rest of +his life like scarlet. So loaded, indeed, was the club of Guilt +with the nails and studs and clamps of secret aggravation, that every +nail and stud left its own bleeding bruise in the prostrate man’s +head. I have myself, says the narrator of Little-Faith’s +story, I have myself been engaged as he was, and I found it to be a +terrible thing. I would, as the saying is, have sold my life at +that moment for a penny; but that, as God would have it, I was clothed +with armour of proof: ay, and yet though I was thus harnessed, I found +it hard work to quit myself like a man. No man can tell what in +that combat attends us but he that hath been in the battle himself. +Great-Grace himself,—whoso looks well upon his face shall see +those cuts and scars that shall easily give demonstration of what I +say.</p> +<p>Most unfortunately there was no good Samaritan with his beast on +the road that day to take the half-dead man to an inn. And thus +it was that Little-Faith was left to lie in his blood till there was +almost no more blood left in him. Till at last, coming a little +to himself, he made a shift to scrabble on his way. When he was +able to look a little to himself, besides all his wounds and loss of +blood, he found that all his spending money was gone, and what was he +to do, a stranger in such a plight on a strange road? There was +nothing for it but he must just beg his way with many a hungry belly +for the remainder of his way. You all understand the parable at +this point? Our knowledge of gospel truth; our personal experience +of the life of God in our own soul; our sensible attainments in this +grace of the Spirit and in that; in secret prayer, in love to God, in +forgiveness of injuries, in goodwill to all men, and in self-denial +that no one knows of,—in things like these we possess what may +be called the pocket-money of the spiritual life. All these things, +at their best, are not the true jewel that no thief can break through +nor steal; but though they are not our best and truest riches, yet they +have their place and play their part in sending us up the pilgrim way. +By our long and close study of the word of God, if that is indeed our +case; by divine truth dwelling richly and experimentally in our hearts; +and by a hidden life that is its own witness, and which always has the +Holy Spirit’s seal set upon it that we are the children of God,—all +that keeps, and is designed by God to keep our hearts up amid the labours +and the faintings, the hopes and the fears of the spiritual life. +All that keeps us at the least and the worst above famine and beggary. +Now, the whole pity with Little-Faith was, that though he was not a +bad man, yet he never, even at his best days, had much of those things +that make a good and well-furnished pilgrim; and what little he had +he had now clean lost. He had never been much a reader of his +Bible; he had never sat over it as other men sat over their news-letters +and their romances. He had never had much taste or talent for +spiritual books of any kind. He was a good sort of man, but he +was not exactly the manner of man on whose broken heart the Holy Ghost +sets the broad seal of heaven. But for his dreadful misadventure, +he might have plodded on, a decent, humdrum, commonplace, everyday kind +of pilgrim; but when that catastrophe fell on him he had nothing to +fall back upon. The secret ways of faith and love and hope were +wholly unknown to him. He had no practice in importunate prayer. +He had never prayed a whole night all his life. He had never needed +to do so. For were we not told when we first met him what a blameless +and pure and true and good man he had always been? He did not +know how to find his way about in his Bible; and as for the maps and +guide-books that some pilgrims never let out of their hand, even when +he had some spending money about him, he never laid it out that way. +And a more helpless pilgrim than Little-Faith was all the rest of the +way you never saw. He was forced to beg as he went, says his historian. +That is to say, he had to lean upon and look to wiser and better-furnished +men than himself. He had to share their meals, look to them to +pay his bills, keep close to their company, walk in their foot-prints, +and at night borrow their oil, and it was only in this poor dependent +way that Little-Faith managed to struggle on to the end of his dim and +joyless journey.</p> +<p>It would have been far more becoming and far more profitable if Christian +and Hopeful, instead of falling out of temper and calling one another +bad names over the sad case of Little-Faith, had tried to tell one another +why that unhappy pilgrim’s faith was so small, and how both their +own faith and his might from that day have been made more. Hopeful, +for some reason or other, was in a rude and boastful mood of mind that +day, and Christian was more tart and snappish than we have ever before +seen him; and, altogether, the opportunity of learning something useful +out of Little-Faith’s story has been all but lost to us. +But, now, since there are so many of Little-Faith’s kindred among +ourselves—so many good men who are either half asleep in their +religious life or are begging their way from door to door—let +them be told, in closing, one or two out of many other ways in which +their too little faith may possibly be made stronger and more fruitful.</p> +<p>Well, then, faith, like everything else, once we have it, grows greater +by our continual exercise of it. Exercise, then, intentionally +and seriously and on system your faith every day. And exercise +it habitually and increasingly on your Bible, on heaven, and on Jesus +Christ. And let your faith on all these things, and places, and +persons, work by love,—by love and by imagination. Our love +is cold and our faith is small and weak for lack of imagination. +Read your Psalm, your Gospel, your Epistle every morning and every night +with your eye upon the object. Think you see the Psalmist amid +all his deep and divine experiences. Think you see Jesus Christ +speaking His parables, saying His prayers, and doing His good works. +Walk up and down with Him, observing His manner, His look, His gait, +His divinity in your humanity, till Galilee and Jerusalem become Scotland +and Edinburgh; that is, till He is as much with you, and more, than +He was with Peter and James and John. Never close your eye a single +night till you have again laid your hand on the very head of the Lamb +of God, and till you feel that your sin and guilt have all passed off +your hand and on upon His head. And never rise without, like William +Law, saluting the rising sun in the name of God, as if he had just been +created and sent up into your sky to let you see to serve God and your +neighbour for another day. And be often out of this world and +up in heaven. Beat all about you at building castles in the air; +you have more material and more reason. For is not faith the substance +of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen? Walk +often in heaven’s friendly streets. Pass often into heaven’s +many mansions filled with happy families. Imagine this unhappy +life at an end, and imagine yourself sent back to this probationary +world to play the man for a few short years before heaven finally calls +you home. Little-Faith was a good man, but there was no speculation +in his eyes and no secrets of love in his heart. And if your faith +also is little, and your spending money also is run low, try this way +of love and imagination. If you have a better way, then go on +with it and be happy yourself and helpful to others; but if your faith +is at a standstill and is stricken with barrenness, try my counsel of +putting more heart and more inward eye, more holy love and more heavenly +joy, into your frigid and sterile religion.</p> +<h2>THE FLATTERER</h2> +<blockquote><p>“A man that flattereth his neighbour spreadeth +a net for his feet.”—<i>The Wise Man</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Both Ignorance and Little-Faith would have had their revenge and +satisfaction upon Christian and Hopeful had they seen those two so Pharisaical +old men taken in the Flatterer’s net. For it was nothing +else but the swaggering pride of Hopeful over the pitiful case of Little-Faith, +taken along with the hard and hasty ways of Christian with that unhappy +youth Ignorance, that so soon laid them both down under the small cords +of the Shining One. This word of the wise man, that pride goeth +before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall, was fulfilled +to the very letter in Christian and Hopeful that high-minded day. +At the same time, it must be admitted that Christian and Hopeful would +have been more than human if they had not both felt and let fall some +superiority, some scorn, and some impatience in the presence of such +a silly and upsetting stripling as Ignorance was; as, also, over the +story of such a poor-spirited and spunging creature as Little-Faith +was. Christian and Hopeful had just come down from their delightful +time among the Delectable Mountains, and they were as full as they could +hold of all kinds of knowledge, and faith, and hope, and assurance; +when, most unfortunately, as it turned out, they first came across Ignorance, +and then, after quarrelling with him, they fell out between themselves +over the case of Little-Faith. Their superior knowledge of the +truth, and their superior strength of faith, ought to have made them +more able to bear with the infirmities of the weak, and with the passing +moods, however provoking, of one another. But no. And their +impatience and contempt and bad temper all came at this crisis to such +a head with them that they could only be cured by the small cords and +the stinging words of the Shining One. The true key to this so +painful part of the parable hangs at our own girdle. We who have +been born and brought up in an evangelical church are thrown from time +to time into the company of men—ministers and people—who +have not had our advantages and opportunities. They have been +born, baptized, and brought up in communities and churches the clean +opposite of ours; and they are as ignorant of all New Testament religion +as Ignorance himself was; or, on the other hand, they are as full of +superstition and terror and spiritual starvation as Little-Faith was. +And then, instead of recollecting and laying to heart Who made us to +differ from such ignorance and such unbelief, and thus putting on love +and humility and patience toward our neighbours, we speak scornfully +and roughly to them, and boast ourselves over them, and as good as say +to them, Stand by thyself, come not near to me, for I am wiser, wider-minded, +stronger, and better every way than thou. And then, ere ever we +are aware of what we are doing, we have let the arch-flatterer of religious +superiority and of spiritual pride seduce us aside out of the lowly +and heavenly way of love and humility till we are again brought back +to it with rebukes of conscience and with other chastisements. +You all understand, my brethren, that the man black of flesh but covered +with a white robe was no wayside seducer who met Christian and Hopeful +at that dangerous part of the road only and only on that high-minded +day. You know from yourselves surely that both Christian and Hopeful +carried that black but smooth-spoken man within themselves. The +Flatterer who led the two pilgrims so fatally wrong that day was just +their own heart taken out of their own bosom and personified and dramatised +by Bunyan’s dramatic genius, and so made to walk and talk and +flatter and puff up outside of themselves till they came again to see +who in reality he was and whence he came,—that is to say, till +they were brought to see what they themselves still were, and would +always be, when they were left to themselves. “Where did +you lie last night? asked the Shining One with the whip. With +the Shepherds on the Delectable Mountains, they answered. He asked +them then if they had not of those shepherds a note of direction for +the way? They answered, Yes. But did you not, said he, when +you were at a stand pluck out and read your note? They answered, +No. He asked them why? They said they forgot. He asked, +moreover if the shepherds did not bid them beware of the Flatterer? +They answered, Yes; but we did not imagine, said they, that this fine-spoken +man had been he.”</p> +<p>All good literature, both sacred and profane, both ancient and modern, +is full of the Flatterer. Let me not, protests Elihu in his powerful +speech in the book of Job, let me not accept any man’s person; +neither let me give flattering titles unto man, lest in so doing my +Maker should soon take me away. And the Psalmist in his powerful +description of the wicked men of his day: There is no faithfulness in +their mouth; their inward part is very wickedness; their throat is an +open sepulchre; they flatter with their tongue. And again: They +speak with flattering lips, and with a double heart do they speak. +But the Lord shall cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that +speaketh proud things. “The perpetual hyperbole” of +pure love becomes in the lips of impure love the impure bait that leads +the simple ones astray on the streets of the city as seen and heard +by the wise man out of his casement. My son, say unto wisdom, +Thou art my sister, and call understanding thy kinswoman; that they +may keep thee from the strange woman, from the stranger which flattereth +thee with her words, which forsaketh the guide of her youth, and forgetteth +the covenant of her God. And then in the same book of Hebrew aphorisms +we find this text which Bunyan puts on the margin of the page: “A +man that flattereth his neighbour spreadeth a net for his feet.” +And now, before we leave the ancient world, if you would not think it +beneath the dignity of the place we are in, I would like to read to +you a passage out of a round-about paper written by a satirist of Greece +about the time of Ezra and Nehemiah in Jerusalem. You will easily +remark the difference of tone between the seriousness and pathos of +the Hebrew prophet and the light and chaffing touch of Theophrastus. +“The Flatterer is a person,” says that satirist of Greek +society, “who will say to you as he walks with you, ‘Do +you observe how people are looking at you? This happens to no +man in Athens but to you. A fine compliment was paid you yesterday +in the Porch. More than thirty persons were sitting there when +the question was started, Who is our foremost man? Every one mentioned +you first, and ended by coming back to your name.’ The Flatterer +will laugh also at your stalest joke, and will stuff his cloak into +his mouth as if he could not repress his amusement when you again tell +it. He will buy apples and pears and will give to your children +when you are by, and will kiss them all and will say, ‘Chicks +of a good father.’ Also, when he assists at the purchase +of slippers he will declare that the foot is more shapely than the shoe. +He is the first of the guests to praise the wine and to say as he reclines +next the host, ‘How delicate your fare always is’; and taking +up something from the table, ‘Now, how excellent that is!’” +And so on. Yes, we have heard it all over and over again in Modern +Athens also. The Greek fable also of the fox and the crow and +the piece of cheese is only another illustration of the truth that the +God of truth and integrity never left Himself without a witness. +Our own literature also is scattered full of the Flatterer and his too +willing dupes. “Of praise a mere glutton,” says Goldsmith +of David Garrick, “he swallowed what came. The puff of a +dunce he mistook it for fame.” “Delicious essence,” +exclaims Sterne, “how refreshing thou art to poor human nature! +How sweetly dost thou mix with the blood, and help it through the most +difficult and tortuous passages to the heart.” “He +that slanders me,” says Cowper, “paints me blacker than +I am, and he that flatters me whiter. They both daub me, and when +I look in the glass of conscience, I see myself disguised by both.” +And then he sings:</p> +<blockquote><p>“The worth of these three kingdoms I defy<br /> +To lure me to the baseness of a lie;<br /> +And of all lies (be that one poet’s boast),<br /> +The lie that flatters I abhor the most.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now, praise, which is one of the best and sweetest things in human +life, so soon passes over into flattery, which is one of the worst things, +that something must here be said and laid to heart about praise also. +But, to begin with, praise itself must first be praised. There +is nothing nobler than true praise in him who speaks it, and there is +nothing dearer and sweeter to him who hears it. God Himself inhabits +the praises of Israel. All God’s works praise Him. +Whoso offereth praise glorifieth Me. Praise waiteth for Thee, +O God, in Zion. Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into +His courts with praise. Violence shall no more be heard in thy +land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders; but thou shalt call +thy walls Salvation, and thy gates Praise. And such also is all +true praise between man and man. How deliciously sweet is praise! +How we labour after it! how we look for it and wait for it! and how +we languish and die if we do not get it! Again, when it comes +to us, how it cheers us up and makes our face to shine! For a +long time after it our step is so swift on the street and our face beams +so that all men can quite well see what has come to us. Praise +is like wine in our blood; it is new life to our fainting heart. +So much is this the case that a salutation of praise is to be our first +taste of heaven itself. It will wipe all tears off our eyes when +we hear our Lord saying to us, “Well done!” when all our +good works that we have done in the body shall be found unto praise +and honour and glory in the great day of Jesus Christ.</p> +<p>At the same time, this same love of praise is one of our most besetting +and fatal temptations as long as we are in this false and double and +deceptive world. Sin, God curse it! has corrupted and poisoned +everything, the very best things of this life, and when the best things +are corrupted and poisoned they become the worst things. And praise +does not escape this universal and fatal law. Weak, evil, and +self-seeking men are near us, and we lean upon them, look to them, and +listen to them. We make them our strength and support, and seek +repose and refreshment from them. They cannot be all or any of +these things to us; but we are far on in life, we are done with life, +before we have discovered that and will admit that. Most men never +discover and admit that till they are out of this life altogether. +Christ’s praise and the applause of His saints and angels are +so future and so far away from us, and man’s praise and the applause +of this world, hollow and false as it is, is so near us, that we feed +our souls on offal and garbage, when, already, in the witness of a good +conscience, we might be feasting our souls on the finest of the wheat, +and satisfying them with honey out of the rock. And, then, this +insatiable appetite of our hearts, being so degraded and perverted, +like all degraded and perverted appetites, becomes an iron-fast slave +to what it feeds upon. What miserable slaves we all are to the +approval and the praise of men! How they hold us in their bondage! +How we lick their hands and sit up on our haunches and go through our +postures for a crumb! How we crawl on our belly and lick their +feet for a stroke and a smile! What a hound’s life does +that man lead who lives upon the approval and the praise and the patronage +of men! What meanness fills his mind; what baseness fills his +heart! What a shameful leash he is led about the world in! +How kicked about and spat upon he is; while not half so much as he knows +all the time that he deserves to be! Better far be a dog at once +and bay the moon than be a man and fawn upon the praises of men.</p> +<p>If you would be a man at all, not to speak of a Christian man, starve +this appetite till you have quite extirpated it. You will never +be safe from it as long as it stirs within you. Extirpate it! +Extirpate it! You will never know true self-respect and you will +never deserve to know it, till you have wholly extirpated your appetite +for praise. Put your foot upon it, put it out of your heart. +Stop fishing for it, and when you see it coming, turn away and stop +your ears against it. And should it still insinuate itself, at +any rate do not repeat to others what has already so flattered and humbled +and weakened you. Telling it to others will only humble and weaken +you more. By repeating the praise that you have heard or read +about yourself you only expose yourself and purchase well-deserved contempt +for yourself. And, more than that, by fishing for praise you lay +yourself open to all sorts of flatterers. Honest men, men who +truly respect and admire you, will show you their dignified regard and +appreciation of you and your work by their silence; while your leaky +slaves will crowd around you with floods of praise that they know well +will please and purchase you. And when you cannot with all your +arts squeeze a drop out of those who love and honour you, gallons will +be poured upon you by those who have respect neither for themselves +nor for you. Faugh! Flee from flatterers, and take up only +with sternly true and faithful men. “I am much less regardful,” +says Richard Baxter, “of the approbation of men, and set much +lighter store by their praise and their blame, than I once did. +All worldly things appear most vain and unsatisfying to those who have +tried them most. But while I feel that this has had some hand +in my distaste for man’s praise, yet it is the increasing impression +on my heart of man’s nothingness and God’s transcendent +greatness; it is the brevity and vanity of all earthly things, taken +along with the nearness of eternity;—it is all this that has at +last lifted me above the blame and the praise of men.”</p> +<p>To conclude; let us make up our mind and determine to pass on to +God on the spot every syllable of praise that ever comes to our eyes +or our ears—if, in this cold, selfish, envious, and grudging world, +any syllable of praise ever should come to us. Even if pure and +generous and well-deserved praise should at any time come to us, all +that does not make it ours. The best earned usury is not the steward’s +own money to do with it what he likes. The principal and the interest, +and the trader too, are all his master’s. And, more than +that, after the wisest and the best trader has done his best, he will +remain, to himself at least, a most unprofitable servant. Pass +on then immediately, dutifully, and to its very last syllable, to God +all the praise that comes to you. Wash your hands of it and say, +Not unto us, O God, not unto us, but unto Thy name. And then, +to take the most selfish and hungry-hearted view of this whole matter, +what you thus pass on to God as not your own but His, He will soon, +and in a better and safer world, return again to the full with usury +to you, and you again to God, and He again to you, and so on, all down +the pure and true and sweet and blessed life of heaven.</p> +<h2>ATHEIST</h2> +<blockquote><p>“ . . . without God [literally, atheists] in the +world.”—<i>Paul</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Yonder is a man with his back toward Zion, and he is coming +to meet us. So he drew nearer and nearer, and at last came up +to them. His name was Atheist, and he asked them whither they +were going? We are going to the Mount Zion, they answered. +Then Atheist fell into a very great laughter. What is the meaning +of your laughter? they asked. I laugh to see what ignorant persons +you are to take upon you so tedious a journey, and yet are like to have +nothing but your travel for your pains. Why, man? Do you +think we shall not be received? they said. Received! There +is no such place as you dream of in all this world. But there +is in the world to come, replied Christian. When I was at home, +Atheist went on, in mine own country I heard as you now affirm, and, +from that hearing, I went out to see, and have been seeking this city +you speak of this twenty years, but find no more of it than I did the +first day I set out. And, still laughing, he went his way.”</p> +<p>Having begun to tell us about Atheist, why did Bunyan not tell us +more? We would have thanked him warmly to-night for a little more +about this unhappy man. Why did the dreamer not take another eight +or ten pages in order to tell us, as only he could have told us, how +this man that is now Atheist had spent his past twenty years seeking +Mount Zion? Those precious unwritten pages are now buried in John +Strudwick’s vault in Bunhill Fields, and no other man has arisen +able to handle Bunyan’s biographic pen. Had Bunyan but put +off the entrance of Christian and Hopeful into the city till he had +told us something more about the twenty years it had taken this once +earnest pilgrim to become an atheist, how valuable an interpolation +that would have been! What was it that made this man to set out +so long ago for the Celestial City? What was it that so stoutly +determined him to leave off all his old companions and turn his back +on the sweet refreshments of his youth? How did he do at the Slough +of Despond? Did he come that way? What about the Wicket +Gate, and the House Beautiful, and the Interpreter’s House, and +the Delectable Mountains? What men, and especially what women, +did he meet and converse with on his way? What were his fortunes, +and what his misfortunes? How much did he lay out at Vanity Fair, +and on what? At what point of his twenty years’ way did +his youthful faith begin to shake, and his youthful love begin to become +lukewarm? And what was it that at last made him quite turn round +his back on Zion and his face to his own country? I cannot forgive +Bunyan to-night for not telling us the story of Atheist’s conversion, +his pilgrimage, and his apostasy in full.</p> +<p>At the same time, though it cannot be denied that Bunyan has lost +at this point a great opportunity for his genius and for our advantage,—at +the same time, he undoubtedly did a very courageous thing in introducing +Atheist at all; and, especially, in introducing him to us and making +him laugh so loudly at us when we are on the very borders of the land +of Beulah. A less courageous writer, and a writer less sure of +his ground, would have left out Atheist altogether; or, if he had felt +constrained to introduce him, would have introduced him at any other +period of our history rather than at this period. Under other +hands than Bunyan’s we would have met with this mocking reprobate +just outside the City of Destruction; or, perhaps, among the booths +of Vanity Fair; or, indeed, anywhere but where we now meet him. +And, that our greater-minded author does not let loose the laughter +of Atheist upon us till we are almost out of the body is a stroke of +skill and truth and boldness that makes us glad indeed that we possess +such a sketch at Bunyan’s hand at all, all too abrupt and all +too short as that sketch is. In the absence, then, of a full-length +and finished portrait of Atheist, we must be content to fall back on +some of the reflections and lessons that the mere mention of his name, +the spot he passes us on, and the ridicule of his laughter, all taken +together, awaken in our minds. One rapid stroke of such a brush +as that of John Bunyan conveys more to us than a full-length likeness, +with all the strongest colours, of any other artist would be able to +do.</p> +<p>1. One thing the life-long admiration of John Bunyan’s +books has helped to kindle and burn into my mind and my imagination +is this: What a universe of things is the heart of man! Were there +nothing else in the heart of man but all the places and all the persons +and all the adventures that John Bunyan saw in his sleep, what a world +that would open up in all our bosoms! All the pilgrims, good and +bad—they, or the seed and possibility of them all, are all in +your heart and in mine. All the cities, all the roads that lead +from one city to another, with all the paths and all the by-paths,—all +the adventures, experiences, endurances, conflicts, overthrows, victories,—all +are within us and never are to be seen anywhere else. Heaven and +hell, God and the devil, life and death, salvation and damnation, time +and eternity, all are within us. “There is no Mount Zion +in all this world,” bellowed out this blinded fool. “No; +I know that quite well,” quickly responded Christian; “but +there is in the world to come.” He would have said the whole +truth, and he would have been entirely right, had he taken time to add, +“and in the world within.” “And more,” +he should have said to Atheist, “much more in the world within +than in any possible world to come.” The Celestial City, +every Sabbath-school child begins gradually to understand, is not up +among the stars; till, as he grows older, he takes in the whole of the +New Testament truth that the kingdom of heaven is wholly within him. +You all understand, my brethren, that were we swept in a moment up to +the furthest star, by all that infinite flight we would not be one hair’s-breadth +nearer the heavenly city. That is not the right direction to that +city. The city whose builder and maker is God lies in quite a +different direction from that altogether; not by ascending up beyond +sun and moon and stars to all eternity would we ever get one hand’s-breadth +nearer God. But if you deny yourself sleep to-night till you have +read His book and bowed your knees in His closet; if, for His sake, +you deny yourself to-morrow when you are eating and drinking; as often +as you say, “Not my will, but Thine be done”; as often as +you humble yourself when others exalt themselves; as often as you refuse +praise and despise blame for His sake; as often as you forgive before +God your enemy, and rejoice with your friend,—Behold! the kingdom +of heaven, with its King and all His shining court of angels and saints +is around you;—is, indeed, within you. No; there is no such +place. Heaven is not in any place: heaven is in a person where +it is at all; and you are that person as often as you put off an earthly +and put on a heavenly mind. That mocking reprobate, with his secret +heart all through those twenty years hungering after the lusts of his +youth,—he was wholly right in what he so unintentionally said; +there is no such place in all this world. And, even if there were, +it would spue him and all who are like him out of its mouth.</p> +<p>2. And, then, in all that universe of things that fills that +bottomless pit and shoreless sea the human heart, there is nothing deeper +down in it than just its deep and unsearchable atheism. The very +deepest thing, and the most absolutely inexpugnable thing, in every +human heart is its theism; its original and inextinguishable convictions +about itself and about God. But, all but as deep as that—for +all around that, and all over that, and soaking all through that—there +lies a superincumbent mass of sullen, brutish, malignant atheism. +Nay, so deep down is the atheism of all our hearts, that it is only +one here and another there of the holiest and the ripest of God’s +saints who ever get down to it, or even get at their deepest within +sight of it. Robert Fleming tells us about Robert Bruce, that +he was a man that had much inward exercise about his own personal case, +and had been often assaulted anent that great foundation truth, if there +was a God. And often, when he had come up to the pulpit, after +being some time silent, which was his usual way, he would say, “I +think it is a great matter to believe there is a God”; telling +the people that it was another thing to believe that than they judged. +But it was also known to his friends what extraordinary confirmations +he had from the Lord therein, and what near familiarity he did attain +to in his heart-converse with God: Yea, truly, adds Fleming, some things +I have had thereanent that seem so strange and marvellous that I forbear +to set them down. And in Halyburton’s priceless <i>Memoirs</i> +we read: “Hereby I was brought into a doubt about the truths of +religion, the being of God, and things eternal. Whenever I was +in dangers or straits and would build upon these things, a suspicion +secretly haunted me, what if the things are not? This perplexity +was somewhat eased while one day I was reading how Robert Bruce was +shaken about the being of God, and how at length he came to the fullest +satisfaction.” And in another place: “Some days ago +reading Ex. ix. and x., and finding this, ‘That ye may know that +I am God’ frequently repeated, and elsewhere in passages innumerable, +as the end of God’s manifesting Himself in His word and works; +I observe from it that atheism is deeply rooted even in the Lord’s +people, seeing they need to be taught this so much. The great +difficulty that the whole of revelation has to grapple with is atheism; +its whole struggle is to recover man to his first impressions of a God. +This one point comprehends the whole of man’s recovery, just as +atheism is the whole of man’s apostasy.” And, again, +in another part of the same great book, Halyburton says: “I must +observe, also, the wise providence of God, that the greatest difficulties +that lie against religion are hid from atheists. All the objections +I meet with in their writings are not nearly so subtle as those which +are often suggested to myself. The reason of this is obvious from +the very nature of the thing—such persons take not a near-hand +view of religion, and while persons stand at a distance neither are +the advantages nor the difficulties of religion discerned.” +And now listen to Bunyan, that arch-atheist: “Whole floods of +blasphemies both against God, Christ, and the Scriptures were poured +upon my spirit, to my great confusion and astonishment. Against +the very being of God and of His only beloved Son; or, whether there +were, in truth, a God and a Christ, or no. Of all the temptations +that ever I met with in my life, to question the being of God and the +truth of the Gospel is the worst, and the worst to be borne. When +this temptation comes it takes away my girdle from me, and removeth +the foundation from under me.”</p> +<blockquote><p>“Fool, said my Muse to me, look in thy heart and +write.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And John Bunyan looked into his own deep and holy heart, and out +of it he composed this incident of Atheist.</p> +<p>3. It may not be out of place at this point to look for a moment +at some of the things that agitate, stir up, and make the secret atheism +of our hearts to fluctuate and overflow. Butler has a fine passage +in which he points out that it is only the higher class of minds that +are tempted with speculative difficulties such as those were that assaulted +Christian and Hopeful after they were so near the end of their journey. +Coarse, commonplace, and mean-minded men have their probation appointed +them among coarse, mean, and commonplace things; whereas enlightened, +enlarged, and elevated men are exercised after the manner of Robert +Bruce, Thomas Halyburton, John Bunyan, and Butler himself. “The +chief temptations of the generality of the world are the ordinary motives +to injustice or unrestrained pleasure; but there are other persons without +this shallowness of temper; persons of a deeper sense as to what is +invisible and future. Now, these persons have their moral discipline +set them in that high region.” The profound bishop means +that while their appetites and their tempers are the stumbling-stones +of the most of men, the difficult problems of natural and revealed and +experimental religion are the test and the triumph of other men. +As we have just seen in the men mentioned above. Students, whose +temptations lie fully as much in their intellects as in their senses, +should buy (for a few pence) Halyburton’s Memoirs. “With +Halyburton,” says Dr. John Duncan, “I feel great intellectual +congruity. Halyburton was naturally a sceptic, but God gave that +sceptic great faith.”</p> +<p>Then again, what Atheist calls the “tediousness” of the +journey has undoubtedly a great hand in making some half-in-earnest +men sceptics, if not scoffers. Many of us here to-night who can +never now take this miserable man’s way out of the tedium of the +Christian life, yet most bitterly feel it. Whether that tedium +is inherent in that life, and inevitable to such men as we are who are +attempting that life; how far that feature belongs to the very essence +of the pilgrim life, and how far we import our own tedium into the pilgrimage; +the fact remains as Atheist puts it. As Atheist in this book says, +so the Atheist who is in our hearts often says: We are like to have +nothing for all our pains but a lifetime of tedious travel. Yes, +wherever the blame lies, there can be no doubt about it, that what this +hilarious scoffer calls the tediousness of the way is but a too common +experience among many of those who, tediousness and all, will still +cleave fast to it and will never leave it.</p> +<p>Then, again, great trials in life, great straits, dark and too-long-continued +providences, prayer unanswered, or not yet answered in the way we dictate, +bad men and bad causes growing like a green bay tree, and good men and +good work languishing and dying; these things, and many more things +such as these, of which this world of faith and patience is full, prove +quite too much for some men till they give themselves up to a state +of mind that is nothing better than atheism. “My evidences +and my certainty,” says Halyburton, “were not answerable +to the weight I was compelled to lay upon them.” A figure +which Goodwin in his own tender and graphic way takes up thus: “Set +pins in a wall and fix them in ever so loosely, yet, if you hang nothing +upon them they will seem to stand firm; but hang a heavy weight upon +them, or even give them the least jog as you pass, and the whole thing +will suddenly come down. The wall is God’s word, the slack +pin is our faith, and the weight and the jog are the heavy burdens and +the sudden shocks of life, and down our hearts go, wall and pin and +suspended vessel and all.”</p> +<p>When the church and her ministers, when the Scriptures and their +anomalies, and when the faults and failings of Christian men are made +the subject of mockery and laughter, the reverence, the fear, the awe, +the respect that all enter so largely into religion, and especially +into the religion of young people, is too easily destroyed; and not +seldom the first seeds of practical and sometimes of speculative atheism +are thus sown. The mischief that has been done by mockery and +laughter to the souls, especially of the young and the inexperienced, +only the great day will fully disclose.</p> +<p>And then, two men of great weight and authority with us, tell us +what we who are ministers would have found out without them: this, namely, +that the greatest atheists are they who are ever handling holy things +without feeling them.</p> +<p>“Is it true,” said Christian to Hopeful, his fellow, +“is it true what this man hath said?” “Take +heed,” said Hopeful, “remember what it hath cost us already +for hearkening to such kind of fellows. What! No Mount Zion! +Did we not see from the Delectable Mountains the gate of the City? +And, besides, are we not to walk by faith? Let us go on lest the +man with the whip overtakes us again.” Christian: “My +brother, I said that but to prove thee, and to fetch from thee a fruit +of the honesty of thy heart.” Many a deep and powerful passage +has Butler composed on that thesis which Hopeful here supplies him with; +and many a brilliant sermon has Newman preached on that same text till +he has made our “predispositions to faith” a fruitful and +an ever fresh commonplace to hundreds of preachers. Yes; the best +bulwark of faith is a good and honest heart. To such a happy heart +the truth is its own unshaken evidence. To whom can we go but +to Thee?—they who have such a heart protest. The whole bent +of such men’s minds is toward the truth of the gospel. Their +instincts keep them on the right way even when their reason and their +observation are both confounded. As Newman keeps on saying, they +are “easy of belief.” They cannot keep away from Christ +and His church. They cannot turn back. They must go on. +Though He slay them they will die yearning after Him. They often +fall into great error and into great guilt, but their seed remaineth +in them, and they cannot continue in error or in guilt, because they +are born of God. They are they in whom</p> +<blockquote><p>“Persuasion and belief<br /> +Have ripened into faith; and faith become<br /> +A passionate intuition.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>HOPEFUL</h2> +<blockquote><p>“We are saved by hope.”—<i>Paul</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Up till the time when Christian and Faithful passed through Vanity +Fair on their way to the Celestial City, Hopeful was one of the most +light-minded men in all that light-minded town. By his birth, +and both on his father’s and his mother’s side, Hopeful +was, to begin with, a youth of an unusually shallow and silly mind. +In the jargon of our day he was a man of a peculiarly optimistic temperament. +No one ever blamed him for being too subjective and introspective. +It took many sharp trials and many bitter disappointments to take the +inborn frivolity and superficiality out of this young man’s heart. +He was far on in his life, he was far on even in his religious life, +before you would have ever thought of calling him a serious-minded man. +Hopeful had been born and brought up to early manhood in the town of +Vanity, and he knew nothing better and desired nothing better than to +lay out his whole life and to rest all his hopes on the things of the +fair; on such things, that is, as houses, lands, places, honours, preferments, +titles, pleasures, and delights of all sorts. And that vain and +empty life went on with him, till, as he told his companion afterwards, +it had all ended with him in revelling, and drinking, and uncleanness, +and Sabbath-breaking, and all such things as destroyed his soul. +But in Hopeful’s happy case also the blood of the martyrs became +the seed of the church. Hopeful, as he was afterwards called, +had suffered so many bitter disappointments and shipwrecks of expectation +from the things of the fair, that is to say, from the houses, the places, +the preferments, the pleasures and what not, of the fair, that even +his heart was ripe for something better than any of those things, when, +as God would have it, Christian and Faithful came to the town. +Hopeful was still hanging about the booths of the fair; he was just +fingering his last sixpence over a commodity that he knew quite well +would be like gall in his belly as soon as he had bought it; when,—what +is that hubbub that rolls down the street? Hopeful was always +the first to see and to hear every new thing that came to the town, +and thus it was that he was soon in the thick of the tumult that rose +around Christian and Faithful. Had those two pilgrims come to +the town at any former time, Hopeful would have been among the foremost +to mock at and smite the two men; but, to-day, Hopeful’s heart +is so empty, and his purse also, that he is already won to their side +by the loving looks and the wise and sweet words of the two ill-used +men. Some of the men of the town said that the two pilgrims were +outlandish and bedlamite men, but Hopeful took courage to reprove some +of the foremost of the mob. Till, at last, when Faithful was at +the stake, it was all that his companions could do to keep back Hopeful +from leaping up on the burning pile and embracing the expiring man. +And then, when He who overrules all things so brought it about that +Christian escaped out of their hands, who should come forth and join +him at the upward gate of the city but just Hopeful, who not only joined +himself to the lonely pilgrim, but told him also that there were many +more of the men of the city who would take their time and follow after. +And thus, adds his biographer, when one died to make his testimony to +the truth, another rose up out of his ashes to be a companion to Christian.</p> +<p>When Madame Krudener was getting her foot measured by a pietist shoemaker, +she was so struck with the repose and the sweetness and the heavenly +joy of the poor man’s look and manner that she could not help +but ask him what had happened to him that he had such a look on his +countenance and such a light in his eye. She was miserable, though +she had all that heart could wish. She had all that made her one +of the most envied women in Europe; she had birth, talents, riches, +rank, and the friendship of princes and princesses, and yet she was +of all women the most miserable. And here was a poor chance shoemaker +whose whole heart was running over with a joy such that all her wealth +could not purchase to her heart one single drop of it. The simple +soul soon told her his secret; it was no secret: it was just Jesus Christ +who had done it all. And thus her poor shoemaker’s happy +face was the means of this great lady’s conversion. And, +in like manner, it was the beholding of Christian and Faithful in their +words and in their behaviour at the fair that decided Hopeful to join +himself to Christian and henceforth to be his companion.</p> +<p>What were the things, asked Christian of his young companion, that +first led you to leave off the vanities of the fair and to think to +be a pilgrim? Many things, replied Hopeful. Sometimes if +I did but meet a good man in the street. Or if mine head began +unaccountably, or mine heart, to ache. Or if some one of my companions +became suddenly sick. Or if I heard the bell toll that some one +was dead. But, especially, when I thought of myself that I must +quickly come to judgment. And then it is told in the best style +of the book how peace and rest and the beginning of true satisfaction +came to poor Hopeful’s heart at last. But you must promise +me to read the passage for yourselves before you sleep to-night; and +to read it again and again till, like Hopeful’s, your heart also +is full of joy, and your eyes full of tears, and your affections running +over with love to the name and to the people and to all the ways of +Jesus Christ.</p> +<p>And then, it is very encouraging and reassuring to us to see how +Hopeful’s true conversion so deepened and sobered and strengthened +his whole character. He remained to the end in his mental constitution +and whole temperament, as we say, the same man he had always been; but, +while remaining the same man, at the same time a most wonderful change +gradually began to come over him, till, by slow but sure degrees, he +became the Hopeful we know and look to and lean upon. To use his +own autobiographic words about himself, it was “by hearing and +considering of things that are Divine” that his natural levity +was so completely whipped out of his soul till he was made at last an +indispensable companion to Christian, strong-minded and serious-minded +man as he was. “Conversion to God,” says William Law, +“is often very sudden and instantaneous, unexpectedly raised from +variety of occasions. Thus, one by seeing only a withered tree, +another by reading the lives and deaths of the antediluvian fathers, +one by hearing of heaven, another of hell, one by reading of the love +or wrath of God, another of the sufferings of Christ, may find himself, +as it were, melted into penitence all of a sudden. It may be granted +also that the greatest sinner may in a moment be converted to God, and +may feel himself wounded in such a degree as perhaps those never were +who have been turning to God all their lives. But, then, it is +to be observed that this suddenness of change or flash of conviction +is by no means of the essence of true conversion. This stroke +of conversion is not to be considered as signifying our high state of +a new birth in Christ, or a proof that we are on a sudden made new creatures, +but that we are thus suddenly called upon and stirred up to look after +a newness of nature. The renewal of our first birth and state +is something entirely distinct from our first sudden conversion and +call to repentance. That is not a thing done in an instant, but +is a certain process, a gradual release from our captivity and disorder, +consisting of several stages and degrees, both of life and death, which +the soul must go through before it can have thoroughly put off the old +man. It is well worth observing that our Saviour’s greatest +trials were near the end of His life. This might sufficiently +show us that our first awakenings have carried us but a little way; +that we should not then begin to be self-assured of our own salvation, +but should remember that we stand at a great distance from, and are +in great ignorance of, our severest trials.” Such was the +way that Christian in his experience and in his wisdom talked to his +young companion till his outward trials and the consequent discoveries +he made of his own weakness and corruption made even Hopeful himself +a sober-minded and a thoughtful man. “Where pain ends, gain +ends too.”</p> +<p>Then, again, no one can read Hopeful’s remarkable history without +discovering this about him, that he showed best in adversity and distress, +just as he showed worst in deliverance and prosperity. It is a +fine lesson in Christian hope to descend into Giant Despair’s +dungeon and hear the older pilgrim groaning and the younger pilgrim +consoling him, and, again, to stand on the bank of the last river and +hear Hopeful holding up Christian’s drowning head. “Be +of good cheer, my brother, for I feel the bottom, and it is good!” +Bless Hopeful for that, all you whose deathbeds are still before you. +For never was more true and fit word spoken for a dying hour than that. +Read, till you have it by heart and in the dark, Hopeful’s whole +history, but especially his triumphant end. And have some one +bespoken beforehand to read Hopeful in the River to you when you have +in a great measure lost your senses, and when a great horror has taken +hold of your mind. “I sink in deep waters,” cried +Christian, as his sins came to his mind, even the sins which he had +committed both since and before he came to be a pilgrim. “But +I see the gate,” said Hopeful, “and men standing at it ready +to receive us.” “Read to me where I first cast my +anchor,” said John Knox to his weeping wife.</p> +<p>The Enchanted Ground, on the other hand, threatened to throw Hopeful +back again into his former light-minded state. And there is no +saying what shipwreck he might have made there had the older man not +been with him to steady and reprove and instruct him. As it was, +a touch now and then of his old vain temper returned to him till it +took all his companion’s watchfulness and wariness to carry them +both out of that second Vanity Fair. “I acknowledge myself +in a fault,” said Hopeful to Christian, “and had I been +here alone I had run in danger of death. Hitherto, thy company +hath been my mercy, and thou shalt have a good reward for all thy labour.”</p> +<p>Now, my brethren, in my opinion we owe a great debt of gratitude +to John Bunyan for the large and the displayed place he has given to +Hopeful in the <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>. The fulness and +balance and proportion of the <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i> are features +of that wonderful book far too much overlooked. So far as my reading +goes I do not know any other author who has at all done the justice +to the saving grace of hope that John Bunyan has done both in his doctrinal +and in his allegorical works. Bunyan stands alone and supreme +not only for the insight, and the power with which he has constructed +the character and the career of Hopeful, but even for having given him +the space at all adequate to his merits and his services. In those +eighty-seven so suggestive pages that form the index to Dr. Thomas Goodwin’s +works I find some hundred and twenty-four references to “faith,” +while there are only two references to “hope.” And +that same oversight and neglect runs through all our religious literature, +and I suppose, as a consequence, through all our preaching too. +Now that is not the treatment the Bible gives to this so essential Christian +grace, as any one may see at a glance who takes the trouble to turn +up his Cruden. Hope has a great place alongside of faith and love +in the Holy Scriptures, and it has a correspondingly large and eloquent +place in Bunyan. Now, that being so, why is it that this so great +and so blessed grace has so fallen out of our sermons and out of our +hearts? May God grant that our reading of Hopeful’s autobiography +and his subsequent history to-night may do something to restore the +blessed grace of hope to its proper place both in our pulpit and in +all our hearts.</p> +<p>To kindle then, to quicken, and to anchor your hope, my brethren, +may I have God’s help to speak for a little longer to your hearts +concerning this neglected grace! For, what is hope? Hope +is a passion of the soul, wise or foolish, to be ashamed of or to be +proud of, just according to the thing hoped for, and just according +to the grounds of the hope. Hope is made up of these two ingredients—desire +and expectation. What we greatly desire we take no rest till we +find good grounds on which to build up our expectations of it; and when +we have found good grounds for our expectations, then a glad hope takes +possession of our hearts. Now, to begin with, how is it with your +desires? You are afraid to say much about your expectations and +your hopes. Well; let us come to your hearts’ desires.—Men +of God, I will enter into your hearts and I will tell you your hearts’ +desires better than you know them yourselves; for the heart is deceitful +above all things. The time was, when, like this young pilgrim +before he became a pilgrim, your desires were all set on houses, and +lands, and places, and honours, and preferments, and wives, and children, +and silver, and gold, and what not. These things at one time were +the utmost limit of your desires. But that has all been changed. +For now you have begun to desire a better city, that is, an heavenly. +What is your chief desire for this New Year? <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a> +Is it not a new heart? Is it not a clean heart? Is it not +a holy heart? Is it not that the Holy Ghost would write the golden +rule on the tables of your heart? Does not God know that it is +the deepest desire of your heart to be able to love your neighbour as +yourself? To be able to rejoice with him in his joy as well as +to weep with him in his sorrow? What would you not give never +again to feel envy in your heart at your brother, or straitness and +pining at his prosperity? One thing do I desire, said the Psalmist, +that mine ear may be nailed to the doorpost of my God: that I may always +be His servant, and may never wander from His service. Now, that +is your desire too. I am sure it is. You would not say it +of yourself, but I defy you to deny it when it is said about you. +Well, then, such things being found among your desires, what grounds +have you for expecting the fulfilment of such desires? What grounds? +The best of grounds and every ground. For you have the sure ground +of God’s word. And you have more than His word: you have +His very nature, and the very nature of things. For shall God +create such desires in any man’s heart only to starve and torture +that man? Impossible! It were blasphemy to suspect it. +No. Where God has made any man to be so far a partaker of the +Divine nature as to change all that man’s deepest desires, and +to turn them from vanity to wisdom, from earth to heaven, and from the +creature to the Creator, doubt not, wherever He has begun such a work, +that He will hasten to finish it. Yes; lift up your heavy hearts, +all ye who desire such things, for God hath sent His Son to say to you, +Blessed are ye that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for ye shall +be filled. Only, keep desiring. Desire every day with a +stronger and a more inconsolable desire. Desire, and ground your +desire on God’s word, and then heave your hope like an anchor +within the veil whither the Forerunner is for you entered. May +I so hope? you say. May I venture to hope? Yes; not only +may you hope, but you must hope. You are commanded to hope. +It is as much your bounden duty to hope always, and to hope for the +greatest and best things, as it is to repent of your sins, to love God +and your neighbour, to keep yourself pure, and to set a watch on the +door of your lips. You have been destroyed, I confess and lament +it, for lack of knowledge about the nature, the grounds, and the duty +of hope. But make up now for past neglect. Hope steadfastly, +hope constantly, hope boldly; hope for the best things, the greatest +things, the most divine and the most blessed things. If you forget +to-night all else you have heard to-day, I implore you not any longer +to forget and neglect this, that hope is your immediate, constant, imperative +duty. No sin, no depth of corruption in your heart, no assault +on your heart from your conscience, can justify you in ceasing to hope. +Even when trouble “comes tumbling over the neck of all your reformations” +as it came tumbling on Hopeful, let that only drive you the more deeply +down into the true grounds of hope; even against hope rejoice in hope. +Remember the Psalmist in the hundred-and-thirtieth Psalm,—down +in the deeps, if ever a fallen sinner was. Yet hear him when you +cannot see him saying: I hope in Thy word! And—for it is +worthy to stand beside even that splendid psalm,—I beseech you +to read and lay to heart what Hopeful says about himself in his conversion +despair.</p> +<p>And then, as if to justify that hope, there always come with it such +sanctifying influences and such sure results. The hope that you +are one day to awaken in the Divine likeness will make you lie down +on your bed every night in self-examination, repentance, prayer, and +praise. The hope that your eyes are one day to see Christ as He +is will make you purify yourself as nothing else will. The hope +that you are to walk with Christ in white will make you keep your garments +clean; it will make you wash them many times every day in the blood +of the Lamb. The hope that you are to cast your crown at His feet +will make you watch that no man takes your crown from you. The +hope that you are to drink wine with Him in His Father’s kingdom +will reconcile you meanwhile to water, lest with your wine you stumble +any of His little ones. The hope of hearing Him say, Well done!—how +that will make you labour and endure and not faint! And the hope +that you shall one day enter in through the gates into the city, and +have a right to the tree of life,—how scrupulous that will make +you to keep all His commandments! And this is one of His commandments, +that you gird up the loins of your mind, and hope to the end for the +grace that is to be brought unto you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.</p> +<h2>TEMPORARY</h2> +<blockquote><p>“They are they, which, when they hear, receive +the word with joy; and have no root, which for a while believe, and +in time of temptation fall away.”—<i>Our Lord</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Well, then, did you not know about ten years ago one Temporary +in your parts who was a forward man in religion? Know him! replied +the other. Yes. For my house not being above three miles +from his house he would ofttimes come to me, and that with many tears. +Truly I pitied the man, and was not altogether without hope of him; +but one may see that it is not every one who cries Lord, Lord. +And now, since we are talking about him, let us a little inquire into +the reason of the sudden backsliding of him and such others. It +may be very profitable, said Christian, but do you begin. Well, +then, there are in my judgment several reasons for it.” +And then, with the older man’s entire approval, Hopeful sets forth +several reasons, taken from his own observation of backsliders, why +so many men’s religion is such a temporary thing; why so many +run well for a time, and then stand still, and then turn back.</p> +<p>1. The fear of man bringeth a snare, said Hopeful, moralising +over his old acquaintance Temporary. And how true that observation +is every evangelical minister knows to his deep disappointment. +A young man comes to his minister at some time of distress in his life, +or at some time of revival of religion in the community, or at an ordinary +communion season, and gives every sign that he is early and fairly embarked +on an honourable Christian life. He takes his place in the Church +of Christ, and he puts out his hand to her work, till we begin to look +forward with boastfulness to a life of great stability and great attainment +for that man. Our Lord, as we see from so many of His parables, +must have had many such cases among His first followers. Our Lord +might be speaking prophetically, as well as out of His own experience, +so well do His regretful and lamenting words fit into so many of our +own cases to-day. For, look at that young business man. +He has been born and brought up in the Church of Christ. He has +gladdened more hearts than he knows by the noble promise of his early +days. Many admiring and loving eyes have been turned on him as +he took so hopefully the upward way. But a sifting-time soon comes. +A time of temptation comes. A time comes when sides must be taken +in some moral, religious, ecclesiastical controversy. This young +man is at that moment a candidate for a post that will bring distinction, +wealth, and social influence to him who holds it. And the candidate +we are so much interested in is admittedly a man of such outstanding +talents that he would at once get the post were it not that the holder +of that post must not have his name so much associated with such and +such a church, such and such political and religious opinions, and such +and such public men. He is told that. Indeed, he is not +so dull as to need to be told that. He has seen that all along. +And at first it is a dreadful wrench to him. He feels how far +he is falling from his high ideals in life; and, at first, and for a +long time, it is a dreadful humiliation to him. But, then, there +are splendid compensations. And, better than that, there are some +good, and indeed compelling, reasons that begin to rise up in our minds +when we need them and begin to look for them, till what at first seemed +so mean and so contemptible, and so ungrateful, and so dishonourable, +as well as so spiritually perilous, comes to be faced and gone through +with positively on a ground of high principle, and, indeed, of stern +moral necessity. So deceitful is the human heart that you could +not believe what compelling reasons such a mean-spirited man will face +you with as to why he should leave all the ways he once so delighted +in for a piece of bread, and for the smile of the open enemies of his +church, and his faith, not to say his Saviour. You will meet with +several such men any afternoon coming home from their business. +Sometimes they have still some honest shame on their faces when they +meet you; but still oftener they pass you with a sullen hatred and a +fierce defiance. This is he who heard the word, and anon with +joy received it. Yet had he not root in himself, but dured for +a while; for when tribulation or persecution arose because of the word +by and by he was offended. They went out from us, says John, but +they were not of us; for if they had been of us they would no doubt +have continued with us; but they went out that they might be made manifest +that they were not all of us.</p> +<p>2. Guilt, again, Hopeful went on, and to meditate terror, are +so grievous to most men, that they rather choose such ways as will but +harden their hearts still more and more. You all know what it +is to meditate terror? “Thine heart shall meditate terror,” +says the prophet, “when thou sayest to thyself, who among us shall +dwell with the devouring fire? who among us shall dwell with everlasting +burnings?” The fifty-first Psalm is perhaps the best meditation +both of guilt and of terror that we have in the whole Bible. But +there are many other psalms and passages of psalms only second to the +fifty-first Psalm, such as the twenty-second, the thirty-eighth, the +sixty-ninth, and the hundred-and-thirtieth. Our Lord Himself also +was meditating terror in the garden of Gethsemane, and Paul both guilt +and terror when he imagined himself both an apostate preacher and a +castaway soul. And John’s meditations of terror in the Revelation +rose into those magnificent pictures of the Last Judgment with which +he has to all time covered the walls of the Seven Churches. In +his own <i>Grace Abounding</i> there are meditations of terror quite +worthy to stand beside the most terrible things of that kind that ever +were written, as also in many others of our author’s dramatical +and homiletical books. I read to you the other Sabbath morning +a meditation of terror that was found among Bishop Andrewes’ private +papers after his death. You will not all have forgotten that meditation, +but I will read it to you to-night again. “How fearful,” +says Andrewes, in his terror, “will Thy judgment be, O Lord, when +the thrones are set, and the angels stand around, and men are brought +in, and the books are opened, and all our works are inquired into, and +all our thoughts are examined, and all the hidden things of darkness! +What, O God, shall Thy judgment that day be upon me? Who shall +quench my flame, who shall lighten my darkness, if Thou pity me not? +Lord, as Thou art loving, give me tears, give me floods of tears, and +give me all that this day, before it be too late. For then will +be the incorruptible Judge, the horrible judgment-seat, the answer without +excuse, the inevitable charge, the shameful punishment, the endless +Gehenna, the pitiless angels, the yawning hell, the roaring stream of +fire, the unquenchable flame, the dark prison, the rayless darkness, +the bed of live coals, the unwearied worm, the indissoluble chains, +the bottomless chaos, the impassable wall, the inconsolable cry. +And none to stand by me; none to plead for me; none to snatch me out.” +Now, no Temporary ever possessed anything like that in his own handwriting +among his private papers. A meditation like that, written out +with his own hand, and hidden away under lock and key, will secure any +man from it, even if he had been appointed to backsliding and reprobation. +Bishop Andrewes, as any one will see who reads his <i>Private Devotions</i>, +was the chief of sinners; but his discovered and deciphered papers will +all speak for him when they are spread out before the great white throne, +“glorious in their deformity, being slubbered,” as his editors +say, “with his pious hands, and watered with his penitential tears.”</p> +<p>Thomas Shepard’s <i>Ten Virgins</i> is the most terrible book +upon Temporaries that ever was written. Temporaries never once +saw their true vileness, he keeps on saying. Temporaries are, +no doubt, wounded for sin sometimes, but never in the right place nor +to the right depth. And again, sin, and especially heart-sin, +is never really bitter to Temporaries. In an “exhortation +to all new beginners, and so to all others,” “Be sure,” +Shepard says, “your wound for sin at first is deep enough. +For all the error in a man’s faith and sanctification springs +from his first error in his humiliation. If a man’s humiliation +be false, or even weak or little, then his faith and his hold of Christ +are weak and little, and his sanctification counterfeit. But if +a man’s wound be right, and his humiliation deep enough, that +man’s faith will be right and his sanctification will be glorious. +The esteem of Christ is always little where sin lies light.” +And Hopeful himself says a thing at this point that is quite worthy +of Shepard himself, such is its depth and insight. He speaks of +the righteous actually <i>loving</i> the sight of their misery. +He does not explain what he means by that startling language because +he is talking all the time, as he knows quite well, to one who understood +all that before he was born. Nor will I attempt to explain or +to vindicate what he says. Those of you who love the sight of +your own misery as sinners will understand what Hopeful says without +any explanation; while those who do not understand him would only be +the more stumbled by any explanation of him. The love of the sight +of their misery, and the unearthly sweetness of their sorrow for sin, +are only another two of those provoking paradoxes of which the lives +of God’s true saints are full—paradoxes and impossibilities +and incoherencies that make the literature of experimental religion +to be positively hateful and unbearable to Temporary and to all his +self-seeking and apostate kindred.</p> +<p>3. But even where the consciences of such men are occasionally +awakened, proceeds Hopeful, in his so searching discovery of Temporaries, +yet their minds are not changed. There you are pretty near the +business, replied his fellow; for the bottom of all is, for want of +a change of their mind and will. Now, one would have been afraid +and ashamed for one moment to suspect that Temporary’s mind was +not completely changed, so “forward” was he at first in +his religion. But, no: forward before all his neighbours as Temporary +was, to begin with, yet all the time his mind was not really changed. +His forwardness did not properly spring out of his true mind at all, +but only out of his momentarily awakened conscience and his momentarily +excited heart. A sinner with a truly changed mind is never forward. +His mind is so changed that forwardness in anything is utterly alien +to it, and especially all forwardness in the profession of religion. +The change that had taken place in Temporary, whatever was the seat +of it, only led him to bully men like Christian and Hopeful, who would +not go fast enough for him. “Come,” said Pliable, +in the beginning of the book, “come on and let us mend our pace.” +“I cannot go so fast as I would,” humbly replied Christian, +“because of this burden on my back.” It is a common +observation among mountaineers that he who takes the hill at the greatest +spurt is the last climber to come to the top, and that many who so ostentatiously +make spurts at the bottom of the hill never come within sight of the +top at all. And this is one of the constant dangers that wait +on all revivals, religious retreats, conferences, and even communion +seasons. Our hot fits, the hotter they are, are only the more +likely, unless we take the greatest care, to cast us down into all the +more deadly a chill. It is this danger that our Lord points out +so plainly in His parable of apostasy. The same is he, says our +Lord, that heareth the word, and anon with joy receiveth it; yet hath +he not root in himself, but dureth for a while. In Hopeful’s +words, his mind and will were never changed with all his joy, only his +passing moods and his momentary emotions.</p> +<p>Multitudes of men who are as forward at first as Pliable and Temporary +were turn out at last to have no root in themselves; but here and there +you will discover a man who is all root together. There are some +men whose whole mind and heart and will, whose whole inward man, has +gone to root. All the strength and all the fatness of their religious +life retreat into its root. They have no leaves at all, and they +have too little fruit as yet; but you should see their roots. +Only, no eye but the eye of God can see sorrow for sin—secret +and sore humiliation on account of secret sin—the incessant agony +that goes on within between the flesh and the spirit, between sin and +grace, between very hell and heaven itself. To know your own evil +hearts, my brethren, say to you on that subject what any Temporary will, +is the very root of the whole matter to you. Whatever Dr. Newman’s +mistakes as to outward churches may have been, he was a master of the +human heart, the most difficult of all matters to master. Listen, +then, to what he says on the matter now in hand. “Now, unless +we have some just idea of our hearts and of sin, we can have no right +idea of a Moral Governor, a Saviour, or a Sanctifier; that is, in professing +to believe in them we shall be using words without attaching any distinct +meaning to them. Thus self-knowledge is at the root of all real +religious knowledge; and it is vain,—it is worse than vain,—it +is a deceit and a mischief, to think to understand the Christian doctrines +as a matter of course, merely by being taught by books, or by attending +sermons, or by any outward means, however excellent, taken by themselves. +For it is in proportion as we search our hearts and understand our own +nature that we understand what is meant by an Infinite Governor and +Judge; it is in proportion as we comprehend the nature of disobedience +and our actual sinfulness that we feel what is the blessing of the removal +of sin, redemption, pardon, sanctification, which otherwise are mere +words. God speaks to us primarily in our hearts. Self-knowledge +is the key to the precepts and doctrines of Scripture. The very +utmost that any outward notices of religion can do is to startle us +and make us turn inward and search our hearts; and then, when we have +experienced what it is to read ourselves, we shall profit by the doctrine +of the Church and the Bible.” My brethren, the temper in +which you receive that passage, and receive it from its author, may +be safely taken by you as a sure presage whether you are to turn out +a Temporary and a Castaway or no.</p> +<p>Now, to conclude with a word of admission, and, bound up with it, +a word of encouragement. After all that has been said, I fully +admit that we are all Temporaries to begin with. We all cool down +from our first heat in religion. We all halt from our first spurt. +We all turn back from faith and from duty and from privilege through +our fear of men, or through our corrupt love of ourselves, or through +our coarse-minded love of this present world. Only, those who +are appointed to perseverance, and through that to eternal life, always +kindle again; they are kindled again, and they love the return of their +lost warmth. They recover themselves and address themselves again +and again to the race that is still set before them. They prove +themselves not to be of those who draw back unto perdition, but of those +that believe to the saving of the soul. Now, if you have only +too good ground to suspect that you are but a temporary believer, what +are you to do to make your sure escape out of that perilous state? +What, but to keep on believing? You must cry constantly, Lord, +I believe, help Thou mine unbelief! When at any time you are under +any temptation or corruption, and you feel that your faith and your +love are letting slip their hold of Christ and of eternal life, then +knot your weak heart all the faster to the throne of grace, to the cross +of Christ, and to the gate of heaven. Give up all your mind and +heart, and all that is within you, to the one thing needful. Labour +night and day in your own heart at believing on Christ, at loving your +neighbour, and at discovering, denying, and crucifying yourself. +It will all pay you in the long run. For if you do all these things, +and persistently do them, then, though you are at this moment all but +dead to all divine things, and all but a reprobate, it will be found +at last that all the time your name was written among the elect in heaven.</p> +<p>The perseverance of the saints, the “five points” notwithstanding, +is not a foregone conclusion. The final perseverance of the ripest +and surest saint is all made up of ever-new beginnings in repentance, +in faith, in love, and in obedience. Begin, then, every new day +to repent anew, to return anew, to believe and to love anew. And +if all your New-Year repentances and returnings and reformations are +all already proved to be but temporary—even if they lie all around +you already a bitter mockery of all your professions—still, begin +again. Begin to-night, and begin again to-morrow morning. +Spend all the remainder of your days on earth beginning. And, +ere ever you are aware, the final perseverance of another predestinated +saint will be found accomplished in you.</p> +<h2>SECRET</h2> +<blockquote><p>“The secret of the Lord is with them that fear +Him.”—<i>David</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A truly religious life is always a secret life: it is a life hid, +as Paul has it, with Christ in God. The secret of the Lord, says +the Psalmist, is with them that fear Him. And thus it is that +when men begin to fear God, both their hearts and their lives are henceforth +full of all kinds of secrets that are known to themselves and to God +only. It was when Christiana’s fearful thoughts began to +work in her mind about her husband whom she had lost—it was when +all her unkind, unnatural, and ungodly carriages to her dear friend +came into her mind in swarms, clogged her conscience, and loaded her +with guilt—it was then that Secret knocked at her door. +“Next morning,” so her opening history runs, “when +she was up, and had prayed to God, and talked with her children awhile, +one knocked hard at the door to whom she spake out, saying, If thou +comest in God’s name, come in. So he who was at the door +said, Amen, and opened the door, and saluted her with, Peace be to this +house. The which when he had done, he said, Christiana, knowest +thou wherefore I am come? Then she blushed and trembled, also +her heart began to wax warm with desires to know whence he came, and +what was his errand to her. So he said unto her, My name is Secret, +I dwell with those that are high. It is talked of where I dwell +as if thou hadst a desire to go thither; also, there is a report that +thou art aware now of the evil thou formerly didst to thy husband in +hardening of thy heart against his way, and in keeping of thy babes +in their ignorance. Christiana, the Merciful One has sent me to +tell thee that He is a God ready to forgive, and that He taketh delight +to multiply to pardon offences. He would also have thee know that +He inviteth thee to come into His presence, even to His table, and that +He will there feed thee with the fat of His house, and with the heritage +of Jacob thy father. Christiana at all this was greatly abashed +in herself, and she bowed her head to the ground, while her visitor +proceeded and said, Christiana, here is a letter for thee which I have +brought from thy husband’s King. So she took it and opened +it, and, as she opened it, it smelt after the manner of the best perfume; +also it was written in lettering of gold. The contents of the +letter was to this effect, that the King would have her do as did Christian +her husband, for that was the way to come to the city and to dwell in +His presence with joy for ever. At this the good woman was completely +overcome. So she said to her visitor, Sir, will you carry me and +my children with you that we may go and worship this King? Then +said the heavenly visitor, Christiana, the bitter is before the sweet. +Thou must through troubles, as did he that went before thee, enter this +celestial city.” And so on.</p> +<p>1. Now, to begin with, you will have noticed the way in which +Christiana was prepared for the entrance of Secret into her house. +She was a widow. She sat alone in that loneliness which only widows +know and understand. More than lonely, she was very miserable. +“Mark this,” says the author on the margin, “you that +are churls to your godly relations.” For this widow felt +sure that her husband had been taken from her because of her cruel behaviour +to him. Her past unnatural carriages toward her husband now rent +the very caul of her heart in sunder. And, again and again, about +that same time strange dreams would sometimes visit her. Dreams +such as this. She would see her husband in a place of bliss with +a harp in his hand, standing and playing upon it before One that sat +on a throne with a rainbow round His head. She saw also as if +he bowed his head with his face to the paved work that was under the +Prince’s feet, saying, I heartily thank my Lord and King for bringing +me to this place. You will easily see how ready this lone woman +was with all that for his entrance who knocked and said, Peace be to +this house, and handed her a letter of perfume from her husband’s +King. Then you will have remarked also some of the things this +visitor from on high said to her of the place whence he had come. +He told her, to begin with, how they sometimes talked about her in his +country. She thought that she was a lonely and forgotten widow, +and that no one cared what became of her. But her visitor assured +her she was quite wrong in thinking that. He had often himself +heard her name mentioned in conversation above; and the most hopeful +reports, he told her, were circulated from door to door that she was +actually all but started on the upward way. Yes, he said, and +we have a place prepared for you on the strength of these reports, a +place among the immortals close beside your husband. And all that, +as you will not wonder, was the beginning of Christiana’s secret +life. After that morning she never again felt alone or forgotten. +I am not alone, she would after that say, when any of her old neighbours +knocked at her door. No, I am not alone, but if thou comest in +God’s name, come in.</p> +<p>2. And from that day a long succession of secret providences +began to enter Christiana’s life, till, as time went on, her whole +life was filled full of secret providences. And not her present +life only, but her discoveries of God’s secret providences towards +her and hers became retrospective also, till both her own parentage +and birth, her husband’s parentage and birth also, the day she +first saw him, the day of their espousals, the day of their marriage, +and the day of his death, all shone out now as so many secret and special +providences of God toward her. Bishop Martensen has a fine passage +on the fragmentariness of our knowledge, not only of divine providence +as a whole, but even of those divine providences that fill up our own +lives. And he warns us that, till we have heard the “Prologue +in Heaven,” many a riddle in our lives must of necessity remain +unsolved. Christiana could not have told her inquiring children +what a prologue was, nor an epilogue either, but many were the wise +and winning discourses she held with her boys about their father now +in heaven, about her happiness in having had such a father for her children, +and about their happiness that the road was open before them to go to +where he now is. And there are many poor widows among ourselves +who are wiser than all their teachers, because they are in that school +of experience into which God takes His afflicted people and opens to +them His deepest secrets. They remember, with Job, when the secret +of the Lord was first upon their tabernacle. Their widowed hearts +are full of holy household memories. They remember the days when +the candle of the Lord shone upon their head when they washed their +steps with butter, and the rock poured them out rivers of oil. +And still, when, like Job also, they sit solitary among the ashes, the +secret of the Lord is only the more secretly and intimately with them. +John Bunyan was well fitted to be Christiana’s biographer, because +his own life was as full as it could hold of these same secret and special +providences. One day he was walking—so he tells us—in +a good man’s shop, bemoaning himself of his sad and doleful state—when +a mighty rushing wind came in through the window and seemed to carry +words of Scripture on its wings to Bunyan’s disconsolate soul. +He candidly tells us that he does not know, after twenty years’ +reflection, what to make of that strange dispensation. That it +took place, and that it left the most blessed results behind it, he +is sure; but as to how God did it, by what means, by what instruments, +both the rushing wind itself and the salutation that accompanied it, +he is fain to let lie till the day of judgment. And many of ourselves +have had strange dispensations too that we must leave alone, and seek +no other explanation of them for the present but the blessed results +of them. We have had divine descents into our lives that we can +never attempt to describe. Interpositions as plain to us as if +we had both seen and spoken with the angel who executed them. +Miraculous deliverances that throw many Old and New Testament miracles +into the shade. Providential adaptations and readjustments also, +as if all things were actually and openly and without a veil being made +to work together for our good. Extrications also; nets broken, +snares snapped, and such pavilions of safety and solace opened to us +that we can find no psalm secret and special enough in which to utter +our life-long astonishment. Importunate prayers anticipated, postponed, +denied, translated, transmuted, and then answered till our cup was too +full; sweet changed to bitter, and bitter changed to sweet, so wonderfully, +so graciously, and so often, that words fail us, and we can only now +laugh and now weep over it all. Poor Cowper knew something about +it—</p> +<blockquote><p>“God moves in a mysterious way<br /> + His wonders to perform;<br /> +He plants His footsteps in the sea,<br /> + And rides upon the storm.</p> +<p>“Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,<br /> + The clouds ye so much dread<br /> +Are big with mercy, and shall break<br /> + In blessings on your head.</p> +<p>“Blind unbelief is sure to err,<br /> + And scan his work in vain;<br /> +God is His own interpreter,<br /> + And He will make it plain.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>3. Secret scriptures also—from that enlightening day +Christiana’s Bible became full of them. Peter says that +no prophecy is of any private interpretation; and, whatever he means +by that, what he says must be true. But Christiana would have +understood the apostle better if he had said the exact opposite of that,—if +not about the prophecies, at least about the psalms. Leave the +prophecies in this connection alone; but of the psalms it may safely +be said that it is neither the literal nor the historical nor the mystical +interpretation that gets at the heart of those supreme scriptures. +It is the private, personal, and, indeed, secret interpretation that +gets best at the deepest heart of the psalms. An old Bible came +into my hands the other day—a Bible that had seen service—and +it opened of its own accord at the Book of Psalms. On turning +over the yellow leaves I found a date and a deep indentation opposite +these words: “Commit thy way unto the Lord: trust also in Him: +and He will bring it to pass.” And as I looked at the figures +on the margin, and at the underscored text, I felt as if I were on the +brink of an old-world secret. “Create in me a clean heart” +had a significant initial also; as had this: “The sacrifices of +God are a broken spirit.” The whole of the hundred-and-third +psalm was bracketed off from all public interpretation; while the tenth, +the cardinal verse of that secret psalm, had a special seal set upon +it. Judging from its stains and scars and other accidents, the +whole of the hundred-and-nineteenth psalm had been a special favourite; +while the hundred-and-forty-third also was all broidered round with +shorthand symbols. But the secret key of all those symbols and +dates and enigmatical marks was no longer to be found; it had been carried +away in the owner’s own heart. But, my head being full of +Christiana at the time, I felt as if I held her own old Bible in my +hand as I turned over those ancient leaves.</p> +<p>4. Our Lord so practised secrecy Himself in His fasting, in +His praying, and in His almsgiving, and He makes so much of that same +secrecy in all His teaching, as almost to make the essence of all true +religion to stand in its secrecy. “When thou prayest,” +says our Lord, “shut thy door and pray in secret.” +As much as to say that we are scarcely praying at all when we are praying +in public. Praying in public is so difficult that new beginners, +like His disciples, have to practise that so difficult art for a long +time in secret. Public prayer has so many besetting sins, it is +open to so many temptations, distractions, and corruptions, that it +is almost impossible to preserve the real essence of prayer in public +prayer. But in secret all those temptations and distractions are +happily absent. We have no temptation to be too long in secret +prayer, or too loud, or too eloquent. Stately old English goes +for nothing in secret prayer. We never need to go to our knees +in secret trembling, lest we lose the thread of our prayer, or forget +that so fit and so fine expression. The longer we are the better +in secret prayer. Much speaking is really a virtue in secret prayer; +much speaking and many repetitions. Also, we can put things into +our secret prayers that we dare not come within a thousand miles of +in the pulpit, or the prayer-meeting, or the family. We can enter +into the most plain-spoken particulars about ourselves in secret. +We can put our proper name upon ourselves, and upon our actions, and +especially upon our thoughts when our door is shut. Then, again, +we can pray for other people by name in secret; we can enter, so far +as we know them, into all their circumstances in a way it is impossible +to do anywhere but in the utmost secrecy. We can, in short, be +ourselves in secret; and, unless it is to please or to impress men, +we had better not pray at all unless we are ourselves when we are engaged +in it. You can be yourself, your very worst self; nay, you must +be, else you will not long pray in secret, and even if you did you would +not be heard. I do not remember that very much is said in so many +words in her after-history about Christiana’s habits of closet-prayer. +But that Secret taught her the way, and waited till she had tasted the +sweetness and the strength of being a good while on her knees alone, +I am safe to say; indeed, I read it between the lines in all her after-life. +She was rewarded openly in a way that testifies to much secret prayer; +that is to say, in the early conversion of her children, in the way +they settled in life, and such like things. Pray much for those +things in secret that you wish to possess openly.</p> +<p>5. But perhaps the best and most infallible evidence we can +have of the truth of our religion in this life is in the steady increase +of our secret sinfulness. Christiana had no trouble with her own +wicked heart so long as she was a woman of a wicked life. But +directly she became a new creature, her heart began to swarm, such is +her own expression, with sinful memories, sinful thoughts, and sinful +feelings; till she had need of some one ever near her, like Greatheart, +constantly to assure her that those cruel and deadly swarms, instead +of being a bad sign of her salvation, were the very best signs possible +of her good estate. Humility is the foundation of all our graces, +and there is no humility so deep and so ever-deepening as that evangelical +humility which in its turn rises out of and rests upon secret sinfulness. +Not upon acts of secret sin. Do not mistake me. Acts of +secret sin harden the heart and debauch the conscience. But I +speak of that secret, original, unexplored, and inexpugnable sinfulness +out of which all a sinner’s actual sins, both open sins and secret, +spring; and out of which a like life of open and actual sins would spring +in God’s very best saints, if only both He and they did not watch +night and day against them. Sensibility to sin, or rather to sinfulness, +is far and away the best evidence of sanctification that is possible +to us in this life. It is this keen and bitter sensibility that +secures, amid all oppositions and obstructions, the true saint’s +onward and upward progress. Were it not for the misery of their +own hearts, God’s best saints would fall asleep and go back like +other men. A sinful heart is the misery of all miseries. +It is the deepest and darkest of all dungeons. It is the most +painful and the most loathsome of all diseases. And the secrecy +of it all adds to the bitterness and the gall of it all. We may +know that other men’s hearts are as sinful as our own, but we +do not feel their sinfulness. We cannot sensibly feel humiliation, +bondage, sickness, and self-loathing on account of another man’s +envy, or ill-will, or resentment, or cruelty, or falsehood, or impurity. +All these things must be our own before we can enter into the pain and +the shame of them; but, when we do, then we taste what death and hell +are indeed. As I write these feeble words about it, a devil’s +shaft of envy that was shot all against my will into my heart this morning, +still, after a whole day, rankles and festers there. I have been +on my knees with it again and again; I have stood and looked into an +open grave to-day; but there it is sucking at my heart’s blood +still, like a leech of hell. Who can understand his errors? +Cleanse Thou me from secret faults. Create in me a clean heart, +O God, O wretched man that I am! “Let a man,” says +William Law when he is enforcing humility, “but consider that +if the world knew all that of him which he knows of himself: if they +saw what vanity and what passions govern his inside, and what secret +tempers sully and corrupt his best actions, he would have no more pretence +to be honoured and admired for his goodness and wisdom than a rotten +and distempered body to be loved and admired for its beauty and comeliness. +This is so true, and so known to the hearts of almost all people, that +nothing would appear more dreadful to them than to have their hearts +fully discovered to the eyes of all beholders. And, perhaps, there +are very few people in the world who would not rather choose to die +than to have all their secret follies, the errors of their judgments, +the vanity of their minds, the falseness of their pretences, the frequency +of their vain and disorderly passions, their uneasinesses, hatreds, +envies, and vexations made known to all the world.” Where +did William Law get that terrible passage? Where could he get +it but in the secret heart of the miserable author of the <i>Serious +Call</i>?</p> +<p>6. The half cannot be told of the guilt and the corruption, +the pain and the shame and the manifold misery of secret sin; but all +that will be told, believed, and understood by all men long before the +full magnificence of their sanctification, and the superb transcendence +of their blessedness, will even begin to be described to God’s +secret saints. For, all that sleepless, cruel, and soul-killing +pain, and all that shameful and humbling corruption,—all that +means, all that is, so much holiness, so much heaven, working itself +out in the soul. All that is so much immortal life, spotless beauty, +and incorruptible joy already begun in the soul. Every such pang +in a holy heart is a death-pang of another sin and a birth-pang of another +grace. Brotherly love is at last being born never to die in that +heart where envy and malice and resentment and revenge are causing inward +agony. And humility and meekness and the whole mind of Christ +are there where pride and anger and ill-will are felt to be very hell +itself. And holiness, even as God is holy, will soon be there +for ever where the sinfulness of sin is a sinner’s acutest sorrow. +“As for me,” said one whose sin was ever before him, “I +will behold Thy face in righteousness; I shall be satisfied when I wake +with Thy likeness.”</p> +<h2>MRS. TIMOROUS</h2> +<blockquote><p>“But the fearful [literally, the timid and the +cowardly] shall have their part in the second death.”—<i>Revelation +xxi</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>No sooner had Secret bidden Christiana farewell than she began with +all her might to make ready for her great journey. “Come, +my children, let us pack up and begone to the gate that leads to the +Celestial City, that we may see your father and be with him, and with +his companions, in peace, according to the laws of that land.” +And then: “Come in, if you come in God’s name!” Christiana +called out, as two of her neighbours knocked at her door. “Having +little to do at home this morning,” said the elder of the two +women, “I have come across to kill a little time with you. +I spent last night with Mrs. Light-mind, and I have some good news for +you this morning.” “I am just preparing for a journey +this morning,” said Christiana, packing up all the time, “and +I have not so much as one moment to spare.” You know yourselves +what Christiana’s nervousness and almost impatience were. +You know how it upsets your good temper and all your civility when you +are packing up for a long absence from home, and some one comes in, +and will talk, and will not see how behindhand and how busy you are. +“For what journey, I pray you?” asked Mrs. Timorous, for +that was her visitor’s name. “Even to go after my +good husband,” the busy woman said, and with that she fell a-weeping. +But you must read the whole account of that eventful morning in Christiana’s +memoirs for yourselves till you have it, as Secret said, by root-of-heart. +On the understanding that you are not total strangers to that so excellently-written +passage I shall now venture a few observations upon it.</p> +<p>1. Well, to begin with, Mrs. Timorous was not a bad woman, +as women went in that town and in that day. Her companions,—her +gossips, as she would have called them,—were far worse women than +she was; and, had it not been for her family infirmity, had it not been +for that timid, hesitating, lukewarm, and half-and-half habit of mind +which she had inherited from her father, there is no saying what part +she might have played in the famous expedition of Christiana and Mercy +and the boys. Her father had been a pilgrim himself at one time; +but he had now for a long time been known in the town as a turncoat +and a temporary, and all his children had unhappily taken after their +father in that. Had her father held on as he at one time had begun—had +he held on in the face of all fear and all danger as Christiana’s +noble husband had done—to a certainty his daughter would have +started that morning with Christiana and her company, and would have +been, if a timid, easily scared, and troublesome pilgrim, yet as true +a pilgrim, and made as welcome at last, as, say, Miss Much-afraid, Mr. +Fearing, and Mr. Ready-to-halt were made. But her father’s +superficiality and shakiness, and at bottom his warm love of this world +and his lukewarm love of the world to come, had unfortunately all descended +to his daughter, till we find her actually reviling Christiana on that +decisive morning, and returning to her dish of tea and tittle-tattle +with Mrs. Bats-eyes, Mrs. Inconsiderate, Mrs. Light-mind, and Mrs. Know-nothing.</p> +<p>2. The thing that positively terrified Mrs. Timorous at the +very thought of setting out with Christiana that morning was that intolerable +way in which Christiana had begun to go back upon her past life as a +wife and a mother. Christiana could not hide her deep distress, +and, indeed, she did not much try. Such were the swarms of painful +memories that her husband’s late death, the visit of Secret, and +one thing and another had let loose upon Christiana’s mind, that +she could take pleasure in nothing but in how she was to escape away +from her past life, and how she could in any way mend it and make up +for it where she could not escape from it. “You may judge +yourself,” said Mrs. Timorous to Mrs. Light-mind, “whether +I was likely to find much entertainment with a woman like that!” +For, Mrs. Timorous too, you must know, had a past life of her own; and +it was that past life of hers all brought back by Christiana’s +words that morning that made Mrs. Timorous so revile her old friend +and return to the society we so soon see her with. Now, is not +this the case, that we all have swarms of evil memories that we dare +not face? There is no single relationship in life that we can +boldly look back upon and fully face. As son or as daughter, as +brother or as sister, as friend or as lover, as husband or as wife, +as minister or as member, as master or as servant—what swarms +of hornet-memories darken our hearts as we so look back! Let any +grown-up man, with some imagination, tenderness of heart, and integrity +of conscience, go back step by step, taking some time to it,—at +a new year, say, or a birthday, or on some such suitable occasion: let +him go over his past life back to his youth and childhood—and +what an intolerable burden will be laid on his heart before he is done! +What a panorama of scarlet pictures will pass before his inward eye! +What a forest of accusing fingers will be pointed at him! What +hissing curses will be spat at him both by the lips of the living and +the dead! What untold pains he will see that he has caused to +the innocent and the helpless! What desolating disappointments, +what shipwrecks of hope to this man and to that woman! What a +stone of stumbling he has been to many who on that stone have been for +ever broken and lost! What a rock of offence even his mere innocent +existence, all unknown to himself till afterwards, has been! Swarms, +said Christiana. Swarms of hornets armed, said Samson. And +many of us understand what that bitter word means better than any commentator +on Bunyan or on Milton can tell us. One of the holiest men the +Church of England ever produced, and one of her best devotional writers, +used to shut his door on the night of every first day of the week, and +on his knees spread out a prayer which always contained this passage: +“I worship Thee, O God, on my face. I smite my breast and +say with the publican, God be merciful to me a sinner; the chief of +sinners; a sinner far above the publican. Despise me not—an +unclean worm, a dead dog, a putrid corpse. Despise me not, despise +me not, O Lord. But look upon me with those eyes with which Thou +didst look upon Magdalene at the feast, Peter in the hall, and the thief +on the cross. O that mine eyes were a fountain of tears that I +might weep night and day before Thee! I despise and bruise myself +that my penitence is not deeper, is not fuller. Help Thou mine +impenitence, and more and more pierce, rend, and crush my heart. +My sins are more in number than the sand. My iniquities are multiplied, +and I have no relief.” Perish your Puritanism, and your +prayer-books too! I hear some high-minded and indignant man saying. +Perish your Celestial City and all my desire after it, before I say +the like of that about myself! Brave words, my brother; brave +words! But there have been men as blameless as you are, and as +brave-hearted over it, who, when the scales fell off their eyes, were +heard crying out ever after: O wretched man that I am! And: Have +mercy on me, the chief of sinners! And so, if it so please God, +will it yet be with you.</p> +<p>3. “Having had little to do this morning,” said +Mrs. Timorous to Mrs. Light-mind, “I went to give Christiana a +visit.” “Law,” I read in his most impressive +Life, “by this time was well turned fifty, but he rose as early +and was as soon at his desk as when he was still a new, enthusiastic, +and scrupulously methodical student at Cambridge.” Summer +and winter Law rose to his devotions and his studies at five o’clock, +not because he had imperative sermons to prepare, but because, in his +own words, it is more reasonable to suppose a person up early because +he is a Christian than because he is a labourer or a tradesman or a +servant. I have a great deal of business to do, he would say. +I have a hardened heart to change; I have still the whole spirit of +religion to get. When Law at any time felt a temptation to relax +his rule of early devotion, he again reminded himself how fast he was +becoming an old man, and how far back his sanctification still was, +till he flung himself out of bed and began to make himself a new heart +before the servants had lighted their fires or the farmers had yoked +their horses. Shame on you, he said to himself, to lie folded +up in a bed when you might be pouring out your heart in prayer and in +praise, and thus be preparing yourself for a place among those blessed +beings who rest not day and night saying, Holy, Holy, Holy. “I +have little to do this morning,” said Mrs. Timorous. “But +I am preparing for a journey,” said Christiana. “I +have now a price put into my hand to get gain, and I should be a fool +of the greatest size if I should have no heart to strike in with the +opportunity.”</p> +<p>4. Another thing that completely threw out Christiana’s +idle visitor and made her downright angry was the way she would finger +and kiss and read pieces out of the fragrant letter she held in her +hand. You will remember how Christiana came by that letter she +was now so fond of. “Here,” said Secret, “is +a letter I have brought thee from thy husband’s King.” +So she took it and opened it, and it smelt after the manner of the best +perfume; also it was written in letters of gold. “I advise +thee,” said Secret, “that thou put this letter in thy bosom, +that thou read therein to thy children until you have all got it by +root-of-heart.” “His messenger was here,” said +Christiana to Mrs. Timorous, “and has brought me a letter which +invites me to come.” And with that she plucked out the letter +and read to her out of it, and said: “What now do you say to all +that?” That, again, is so true to our own life. For +there is nothing that more distastes and disrelishes many people among +us than just that we should name to them our favourite books, and read +a passage out of them, and ask them to say what they think of such wonderful +words. Samuel Rutherford’s <i>Letters</i>, for instance; +a book that smells to some nostrils with the same heavenly perfume as +Secret’s own letter did. A book, moreover, that is written +in the same ink of gold. Ask at afternoon tea to-morrow, even +in so-called Christian homes, when any of the ladies round the table +last read, and how often they have read, <i>Grace Abounding, The Saint’s +Rest, The Religious Affections, Jeremy Taylor, Law, à Kempis, +Fénelon</i>, or such like, and they will smile to one another +and remark after you are gone on your strange taste for old-fashioned +and long-winded and introspective books. “Julia has buried +her husband and married her daughters, and since that she spends her +time in reading. She is always reading foolish and unedifying +books. She tells you every time she sees you that she is almost +at the end of the silliest book that ever she read in her life. +But the best of it is that it serves to dispose of a good deal of her +spare time. She tells you all romances are sad stuff, yet she +is very impatient till she can get all she can hear of. Histories +of intrigue and scandal are the books that Julia thinks are always too +short. The truth is, she lives upon folly and scandal and impertinence. +These things are the support of her dull hours. And yet she does +not see that in all this she is plainly telling you that she is in a +miserable, disordered, reprobate state of mind. Now, whether you +read her books or no, you perhaps think with her that it is a dull task +to read only religious and especially spiritual books. But when +you have the spirit of true religion, when you can think of God as your +only happiness, when you are not afraid of the joys of eternity, you +will think it a dull task to read any other books. When it is +the care of your soul to be humble, holy, pure, and heavenly-minded; +when you know anything of the guilt and misery of sin, or feel a real +need of salvation, then you will find religious and truly spiritual +books to be the greatest feast and joy of your mind and heart.” +Yes. And then we shall thank God every day we live that He raised +us up such helpers in our salvation as the gifted and gracious authors +we have been speaking of.</p> +<p>5. “The further I go the more danger I meet with,” +said old Timorous, the father, to Christian, when Christian asked him +on the Hill Difficulty why he was running the wrong way. “I, +too, was going to the City of Zion,” he said; “but the further +on I go the more danger I meet with.” And, in saying that, +the old runaway gave our persevering pilgrim something to think about +for all his days. For, again and again, and times without number, +Christian would have gone back too if only he had known where to go. +Go on, therefore, he must. To go back to him was simply impossible. +Every day he lived he felt the bitter truth of what that old apostate +had so unwittingly said. But, with all that he kept himself in +his onward way till, dangers and difficulties, death and hell and all, +he came to the blessed end of it. And that same has been the universal +experience of all the true and out-and-out saints of God in all time. +If poor old Timorous had only known it, if he had only had some one +beside him to remind him of it, the very thing that so fatally turned +him back was the best proof possible that he was on the right and the +only right way; ay, and fast coming, poor old castaway, to the very +city he had at one time set out to seek. Now, it is only too likely +that there are some of my hearers at this with it to-night, that they +are on the point of giving up the life of faith, and hope, and love, +and holy living; because the deeper they carry that life into their +own hearts the more impossible they find it to live that life there. +The more they aim their hearts at God’s law the more they despair +of ever coming within sight of it. My supremely miserable brother! +if this is any consolation to you, if you can take any crumb of consolation +out of it, let this be told you, that, as a matter of fact, all truly +holy men have in their heart of hearts had your very experience. +That is no strange and unheard-of thing which is passing within you. +And, indeed, if you could but believe it, that is one of the surest +signs and seals of a true and genuine child of God. Dante, one +of the bravest, but hardest bestead of God’s saints, was, just +like you, well-nigh giving up the mountain altogether when his Greatheart, +who was always at his side, divining what was going on within him, said +to him—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Those scars<br /> +That when they pain thee most then kindliest heal.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“The more I do,” complained one of Thomas Shepard’s +best friends to him, “the worse I am.” “The +best saints are the most sensible of sin,” wrote Samuel Rutherford. +And, again he wrote, “Sin rages far more in the godly than ever +it does in the ungodly.” And you dare not deny but that +Samuel Rutherford was one of the holiest men that ever lived, or that +in saying all that he was speaking of himself. And Newman: “Every +one who tries to do God’s will”—and that also is Newman +himself—“will feel himself to be full of all imperfection +and sin; and the more he succeeds in regulating his heart, the more +will he discern its original bitterness and guilt.” As our +own hymn has it:</p> +<blockquote><p>“They who fain would serve Thee best<br /> +Are conscious most of wrong within.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Without knowing it, Mrs. Timorous’s runaway father was speaking +the same language as the chief of the saints. Only he said, “Therefore +I have turned back,” whereas, first Christian, and then Christiana +his widow, said, “Yet I must venture!”</p> +<p>And so say you. Say, I must and I will venture! Say it; +clench your teeth and your hands and say it. Say that you are +determined to go on towards heaven where the holy are—absolutely +determined, though you are quite well aware that you are carrying up +with you the blackest, the wickedest, the most corrupt, and the most +abominable heart either out of hell or in it. Say that, say all +that, and still venture. Say all that and all the more venture. +Venture upon God of whom such reassuring things are said. Venture +upon the Son of God of whom His Father is represented as saying such +inviting things. Venture upon the cross. Survey the wondrous +cross and then make a bold venture upon it. Think who that is +who is bleeding to death upon the cross, and why? Look at Him +till you never afterwards can see anything else. Look at God’s +Eternal, Divine, Well-pleasing Son with all the wages of sin dealt out +to Him, body and soul, on that tree to the uttermost farthing. +And, devil incarnate though you indeed are, yet, say, if that spectacle +does not satisfy you, and encourage you, and carry your cowardice captive. +Venture! I say, venture! And if you find at last that you have +ventured too far—if you have sinned and corrupted yourself beyond +redemption—then it will be some consolation and distinction to +you in hell that you had out-sinned the infinite grace of God, and had +seen the end of the unsearchable riches of Christ. Timid sinner, +I but mock thee, therefore venture! Fearful sinner, venture! +Cowardly sinner, venture. Venture thyself upon thy God, upon Christ +thy Saviour, and upon His cross. Venture all thy guilt and all +thy corruption taken together upon Christ hanging upon His cross, and +make that tremendous venture now!</p> +<h2>MERCY</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain +mercy.”—<i>Our Lord</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The first time that we see Mercy she is standing one sunshine morning +knocking along with another at Christiana’s door. And all +that we afterwards hear of Mercy might be described as, A morning call +and all that came of it; or, How a godly matron led on a poor maid to +fall in love with her own salvation. John Bunyan, her biographer, +in all his devotion to Mercy, does not make it at all clear to us why +such a sweet and good girl as Mercy was could be on such intimate terms +with Mrs. Timorous and all her so questionable circle. Could it +be that Mercy’s mother was one of that unhappy set? And +had this dear little woman-child been brought up so as to know no better +than to figure in their assemblies, and go out on their morning rounds +with Mrs. Light-mind and Mrs. Know-nothing? Or, was poor Mercy +an orphan with no one to watch over her, and had her sweet face, her +handsome figure, and her winning manners made her one of the attractions +of old Madam Wanton’s midnight routs? However it came about, +there was Mercy out on a series of morning calls with a woman twice +her age, but a woman whose many years had taught her neither womanliness +nor wisdom. “If you come in God’s name, come in,” +a voice from the inside answered the knocking of Mrs. Timorous and Mercy, +her companion, at Christiana’s door. In all their rounds +that morning the two women had not been met with another salutation +like that; and that strange salutation so disconcerted and so confounded +them that they did not know whether to lift the latch and go in, or +to run away and leave those to go in who could take their delight in +such outlandish language. “If you come in God’s name, +come in.” At this the women were stunned, for this kind +of language they used not to hear or to perceive to drop from the lips +of Christiana. Yet they came in; but, behold, they found the good +woman preparing to be gone from her house. The conversation that +ensued was all carried on by the two elder women. For it was often +remarked about Mercy all her after-days that her voice was ever soft, +and low, and, especially, seldom heard. But her ears were not +idle. For all the time the debate went on—because by this +time the conversation had risen to be a debate—Mercy was taking +silent sides with Christiana and her distress and her intended enterprise, +till, when Mrs. Timorous reviled Christiana and said, “Come away, +Mercy, and leave her in her own hands,” Mercy by that time was +brought to a standstill. For, like a rose among thorns, Mercy +was thoughtful and wise and womanly far beyond her years. So much +so, that already she had made up her mind to offer herself as a maidservant +to help the widow with her work and to see her so far on her way, and, +indeed, though she kept that to herself, to go all the way with her, +if the way should prove open to her. First, her heart yearned +over Christiana; so she said within herself, If my neighbour will needs +be gone, I will go a little way with her to help her. Secondly, +her heart yearned over her own soul’s salvation, for what Christiana +had said had taken some hold upon Mercy’s mind. Wherefore +she said within herself, I will yet have more talk with this Christiana, +and if I find truth and life in what she shall say, myself with all +my heart shall also go with her. “Neighbour,” spoke +out Mercy to Mrs. Timorous, “I did indeed come with you to see +Christiana this morning, and since she is, as you see, a-taking of her +last farewell of her country, I think to walk this sunshine morning +a little way with her to help her on the way.” But she told +her not of her second reason, but kept that to herself. I would +fain go on with Mercy’s memoirs all night. But you will +take up that inviting thread for yourselves. And meantime I shall +stop here and gather up under two or three heads some of the more memorable +results and lessons of that sunshine-morning call.</p> +<p>1. Well, then, to begin with, there was something quite queen-like, +something absolutely commanding, about Christiana’s look and manner, +as well as about all she said and did that morning. Mercy’s +morning companion had all the advantages that dress and equipage could +give her; while Christiana stood in the middle of the floor in her housewife’s +clothes, covered with dust and surrounded with all her dismantled house; +but, with all that, there was something about Christiana that took Mercy’s +heart completely captive. All that Christiana had by this time +come through had blanched her cheek and whitened her hair: but all that +only the more commanded Mercy’s sensitive and noble soul. +To be open to impressions of that kind is one of the finest endowments +of a finely endowed nature; and, all through, the attentive reader of +her history will be sure to remark and imitate Mercy’s exquisite +and tenacious sensibility to all that is true and good, upright and +honourable and noble. And then, what a blessing it is to a girl +of Mercy’s mould to meet at opening womanhood with another woman, +be it a mother, a mistress, or a neighbour, whose character then, and +as life goes on, can supply the part of the supporting and sheltering +oak to the springing and clinging vine. Christiana being now the +new woman she was, as well as a woman of great natural wisdom, dignity, +and stability of character, the safety, the salvation of poor motherless +Mercy was as good as sure. Indeed, all Mercy’s subsequent +history is only one long and growing tribute to the worth, the constant +love, and the sleepless solicitude of this true mother in Israel.</p> +<p>2. Now, it was so, that, wholly unknown to all her companions, +young and old, in her own very remarkable words, Mercy had for a long +time been hungering with all her heart to meet with some genuinely good +people,—with some people, as she said herself,—“of +truth and of life.” These are remarkable words to hear drop +from the lips of a young girl, and especially a girl of Mercy’s +environment. Now, had there been anything hollow, had there been +one atom of insincerity or exaggeration about Christiana that morning, +had she talked too much, had all her actions not far more than borne +out all her words, had there not been in the broken-hearted woman a +depth of mind and a warmth of heart far beyond all her words, Mercy +would never have become a pilgrim. But the natural dignity of +Christiana’s character; her capable, commanding, resolute ways; +the reality, even to agony, of her sorrow for her past life—all +taken together with her iron-fast determination to enter at once on +a new life—all that carried Mercy’s heart completely captive. +Mercy felt that there was a solemnity, an awesomeness, and a mystery +about her new friend’s experiences and memories that it was not +for a child like herself to attempt to intrude into. But, all +the more because of that, a spell of love and fear and reverence lay +on Mercy’s heart and mind all her after-days from that so solemn +and so eventful morning when she first saw Christiana’s haggard +countenance and heard her remorseful cries. My so churlish carriages +to him! Now, such carriages between man and wife had often pained +and made ashamed Mercy’s maidenly heart beyond all expression. +Till she had sometimes said to herself, blushing with shame before herself +as she said it, that if ever she was a wife—may my tongue cleave +to the roof of my mouth before I say one churlish word to him who is +my husband! And thus it was that nothing that Christiana said +that morning in the uprush of her remorse moved Mercy more with pity +and with love than just what Christiana beat her breast about as concerning +her lost husband. Mercy used to say that she saw truth and life +enough in one hour that morning to sober and to solemnise and to warn +her to set a watch on the door of her lips for all her after-days.</p> +<p>3. Before Mrs. Timorous was well out of the door, Mercy had +already plucked off her gloves, and hung up her morning bonnet on a +nail in the wall, so much did her heart heave to help the cumbered widow +and her fatherless children. “If thou wilt, I will hire +thee,” said Christiana, “and thou shalt go with me as my +servant. Yet we will have all things common betwixt thee and me; +only, now thou art here, go along with me.” At this Mercy +fell on Christiana’s neck and kissed her mother; for after that +morning Christiana had always a daughter of her own, and Mercy a mother. +And you may be sure, with two such women working with all their might, +all things were soon ready for their happy departure.</p> +<p>Mr. Kerr Bain invites his readers to compare John Bunyan’s +Mercy at this point with William Law’s Miranda. I shall +not tarry to draw out the full comparison here, but shall content myself +with simply repeating Mr. Bain’s happy reference. Only, +I shall not content myself till all to whom my voice can reach, and +who are able to enjoy only a first-rate book, have Mr. Bain’s +book beside their <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>. That morning, +then, on which Mrs. Timorous, having nothing to do at home, set out +with Mercy on a round of calls—that was Mercy’s last idle +morning for all her days. For her mind was, ever after that, to +be always busying of herself in doing, for when she had nothing to do +for herself she would be making of hosen and garments for others, and +would bestow them upon those that had need. I will warrant her +a good housewife, quoth Mr. Brisk to himself. So much so that +at any place they stopped on the way, even for a day and a night to +rest and refresh themselves, Mercy would seek out all the poor and all +the old people, and ere ever she was aware what she was doing, already +a good report had spread abroad concerning the pilgrims and their pilgrimage. +At the same time, it must be told that poor Mercy’s heart was +more heavy for the souls of the poor people than for their naked bodies +and hungry bellies. So much was this so that when the shepherds, +Knowledge, Experience, Watchful, and Sincere, took her to a place where +she saw one Fool and one Want-wit washing of an Ethiopian with intention +to make him white, but the more they washed him the blacker he was, +Mercy blushed and felt guilty before the shepherds,—she so took +home to her charitable heart the bootless work of Fool and Want-wit. +Mercy put on the Salvationist bonnet at her first outset to the Celestial +City, and she never put it off till she came to that land where there +are no more poor to make hosen and hats for, and no more Ethiopians +to take to the fountain.</p> +<p>4. There are not a few young communicants here to-night, as +well as not a few who are afraid as yet to offer themselves for the +Lord’s table; and, as it so falls out to-night, Mercy’s +case contains both an encouragement and an example to all such. +For never surely had a young communicant less to go upon than Mercy +had that best morning of all her life. For she had nothing to +go upon but a great desire to help Christiana with her work; some desire +for truth and for life; and some first and feeble yearnings over her +own soul,—yearnings, however, that she kept entirely to herself. +That was all. She had no remorses like those which had ploughed +up Christiana’s cheeks into such channels of tears. She +had no dark past out of which swarms of hornets stung her guilty conscience. +Nor on the other hand, had she any such sweet dreams and inviting visions +as those that were sent to cheer and encourage the disconsolate widow. +She will have her own sweet dreams yet, that will make her laugh loud +out in her sleep. But that will be long after this, when she has +discovered how hard her heart is and how great God’s grace is. +“How shall I be ascertained,” she put it to Christiana, +“that I also shall be entertained? Had I but this hope, +from one that can tell, I would make no stick at all, but would go, +being helped by Him that can help, though the way was never so tedious. +Had I as good hope for a loving reception as you have, I think no Slough +of Despond would discourage me.” “Well,” said +the other, “you know your sore, and I know mine; and, good friend, +we shall all have enough evil before we come to our journey’s +end.” And soon after that, of all places on the upward way, +Mercy’s evil began at the Wicket Gate. “I have a companion,” +said Christiana, “that stands without. One that is much +dejected in her mind, for that she comes, as she thinks, without sending +for; whereas I was sent to by my husband’s King.” +So the porter opened the gate and looked out; but Mercy was fallen down +in a swoon, for she fainted and was afraid that the gate would not be +opened to her. “O sir,” she said, “I am faint; +there is scarce life left in me.” But he answered her that +one once said, “When my soul fainted within me, I remembered the +Lord, and my prayer came in into Thee, into Thy holy temple. Fear +not, but stand up upon thy feet, and tell me wherefore thou art come.” +“I am come, sir, into that for which I never was invited, as my +friend Christiana was. Her invitation was from the Lord, and mine +was but from her. Wherefore, I fear that I presume.” +Then said he to those that stood by, “Fetch something and give +it to Mercy to smell on, thereby to stay her fainting.” +So they fetched her a bundle of myrrh, and a while after she revived.—Let +young communicants be content with Mercy’s invitation. She +started for the City just because she liked to be beside a good woman +who was starting thither. She wished to help a good woman who +was going thither; and just a little desire began at first to awaken +in her heart to go to the city too. Till, having once set her +face to go up, one thing after another worked together to lead her up +till she, too, had her life full of those invitations and experiences +and interests and occupations and enjoyments that make Mercy’s +name so memorable, and her happy case such an example and such an inspiration, +to all God-fearing young women especially.</p> +<p>5. John Bunyan must be held responsible for the strong dash +of romance that he so boldly throws into Mercy’s memoirs. +But I shall postpone Mr. Brisk and his love-making and his answer to +another lecture. I shall not enter on Mercy’s love matters +here at all, but shall leave them to be read at home by those who like +to read romances. Only, since we have seen so much of Mercy as +a maiden, one longs to see how she turned out as a wife. I can +only imagine how Mercy turned out as a wife; but there is a picture +of a Scottish Covenanting girl as a married wife which always rises +up before my mind when I think of Mercy’s matronly days. +That picture might hang in Bunyan’s own peculiar gallery, so beautiful +is the drawing, and so warm and so eloquent the colouring. Take, +then, this portrait of one of the daughters of the Scottish Covenant. +“She was a woman of great worth, whom I therefore passionately +loved and inwardly honoured. A stately, beautiful, and comely +personage; truly pious and fearing the Lord. Of an evenly temper, +patient in our common tribulations and under her personal distresses. +A woman of bright natural parts, and of an uncommon stock of prudence; +of a quick and lively apprehension in things she applied herself to, +and of great presence of mind in surprising incidents. Sagacious +and acute in discerning the qualities of persons, and therefore not +easily imposed upon. [See Mr. Brisk’s interviews with Mercy.] +Modest and grave in her deportment, but naturally cheerful; wise and +affable in conversation, also having a good faculty at speaking and +expressing herself with assurance. Being a pattern of frugality +and wise management in household affairs, all such were therefore entirely +committed to her; well fitted for and careful of the virtuous education +of her children; remarkably useful in the countryside, both in the Merse +and in the Forest, through her skill in physic and surgery, which in +many instances a peculiar blessing appeared to be commanded upon from +heaven. And, finally, a crown to me in my public station and pulpit +appearances. During the time we have lived together we have passed +through a sea of trouble, as yet not seeing the shore but afar off.”</p> +<p>“The words of King Lemuel, the prophecy that his mother taught +him. What, my son? and what, the son of my womb? and what, the +son of my vows? Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is +far above rubies. Her children arise up and call her blessed; +her husband also, and he praiseth her. Favour is deceitful, and +beauty is vain; but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”</p> +<h2>MR. BRISK</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Be ye not unequally yoked.”—<i>Paul</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There were some severe precisians in John Bunyan’s day who +took the objection to the author of the <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i> +that he sometimes laughed too loud.</p> +<blockquote><p>“One may (I think) say, both he laughs and cries,<br /> +May well be guessed at by his watery eyes.<br /> +Some things are of that nature as to make<br /> +One’s fancy chuckle while his heart doth ake.<br /> +When Jacob saw his Rachel with the sheep,<br /> +At the same time he did both laugh and weep.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And even Dr. Cheever, in his excellent lectures on the <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i>, confesses that though the Second Part never ceases for +a moment to tell the serious story of the Pilgrimage, at the same time, +it sometimes becomes so merry as almost to pass over into absolute comedy. +“There is one passage,” says Cheever, “which for exquisite +humour, quiet satire, and naturalness in the development of character +is scarcely surpassed in the language. It is the account of the +courtship between Mr. Brisk and Mercy which took place at the House +Beautiful.”</p> +<p>Now, the insertion of such an episode as that of Mr. Brisk into such +a book as the <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i> is only yet another proof +of the health, the strength, and the truth to nature of John Bunyan’s +mind. His was eminently an honest, straightforward, manly, English +understanding. A smaller man would not have ventured on Mr. Brisk +in such a book as the <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>. But there +is no affectation, there is no prudery, there is no superiority to nature +in John Bunyan. He knew quite well that of the thousands of men +and women who were reading his <i>Pilgrim</i> there was no subject, +not even religion itself, that was taking up half so much of their thoughts +as just love-making and marriage. And, like the wise man and the +true teacher he was, he here points out to all his readers how well +true religion and the fullest satisfaction of the warmest and the most +universal of human affections can be both harmonised and made mutually +helpful. In Bunyan’s day love was too much left to the playwrights, +just as in our day it is too much left to the poets and the novelists. +And thus it is that in too many instances affection and passion have +taken full possession of the hearts and the lives of our young people +before any moral or religious lesson on these all-important subjects +has been given to them: any lesson such as John Bunyan so winningly +and so beautifully gives here. “This incident,” says +Thomas Scott, “is very properly introduced, and it is replete +with instruction.”</p> +<p>Now, Mr. Brisk, to begin with, was, so we are told, a young man of +some breeding,—that is to say, he was a young man of some social +position, some education, and of a certain good manner, at least on +the surface. In David Scott’s Illustrations Mr. Brisk stands +before us a handsome and well-dressed young man of the period, with +his well-belted doublet, his voluminous ruffles, his heavily-studded +cuffs, his small cane, his divided hair, and his delicate hand,—altogether +answering excellently to his name, were it not for the dashed look of +surprise with which he gets his answer, and, with what jauntiness he +can at the moment command, takes his departure. “Mr. Brisk +was a man of some breeding,” says Bunyan, “and that pretended +to religion; but a man that stuck very close to the world.” +That Mr. Brisk made any pretence to religion at any other time and in +any other place is not said; only that he put on that pretence with +his best clothes when he came once or twice or more to Mercy and offered +love to her at the House Beautiful. The man with the least religion +at other times, even the man with no pretence to religion at other times +at all, will pretend to some religion when he is in love with a young +woman of Mercy’s mind. And yet it would not be fair to say +that it is all pretence even in such a man at such a time. Grant +that a man is really in love; then, since all love is of the nature +of religion, for the time, the true lover is really on the borders of +a truly religious life. It may with perfect truth be said of all +men when they first fall in love that they are, for the time, not very +far away from the kingdom of heaven. For all love is good, so +far as it goes. God is Love; and all love, in the long-run, has +a touch of the divine nature in it. And for once, if never again, +every man who is deeply in love has a far-off glimpse of the beauty +of holiness, and a far-off taste of that ineffable sweetness of which +the satisfied saints of God sing so ecstatically. But, in too +many instances, a young man’s love having been kindled only by +the creature, and, never rising from her to his and her Creator, as +a rule, it sooner or later burns low and at last burns out, and leaves +nothing but embers and ashes in his once so ardent heart. Mr. +Brisk’s love-making might have ended in his becoming a pilgrim +but for this fatal flaw in his heart, that even in his love-making he +stuck so fast to the world. It is almost incredible: you may well +refuse to believe it—that any young man in love, and especially +a young gentleman of Mr. Brisk’s breeding, would approach his +mistress with the question how much she could earn a day. As Mr. +Brisk looks at Mercy’s lap so full of hats and hosen and says +it, I can see his natty cane beginning to lengthen itself out in his +soft-skinned hand and to send out teeth like a muck-rake. Give +Mr. Brisk another thirty years or so and he will be an ancient churl, +raking to himself the sticks and the straws and the dust of the earth, +neither looking up to nor regarding the celestial crown that is still +offered to him in exchange for his instrument.</p> +<p>“Now, Mercy was of a fair countenance, and, therefore, all +the more alluring.” But her fair countenance was really +no temptation to her. “Sit still, my daughter,” said +Naomi to Ruth in the Old Testament. And it was entirely Mercy’s +maidenly nature to sit still. Even before she had come to her +full womanhood under Christiana’s motherly care she would have +been an example to Ruth. Long ago, while Mercy was still a mere +girl, when Mrs. Light-mind said something to her one day that made her +blush, Mercy at last looked up in real anger and said, We women should +be wooed; we were not made to woo. And thus it was that all their +time at the House Beautiful Mercy stayed close at home and worked with +her needle and thread just as if she had been the plainest girl in all +the town. “I might have had husbands afore now,” she +said, with a cast of her head over the coat that lay on her lap, “though +I spake not of it to any. But they were such as did not like my +conditions, though never did any of them find fault with my person. +So they and I could not agree.” Once Mercy’s mouth +was opened on the subject of possible husbands it is a miracle that +she did not go on in confidence to name some of the husbands she might +have had. Mercy was too truthful and too honourable a maiden to +have said even on that subject what she did say if it had not been true. +No doubt she believed it true. And the belief so long as she mentioned +no names, did not break any man’s bones and did not spoil any +man’s market. Don’t set up too prudishly and say that +it is a pity that Mercy so far forgot herself as to make her little +confidential boast. We would not have had her without that little +boast. Keep-at-home, sit-still, hats and hosen and all—her +little boast only proves Mercy to have been at heart a true daughter +of Eve after all.</p> +<p>There is an old-fashioned word that comes up again and again in the +account of Mr. Brisk’s courtship,—a word that contains far +more interest and instruction for us than might on the surface appear. +When Mr. Brisk was rallied upon his ill-success with Mercy, he was wont +to say that undoubtedly Mistress Mercy was a very pretty lass, only +she was troubled with ill conditions. And then, when Mercy was +confiding to Prudence all about her possible husbands, she said that +they were all such as did not like her conditions. To which Prudence, +keeping her countenance, replied, that the men were but few in their +day that could abide the practice that was set forth by such conditions +as those of Mercy. Well, tossed out Mercy, if nobody will have +me I will die a maid, or my conditions shall be to me as a husband! +As I came again and again across that old seventeenth-century word “conditions,” +I said to myself, I feel sure that Dr. Murray of the Oxford Scriptorium +will have noted this striking passage. And on turning up the Sixth +Part of the <i>New English Dictionary</i>, there, to be sure, was the +old word standing in this present setting. Five long, rich, closely +packed columns stood under the head of “Condition”; and +amid a thousand illustrations of its use, the text: “1684, Bunyan, +Pilgr., ii. 84. He said that Mercy was a pretty lass, but troubled +with ill conditions.” Poor illiterate John Bunyan stood +in the centre of a group of learned and famous men, composed of Chaucer, +Wyclif, Skelton, Palsgrave, Raleigh, Featly, Richard Steel, and Walter +Scott—all agreeing in their use of our word, and all supplying +examples of its use in the best English books. By Mercy’s +conditions, then, is just meant her cast of mind, her moral nature, +her temper and her temperament, her dispositions and her inclinations, +her habits of thought, habits of heart, habits of life, and so on.</p> +<p>“Well,” said Mercy proudly, “if nobody will have +me, I will die a maid, or my conditions shall be to me as a husband. +For I cannot change my nature, and to have one that lies cross to me +in this,—that I purpose never to admit of as long as I live.” +By this time, though she is still little more than a girl, Mercy had +her habits formed, her character cast, and, more than all, her whole +heart irrevocably set on her soul’s salvation. And everything—husband +and children and all—must condition themselves to that, else she +will have none of them. She had sought first the kingdom of God +and His righteousness, and she will seek nothing, she will accept nothing—no, +not even a husband—who crosses her choice in that. She has +chosen her life, and her husband with it. Not the man as yet, +but the whole manner of the man. The conditions of the man, as +she said about herself; else she will boldly and bravely die a maid. +And there are multitudes of married women who, when they read this page +about Mercy, will gnash their teeth at the madness of their youth, and +will wildly wish that they only were maids again; and, then, like Mercy, +they would take good care to make for themselves husbands of their own +conditions too—of their own means, their own dispositions, inclinations, +tastes, and pursuits. For, according as our conditions to one +another are or are not in our marriages,</p> +<blockquote><p>“They locally contain or heaven or hell;<br /> +There is no third place in them.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>What untold good, then, may all our young women not get out of the +loving study of Mercy’s sweet, steadfast, noble character! +And what untold misery may they not escape! From first to last—and +we are not yet come to her last—I most affectionately recommend +Mercy to the hearts and minds of all young women here. Single +and married; setting out on pilgrimage and steadfastly persevering in +it; sitting still till the husband with the right conditions comes, +and then rising up with her warm, well-kept heart to meet him—if +any maiden here has no mother, or no elder sister, or no wise and prudent +friend like Prudence or Christiana to take counsel of—and even +if she has—let Mercy be her meditation and her model through all +her maidenly days.</p> +<p>“Nay, then,” said Mercy, “I will look no more on +him, for I purpose never to have a clog to my soul.” A pungent +resolve for every husband to read and to think to himself about, who +has married a wife with a soul. Let all husbands who have such +wives halt here and ask themselves with some imagination as to what +may sometimes go on, at communion times, say, in the souls of their +wives. It is not every wife, it is true, who has a soul to clog; +but some of our wives have. Well, now, let us ask ourselves: How +do we stand related to their souls? Do our wives, when examining +the state of their souls since they married us, have to say that at +one time they had hoped to be further on in the life of the soul than +they yet are? And are they compelled before God to admit that +the marriage they have made, and would make, has terribly hindered them? +Would they have been better women, would they have been living a better +life, and doing far more good in the world, if they had taken their +maidenly ideals, like Mercy, for a husband? Let us sometimes imagine +ourselves into the secrets of our wives’ souls, and ask if they +ever feel that they are unequally and injuriously yoked in their deepest +and best life. Do we ever see a tear falling in secret, or hear +a stolen sigh heaved, or stumble on them at a stealthy prayer? +A Roman lady on being asked why she sometimes let a sob escape her and +a tear fall, when she had such a gentleman of breeding and rank and +riches to her husband, touched her slipper with her finger and said: +“Is not that a well-made, a neat, and a costly shoe? And +yet you would not believe how it pinches and pains me sometimes.”</p> +<p>But some every whit as good women as Mercy was have purposed as nobly +and as firmly as Mercy did, and yet have wakened up, when it was too +late, to find that, with all their high ideals, and with all their prudence, +their husband is not in himself, and is not to them, what they at one +time felt sure he would be. Mercy had a sister named Bountiful, +who made that mistake and that dreadful discovery; and what Mercy had +seen of married life in her sister’s house almost absolutely turned +her against marriage altogether. “The one thing certain,” +says Thomas Mozley in his chapter on Ideal Wife and Husband, “is +that both wife and husband are different in the result from the expectation. +Age, illness, an increasing family, no family at all, household cares, +want of means, isolation, incompatible prejudices, quarrels, social +difficulties, and such like, all tell on married people, and make them +far other than they once promised to be.” When that awakening +comes there is only one solace, and women take to that supreme solace +much more often than men. And that solace, as you all know, is +true, if too late, religion. And even where true religion has +already been, there is still a deeper and a more inward religion suited +to the new experiences and the new needs of life. And if both +husband and wife in such a crisis truly betake themselves to Him who +gathereth the solitary into families, the result will be such a remarriage +of depth and tenderness, loyalty and mutual help, as their early dreams +never came within sight of. Not early love, not children, not +plenty of means, not all the best amenities of married life taken together, +will repair a marriage and keep a marriage in repair for one moment +like a living and an intense faith in God; a living and an intense love +to God; and then that faith in and love for one another that spring +out of God and out of His love alone.</p> +<blockquote><p>“The tree<br /> +Sucks kindlier nurture from a soil enriched<br /> +By its own fallen leaves; and man is made,<br /> +In heart and spirit, from deciduous hopes<br /> +And things that seem to perish.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>MR. SKILL</h2> +<blockquote><p>“The vine of Sodom.”—<i>Moses</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>With infinite delicacy John Bunyan here tells us the sad story of +Matthew’s sore sickness at the House Beautiful. The cause +of the sore sickness, its symptoms, its serious nature, and its complete +cures are all told with the utmost plainness; but, at the same time, +with the most exquisite delicacy. Bunyan calls the ancient physician +who is summoned in and who effects the cure, Mr. Skill, but you must +believe that Bunyan himself is Mr. Skill; and I question if this skilful +writer ever wrote a more skilful page than just this page that now lies +open before him who has the eyes to read it.</p> +<p>Matthew, it must always be remembered, was by this time a young man. +He was the eldest son of Christiana his mother, and for some time now +she had been a sorely burdened widow. Matthew’s father was +no longer near his son to watch over him and to warn him against the +temptations and the dangers that wait on opening manhood. And +thus his mother, with all her other cares, had to be both father and +mother to her eldest son; and, with all her good sense and all her long +and close acquaintance with the world, she was too fond a mother to +suspect any evil of her eldest son. And thus it was that Christiana +had nearly lost her eldest son before her eyes were open to the terrible +dangers he had for a long time been running. For it was so, that +the upward way that this household without a head had to travel lay +through a land full of all kinds of dangers both to the bodies and to +the souls of such travellers as they were. And what well-nigh +proved a fatal danger to Matthew lay right in his way. It was +Beelzebub’s orchard. Not that this young man’s way +lay through that orchard exactly; yet, walled up as was that orchard +with all its forbidden fruit, that evil fruit would hang over the wall +so that if any lusty youth wished to taste it, he had only to reach +up to the over-hanging branches and plash down on himself some of the +forbidden bunches. Now, that was just what Matthew had done. +Till we have him lying at the House Beautiful, not only not able to +enjoy the delights of the House and of the season, but so pained in +his bowels and so pulled together with inward pains, that he sometimes +cried out as if he were being torn to pieces. At that moment Mr. +Skill, the ancient physician, entered the sick-room, when, having a +little observed Matthew’s intense agony, with a certain mixture +of goodness and severity he recited these professional verses over the +trembling bed:</p> +<blockquote><p>“O conscience, who can stand against thy power?<br /> +Endure thy gripes and agonies one hour?<br /> +Stone, gout, strappado, racks, whatever is<br /> +Dreadful to sense, are only toys to this—<br /> +No pleasures, riches, honours, friends can tell<br /> +How to give ease to this, ’tis like to hell.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And then, turning to the sick man’s mother, who stood at the +bed’s head wringing her hands, the ancient leech said to her: +“This boy of yours has been tampering with the forbidden fruit!” +At which the angry mother turned on the well-approved physician as if +he had caused all the trouble that he had come to cure. But the +ancient man knew both the son and the mother too, and therefore he addressed +her with some asperity: “I tell you both that strong measures +must be taken instantly, else he will die.” When Mr. Skill +had seen that the first purge was too weak, he made him one to the purpose; +and it was made, as he so learnedly said, <i>ex carne et sanguine Christi</i>. +The pills were to be taken three at a time, fasting, in half a quarter +of a pint of the tears of repentance. After some coaxing, such +as mothers know best how to use, Matthew took the medicine and was soon +walking about again with a staff, and was able to go from room to room +of the hospitable and happy house. Understandest thou what thou +readest? said Philip the deacon to Queen Candace’s treasurer as +he sat down beside him in the chariot and opened up to him the fifty-third +of the prophet Isaiah. And, understandest thou what thou here +readest in Matthew and Mr. Skill?</p> +<p>1. Now, on this almost too closely veiled case I shall venture +to remark, in the first place, that multitudes of boys grow up into +young men, and go out of our most godly homes and into a whole world +of temptation without due warning being given them as to where they +are going. “I do marvel that none did warn him of it,” +said Mr. Skill, with some anger. What Matthew’s father might +have done in this matter had he been still in this world when his son +became a man in it we can only guess. As it was, it never entered +his mother’s too fond mind to take her fatherless boy by himself +when she saw Beelzebub’s orchard before him, and tell him what +Solomon told his son, and to point out to him the prophecy that King +Lemuel’s mother prophesied to her son. Poor Matthew was +a young man before his mother was aware of it. And, poor woman, +she only found that out when Mr. Skill was in the sick-room and was +looking at her with eyes that seemed to say to her that she had murdered +her child. She had loved too long to look on her first-born as +still a child. When he went at any time for a season out of her +sight, she had never followed him with her knowledge of the world; she +had never prevented him with an awakened and an anxious imagination; +till now she had got him home with no rest in his bones because of his +sin. And then she began to cry too late, O naughty boy, and, O +careless mother, what shall I do for my son!</p> +<p>2. “That food, to wit, that fruit,” said Mr. Skill, +“is even the most hurtful of all. It is the fruit of Beelzebub’s +orchard.” So it is. There is no fruit that hurts at +all like that fruit. How it hurts at the time, we see in Matthew’s +sick-room; and how it hurts all a man’s after days we see in Jacob, +and in Job, and in David, and in a thousand sin-sick souls of whose +psalms of remorse and repentance the world cannot contain all the books +that should be written. “And yet I marvel,” said the +indignant physician, “that none did warn him of it; many have +died thereof.” Oh if I could but get the ears of all the +sons of godly fathers and mothers who are beginning to tamper with Beelzebub’s +orchard-trees, I feel as if I could warn them to-night, and out of this +text, of what they are doing! I have known so many who have died +thereof. Oh if I could but save them in time from those gripes +of conscience that will pull them to pieces on the softest and the most +fragrant bed that shall ever be made for them on earth! It will +be well with them if they do not lie down torn to pieces on their bed +in hell, and curse the day they first plashed down into their youthful +hands the vine of Sodom. Both the way to hell and the way to heaven +are full of many kinds of hurtful fruits; but that species of fruit +that poor misguided Matthew plucked and ate after he had well passed +the gate that is at the head of the way is, by all men’s testimony, +by far the most hurtful of all forbidden fruits.</p> +<p>3. The whole scene in Matthew’s sick-room reads, after +all, less like a skilful invention than a real occurrence. Inventive +and realistic as John Bunyan is, there is surely something here that +goes beyond even his genius. After making all allowance for Bunyan’s +unparalleled powers of creation and narration, I am inclined to think, +the oftener I read it, that, after all, we have not so much John Bunyan +here as very Nature herself. Yes; John Gifford surely was Mr. +Skill. Sister Bosworth surely was Matthew’s mother. +And Matthew himself was Sister Bosworth’s eldest son, while one +John Bunyan, a travelling tinker, was busy with his furnaces and his +soldering-irons in Dame Bosworth’s kitchen. Young Bunyan, +with all his blackguardism, had never plashed down Beelzebub’s +orchard. He swears he never did, and we are bound to believe him. +But young Bosworth had been tampering with the forbidden fruit, and +Gifford saw at a glance what was wrong. John Gifford was first +an officer in the Royalist army, then a doctor in Bedford, and now a +Baptist Puritan pastor; and the young tinker looked up to Gifford as +the most wonderful man for learning in books and in bodies and souls +of men in all the world. And when Gifford talked over young Bosworth’s +bed half to himself and half to them about a medicine made <i>ex carne +et sanguine Christi</i>, the future author of the <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i> never forgot the phrase. At a glance Gifford saw +what was the whole matter with the sick man. And painful as the +truth was to the sick man’s mother, and humiliating with a life-long +humiliation to the sick man himself, Gifford was not the man or the +minister to beat about the bush at such a solemn moment. “This +boy has been tampering with that which will kill him unless he gets +it taken off his conscience and out of his heart immediately.” +Now, this same divination into our pastoral cases is by far and away +the most difficult part of a minister’s work. It is easy +and pleasant with a fluent tongue to get through our pulpit work; but +to descend the pulpit stairs and deal with life, and with this and that +sin in the lives of our people,—that is another matter. +“We must labour,” says Richard Baxter in his <i>Reformed +Pastor</i>, “to be acquainted with the state of all our people +as fully as we can; both to know the persons and their inclinations +and conversation; to know what sins they are most in danger of, what +duties they neglect, and what temptations they are most liable to. +For, if we know not their temperament or their disease, we are likely +to prove but unsuccessful physicians.” But when we begin +to reform our pastorate to that pattern, we are soon compelled to set +down such entries in our secret diary as that of Thomas Shepard of Harvard +University: “Sabbath, 5th April 1641. Nothing I do, nay, +none under my shadow prosper. I so want wisdom for my place, and +to guide others.” Yes; for what wisdom is needed for the +place of a minister like John Gifford, John Bunyan, Richard Baxter, +and Thomas Shepard! What wisdom, what divine genius, to dive into +and divine the secret history of a soul from a twinge of conscience, +even from a drop of the eye, a tone of the voice, or a gesture of the +hand or of the head! And yet, with some natural taste for the +holy work, with study, with experience, and with life-long expert reading, +even a plain minister with no genius, but with some grace and truth, +may come to great eminence in the matters of the soul. And then, +with what an interest, solemn and awful, with what a sleepless interest +such a pastor goes about among his diseased, sin-torn, and scattered +flock! All their souls are naked and open under his divining eye. +They need not to tell him where they ail, and of what sickness they +are nigh unto death. That food, he says, with some sternness over +their sick-bed, I warned you of it; I told you with all plainness that +many have died of eating that fruit! “We must be ready,” +Baxter continues, “to give advice to those that come to us with +cases of conscience. A minister is not only for public preaching, +but to be a known counsellor for his people’s souls as the lawyer +is for their estates, and the physician is for their bodies. And +because the people are grown unacquainted with this office of the ministry, +and their own necessity and duty herein, it belongeth to us to acquaint +them herewith, and to press them publicly to come to us for advice concerning +their souls. We must not only be willing of the trouble, but draw +it upon ourselves by inviting them hereto. To this end it is very +necessary to be acquainted with practical cases and able to assist them +in trying their states. One word of seasonable and prudent advice +hath done that good that many sermons would not have done.”</p> +<p>4. As he went on pounding and preparing his well-approved pill, +the (at the bottom of his heart) kind old leech talked encouragingly +to the mother and to her sick son, and said: “Come, come; after +all, do not he too much cast down. Had we lived in the days of +the old medicine, I would have been compounding a purge out of the blood +of a goat, and the ashes of an heifer, and the juice of hyssop. +But I have a far better medicine under my hands here. This moment +I will make you a purge to the purpose.” And then the learned +man, half-doctor, half-divine, chanted again the sacred incantation +as he bent over his pestle and mortar, saying: <i>Ex carne et sanguine +Christi</i>! Those shrewd old eyes soon saw that, in spite of +all their defences and all their denials, damage had been done to the +conscience and the heart that nothing would set right but a frank admission +of the evil that had been done, and a prompt submission to the regimen +appointed and the medicine prepared. And how often we ministers +puddle and peddle with goat’s blood and heifer’s ashes and +hyssop juice when we should instantly prescribe stern fasting and secret +prayer and long spaces of repentance, and then the body and the blood +of Christ. How often our people cheat us into healing their hurt +slightly! How often they succeed in putting us off, after we are +called in, with their own account of their cases, and set us out on +a wild-goose chase! I myself have more than once presented young +men in their trouble with apologetic books, University sermons, and +watered-down explanations of the Confession and the Catechism, when, +had I known all I came afterwards to know, I would have sent them Bunyan’s +<i>Sighs from Hell</i>. I have sent soul-sick women also <i>The +Bruised Reed</i>, and <i>The Mission of the Comforter</i> with sympathising +inscriptions, and sweet scriptures written inside, when, had I had Mr. +Skill’s keen eyes in my stupid head, I would have gone to them +with the total abstinence pledge in my one hand, and Jeremy Taylor’s +<i>Holy Living and Dying</i> in my other. “No diet but that +which is wholesome!” almost in anger answered the sick man’s +mother. “I tell you,” the honest leech replied, in +more anger, “this boy has been tampering with Beelzebub’s +orchard. And many have died of it!”</p> +<p>5. It was while all the rest of the House Beautiful were supping +on lamb and wine, and while there was such music in the House that made +Mercy exclaim over it with wonder—it was at the smell of the supper +and at the sound of the psalmody that Matthew’s gripes seized +upon him worse than ever. All the time the others sat late into +the night Matthew lay on the rack pulled to pieces. After William +Law’s death at King’s Cliffe, his executors found among +his most secret papers a prayer he had composed for his own alone use +on a certain communion day when he was self-debarred from the Lord’s +table. I do not know for certain just what fruit the young non-juror +had stolen out of Beelzebub’s orchard before that communion season; +but I can see that he was in poor Matthew’s exact experience that +communion night,—literally torn to pieces with agonies of conscience +while all his fellow-worshippers were at the table of the Lord. +While the psalms and hymns are being sung at the supper-table, lay your +ear to Law’s closet door. “Whilst all Thy faithful +servants are on this day offering to Thee the comfortable sacrifice +of the body and the blood of Christ, and feasting at that holy table +which Thou hast ordained for the refreshment, joy, and comfort of their +souls, I, unhappy wretch, full of guilt, am justly denied any share +of these comforts that are common to the Christian world. O my +God, I am an unclean worm, a dead dog, a stinking carcass, justly removed +from that society of saints who this day kneel about Thine altar. +But, oh! suffer me to look toward Thy holy Sanctuary; suffer my soul +again to be in the place where Thine honour dwelleth. Reject not +the sacrifice of a broken heart, and do Thou be with me in secret, though +I am not fit to appear in Thy public worship. Lord, if Thou wilt +Thou canst make me clean. Lord, speak but the word, and Thy servant +shall be healed.” It is the fruit of Beelzebub’s orchard. +Many have died thereof.</p> +<p>6. “Pray, sir, make me up twelve boxes of them; for if +I can get these, I will never take other physic.” “These +same pills,” he replied, “are good also to prevent diseases +as well as to cure when one is sick. But, good woman, thou must +take these pills no other way but as I have prescribed; for if you do, +they will do no good.” I have taken one illustration from +William Law’s life; I shall take another from that world of such +illustrations and so close. “O God, let me never see such +another day as this. Let the dreadful punishment of this day never +be out of my mind.” And it never was. For, after that +day in hell, Law never laid down his head on his pillow that he did +not seem to remember that dreadful day. William Law would have +satisfied Dr. Skill for a convalescent. For he never felt that +he had any right to touch the body and blood of Christ, either at communion +times, or a thousand times every day, till he had again got ready his +heart of true repentance. My brethren, self-destroyed out of Beelzebub’s +orchard, and all my brethren, live a life henceforth of true repentance. +Not out of the sins of your youth only, but out of the best, the most +watchful, and the most blameless day you ever live, distil your half-pint +of repentance every night before you sleep. For, as dear old Skill +said, unless you do, neither flesh nor blood of Christ, nor anything +else, will do you any genuine good.</p> +<h2>THE SHEPHERD BOY</h2> +<blockquote><p>“He humbled Himself.”—<i>Paul</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Now as they were going along and talking, they espied a boy +feeding his father’s sheep. The boy was in very mean clothes, +but of a very fresh and well-favoured countenance, and as he sat by +himself he sang. Hark, said Mr. Greatheart, to what the shepherd +boy saith. So they hearkened and he said:</p> +<blockquote><p> He that is down, needs fear no fall;<br /> +He that is low no pride:<br /> +He that is humble, ever shall<br /> +Have God to be his guide.</p> +<p> I am content with what I have,<br /> +Little be it or much:<br /> +And, Lord, contentment still I crave,<br /> +Because thou savest such.</p> +<p> Fulness to such a burden is<br /> +That go on pilgrimage:<br /> +Here little, and hereafter bliss,<br /> +Is best from age to age.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then said their guide, Do you hear him? I will dare say that +this boy lives a merrier life and wears more of that herb called Heart’s-ease +in his bosom than he that is clad in silk and velvet.”</p> +<p>Now, notwithstanding all that, nobody knew better than John Bunyan +knew, that no shepherd boy that ever lived on the face of the earth +ever sang that song; only one Boy ever sang that song, and He was not +the son of a shepherd at all, but the son of a carpenter. And, +saying that leads me on to say this before I begin, that I look for +a man of John Bunyan’s inventive and sanctified genius to arise +some day, and armed also to boot with all our latest and best New Testament +studies. When that sorely-needed man so arises he will take us +back to Nazareth where that carpenter’s Boy was brought up, and +he will let us see Him with our own eyes being brought up. He +will lead us into Mary’s house on Sabbath days, and into Joseph’s +workshop on week days, and he will show us the child Jesus, not so much +learning His letters and then putting on His carpenter’s clothes, +as learning obedience by the things that He every day suffered. +That choice author will show us our Lord, both before He had discovered +Himself to be our Lord, as well as after He had made that great discovery, +always clothing Himself with humility as with a garment; taking up His +yoke of meekness and lowly-mindedness every day, and never for one moment +laying it down. When some writer with as holy an imagination as +that of John Bunyan, and with as sweet an English style, and with a +New Testament scholarship of the first order so arises, and so addresses +himself to the inward life of our Lord, what a blessing to our children +that writer will be! For he will make them see and feel just what +all that was in which our Lord’s perfect humility consisted, and +how His perfect humility fulfilled itself in Him from day to day; up +through all His childhood days, school and synagogue days, workshop +and holy days, early manhood and mature manhood days; till He was so +meek in all His heart and so humble in all His mind that all men were +sent to Him to learn their meekness and their humility of Him. +I envy that gifted man the deep delight he will have in his work, and +the splendid reward he will have in the love and the debt of all coming +generations. Only, may he be really sent to us, and that soon! +Theodor Keim comes nearest a far-off glimpse of that eminent service +of any New Testament scholar I know. Jeremy Taylor and Thomas +Goodwin also, in their own time and in their own way, had occasional +inspirations toward this still-waiting treatment of the master-subject +of all learning and all genius—the inward sanctification, the +growth in grace, and then the self-discovery of the incarnate Son of +God. But, so let it please God, some contemporary scholar will +arise some day soon, combining in himself Goodwin’s incomparable +Christology, and Taylor’s incomparable eloquence, and Keim’s +incomparably digested learning, with John Bunyan’s incomparable +imagination and incomparable English style, and the waiting work will +be done, and theology for this life will take on its copestone. +In his absence, and till he comes, let us attempt a few annotations +to-night on this so-called shepherd boy’s song in the Valley of +Humiliation.</p> +<blockquote><p>He that is down, needs fear no fall.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The whole scenery of the surrounding valley is set before us in that +single eloquent stanza. The sweet-voiced boy sits well off the +wayside as he sings his song to himself. He looks up to the hill-tops +that hang over his valley, and every shining tooth of those many hill-tops +has for him its own evil legend. He thinks he sees a little heap +of bleaching bones just under where that eagle hangs and wheels and +screams. Not one traveller through these perilous parts in a thousand +gets down those cruel rocks unhurt; and many travellers have been irrecoverably +lost among those deadly rocks, and have never received Christian burial. +All the shepherds’ cottages and all the hostel supper-tables for +many miles round are full of terrible stories of the Hill Difficulty +and the Descent Dangerous. And thus it is that this shepherd boy +looks up with such fear at those sharp peaks and shining precipices, +and lifts his fresh and well-favoured countenance to heaven and sings +again: “He that is down, needs fear no fall.” Down +in his own esteem, that is. For this is a song of the heart rather +than of the highway. Down—safe, that is, from the steep +and slippery places of self-estimation, self-exaltation, self-satisfaction. +Down—so as to be delivered from all ambition and emulation and +envy. Down, and safe, thank God, from all pride, all high-mindedness, +and all stout-heartedness. Down from the hard and cruel hills, +and buried deep out of sight among those meadows where that herb grows +which is called Heart’s-ease. Down, where the green pastures +grow and the quiet waters flow. No, indeed; he that is down into +this sweet bottom needs fear no fall. For there is nowhere here +for a man to fall from. And, even if he did fall, he would only +fall upon a fragrance-breathing bed of lilies. The very herbs +and flowers here would conspire to hold him up. Many a day, as +He grew up, the carpenter’s son sat in that same valley and sang +that same song to His own humble and happy heart. He loved much +to be here. He loved also to walk these meadows, for He found +the air was pleasant. Methinks, He often said with Mercy, I am +as well in this valley as I have been anywhere else in My journey. +The place, methinks, suits with My spirit. I love to be in such +places where there is no rattling with coaches nor rumbling with wheels. +Methinks, also, here one may without much molestation be thinking what +he is, whence he came, and to what his King has called him.</p> +<blockquote><p>He that is low, no pride.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Low in his own eyes, that is. For pride goeth before destruction, +and a haughty spirit before a fall. Yes; but he who is low enough +already—none of the sure destructions that pride always works +shall ever come near to him. “The proud man,” says +Sir Henry Taylor, “is of all men the most vulnerable. ‘Who +calls?’ asks the old shepherd in <i>As You Like It</i>. +‘Your betters,’ is the insolent answer. And what is +the shepherd’s rejoinder? ‘Else are they very wretched.’ +By what retort, reprisal, or repartee could it have been made half so +manifest that the insult had lighted upon armour of proof? Such +is the invincible independence and invulnerability of humility.”</p> +<blockquote><p>He that is humble ever shall<br /> + Have God to be his guide.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>For thus saith the high and holy One that inhabiteth eternity, whose +name is Holy: I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that +is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the heart of the humble, +and to revive the heart of the contrite ones . . . All those things +hath Mine hand made, but to this man will I look, saith the Lord, even +to him that is poor and of a contrite spirit, and who trembleth at My +word . . . Though the Lord be high, yet hath He respect unto the lowly; +but the proud He knoweth afar off . . . Likewise, ye younger, submit +yourselves unto the elder. Yea, all of you be subject one to another, +and be clothed with humility; for God resisteth the proud and giveth +grace to the humble . . . Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes +lofty, neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too +high for me. Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child +that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child . . +. Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in +heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For My yoke is +easy and My burden is light.</p> +<blockquote><p>I am content with what I have,<br /> + Little be it, or much:<br /> +And, Lord, contentment still I crave,<br /> + Because thou savest such.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The only thing this sweet singer is discontented with is his own +contentment. He will not be content as long as he has a shadow +of discontent left in his heart. And how blessed is such holy +discontent! For, would you know, asks Law, who is the greatest +saint in all the world? Well, it is not he who prays most or fasts +most; it is not he who gives most alms or is most eminent for temperance, +chastity, or justice. But it is he who is always thankful to God, +who wills everything that God willeth, who receives everything as an +instance of God’s goodness, and has a heart always ready to praise +God for it. “Perhaps the shepherd’s boy,” says +Thomas Scott, “may refer to the obscure and quiet stations of +some pastors over small congregations, who live almost unknown to their +brethren, but are in a measure useful and very comfortable.” +Perhaps he does. And, whether he does or no, at any rate such +a song will suit some of our brethren very well as they go about among +their few and far-off flocks. They are not church leaders or popular +preachers. There is not much rattling with coaches or rumbling +with wheels at their church door. But, then, methinks, they have +their compensation. They are without much molestation. They +can be all the more thinking what they are, whence they came, and to +what their King has called them. Let them be happy in their shut-in +valleys. For I will dare to say that they wear more of that herb +called Heart’s-ease in their bosom than those ministers do they +are sometimes tempted to emulate. I will add in this place that +to the men who live and trace these grounds the Lord hath left a yearly +revenue to be faithfully paid them at certain seasons for their maintenance +by the way, and for their further encouragement to go on in their pilgrimage.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here little, and hereafter bliss,<br /> +Is best from age to age.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But, now, from the shepherd boy and from his valley and his song, +let us go on without any more poetry or parable to look our own selves +full in the face and to ask our own hearts whether they are the hearts +of really humble-minded and New Testament men or no. Dr. Newman, +“that subtle, devout man,” as Dr. Duncan calls him, says +that “humility is one of the most difficult of virtues both to +attain and to ascertain. It lies,” he says, “close +upon the heart itself, and its tests are exceedingly delicate and subtle. +Its counterfeits abound.” Most true. And yet humility +is not intended for experts in morals only, or for men of a rare religious +genius only. The plainest of men, the least skilled and the most +unlettered of men, may not only excel in humility, but may also be permitted +to know that they are indeed planted, and are growing slowly but surely +in that grace of all graces. No doubt our Lord had, so to describe +it, the most delicate and the most subtle of human minds; and, no doubt +whatever, He had the most practised skill in reading off what lay closest +to His own heart. And, then, it was just His attainment of the +most perfect humility, and then His absolute ascertainment of the same, +that enabled Him to say: Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me. +At the same time, divine as the grace is, and divine as the insight +is that is able to trace it out in all its exquisite refinements of +thought and feeling in the sanctified soul, yet humility is a human +virtue after all, and it is open to all men to attain to it and intelligently +and lovingly to exercise it. The simplest and the least philosophical +soul now in this house may apply to himself some of the subtlest and +most sensitive tests of humility, as much as if he were Dr. Duncan or +Dr. Newman themselves; and may thus with all assurance of hope know +whether he is a counterfeit and a castaway or no.</p> +<p>Take this test for one, then. Explain this text to me: Phil. +ii. 3—“In lowliness of mind let each esteem other better +than himself.” Explain and illustrate that. Not from +a commentary, but straight out from your own heart. What does +your heart make of that scripture? Does your heart turn away from +that scripture almost in anger at it? Do you say you are certain +that there must be some other explanation of it than that? Do +you hold that this is just another of Paul’s perpetual hyperboles, +and that the New Testament is the last book in the world to be taken +as it reads? Yes; both bold and subtle father that he is: counterfeits +abound!</p> +<p>Another much blunter test, but, perhaps, a sufficiently sharp test, +is this: How do you receive correction and instruction? Does your +heart meekly and spontaneously and naturally take to correction and +instruction as the most natural and proper thing possible to you? +And do you immediately, and before all men, show forth and exhibit the +correction and the instruction? Or, does this rather take place? +Does your heart beat, and swell, and boil, and boil over at him who +dares to correct or counsel you? If this is a fair test to put +our humility to, how little humility there is among us! How few +men any of us could name among our friends to whom we would risk telling +all the things that behind their backs we point out continually to others? +We are terrified to face their pride. We once did it, and we are +not to do it again, if we can help it! Let a man not have too +many irons in the fire; let him examine himself just by these two tests +for the time—what he thinks of himself, and what he thinks of +those who attempt, and especially before other people, to set him right. +And after these two tests have been satisfied, others will no doubt +be supplied till that so humble man is made very humility itself.</p> +<p>And now, in the hope that there may be one or two men here who are +really and not counterfeitly in earnest to clothe themselves with humility +before God and man, let them take these two looms to themselves out +of which whole webs of such garments will be delivered to them every +day—their past life, and their present heart. With a past +life like ours, my brethren—and everyman knows his own—pride +is surely the maddest state of mind that any of us can allow ourselves +in. The first king of Bohemia kept his clouted old shoes ever +in his sight, that he might never forget that he had once been a ploughman. +And another wise king used to drink out of a coarse cup at table, and +excused himself to his guests that he had made the rude thing in his +rude potter days. Look with Primislaus and Agathocles at the hole +of the pit out of which you also have been dug; look often enough, deep +enough, and long enough, and you will be found passing up through the +Valley of Humiliation singing:</p> +<blockquote><p>“With us He dealt not as we sinn’d,<br /> +Nor did requite our ill!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Another excellent use of the past is, if you are equal to it, to +call yourself aloud sometimes, or in writing, some of the names that +other people who know your past are certainly calling you. It +is a terrible discipline, but it is the terror of the Lord, and He will +not let it hurt you too much. I was before a blasphemer, and a +persecutor, and injurious, says Paul. And, to show Titus, his +gospel-son, the way, he said to him: We ourselves were sometimes foolish, +disobedient, deceived, serving divers lusts and pleasures, living in +malice and envy, hateful, and hating one another. And John Bunyan +calls himself a blackguard, and many other worse names; only he swears +that neither with his soldiering nor with his tinkering hands did he +ever plash down Beelzebub’s orchard. But if you have done +that, or anything like that, call yourself aloud by your true name on +your knees to-night. William Law testifies, after five-and-twenty +years’ experience of it, that he never heard of any harm that +he had done to any in his house by his habit of singing his secret psalms +aloud, and sometimes, ere ever he was aware, bursting out in his penitential +prayers.</p> +<p>And, then, how any man with a man’s heart in his bosom for +a single day can escape being the chief of sinners, and consequently +the humblest of men for all the rest of his life on earth, passes my +comprehension! How a spark of pride can live in such a hell as +every human heart is would be past belief, did we not know that God +avenges sin by more sin; avenges Himself on a wicked and a false heart +by more wickedness and more falsehood, all ending in Satanic pride.</p> +<p>Too long as I have kept you in this valley to-night, I dare not let +you out of it till I have shared with you a few sentences on evangelical +humiliation out of that other so subtle and devout man, Jonathan Edwards. +But what special kind of humiliation is evangelical humiliation? you +will ask. Hear, then, what this master in Israel says. “Evangelical +humiliation is the sense that a Christian man has of his own utter insufficiency, +utter despicableness, and utter odiousness; with an always answerable +frame of heart. This humiliation is peculiar to the true saints. +It arises from the special influence of the Spirit of God implanting +and exercising supernatural and divine principles; and it is accompanied +with a sense of the transcendent beauty of divine things. And, +thus, God’s true saints all more or less see their own odiousness +on account of sin, and the exceedingly hateful nature of all sin. +The very essence of evangelical humiliation consists in such humility +as becomes a man in himself exceeding sinful but now under a dispensation +of grace. It consists in a mean esteem of himself, as in himself +nothing, and altogether contemptible and odious. This, indeed, +is the greatest and the most essential thing in true religion.” +And so on through a whole chapter of beaten gold. To which noble +chapter I shall only add that such teaching is as sweet, as strengthening, +and as reassuring to the truly Christian heart as it is bitter and hateful +to the counterfeit heart.</p> +<h2>OLD HONEST</h2> +<blockquote><p>“An honest heart.”—<i>Our Lord</i>.</p> +<p>Next tell them of Old Honest, who you found<br /> +With his white hairs treading the pilgrim’s ground;<br /> +Yea, tell them how plain-hearted this man was,<br /> +How after his good Lord he bare his cross:<br /> +Perhaps with some grey head this may prevail,<br /> +With Christ to fall in love, and sin bewail.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>You would have said that no pilgrim to the Celestial City could possibly +have come from a worse place, or a more unlikely place, than was that +place from which Christian and Christiana and Matthew and Mercy had +come. And yet so it was. For Old Honest, this most excellent +and every way most delightful old saint, hailed from a far less likely +place than even the City of Destruction. For he came, this rare +old soul, of all places in the world, from the Town of Stupidity. +So he tells us himself. And, partly to explain to us the humiliating +name of his native town, and partly to exhibit himself as a wonder to +many, the frank old gentleman goes on to tell us that his birthplace +actually lies four degrees further away from the sun than does the far-enough +away City of Destruction itself. So that you see this grey-haired +saint is all that he always said he was—a living witness to the +fact that his Lord is able to save to the uttermost, and to gather in +His Father’s elect from the utmost corner of the land. Men +are mountains of ice in my country, said Old Honest. I was one +of the biggest of those icebergs myself, he said. No man was ever +more cold and senseless to divine things than I was, and still sometimes +am. It takes the Sun of Righteousness all His might to melt the +men of my country. But that He can do it when He rises to do it, +and when He puts out His full strength to do it—Look at me! said +the genial old soul.</p> +<p>We have to construct this pilgrim’s birth and boyhood and youth +from his after-character and conversation; and we have no difficulty +at all in doing that. For, if the child is the father of the man, +then the man must be the outcome of the child, and we can have no hesitation +in picturing to ourselves what kind of child and boy and young man dear +Old Honest must always have been. He never was a bright child, +bright and beaming old man as he is. He was always slow and heavy +at his lessons; indeed, I would not like to repeat to you all the bad +names that his schoolmasters sometimes in their impatience called the +stupid child. Only, this was to be said of him, that dulness of +uptake and disappointment of his teachers were the worst things about +this poor boy; he was not so ill-behaved as many were who were made +more of. When his wits began to waken up after he had come some +length he had no little leeway to make up in his learning; but that +was the chief drawback to Old Honest’s pilgrimage. For one +thing, no young man had a cleaner record behind him than our Honest +had; his youthful garments were as unspotted as ever any pilgrim’s +garments were. Even as a young man he had had the good sense to +keep company with one Good-conscience; and that friend of his youth +kept true to Old Honest all his days, and even lent him his hand and +helped him over the river at last. In his own manly, hearty, blunt, +breezy, cheery, and genial way Old Honest is a pilgrim we could ill +have spared. Old Honest has a warm place all for himself in every +good and honest heart.</p> +<p>“Now, a little before the pilgrims stood an oak, and under +it when they came up to it they found an old pilgrim fast asleep; they +knew that he was a pilgrim by his clothes and his staff and his girdle. +So the guide, Mr. Greatheart, awaked him, and the old gentleman, as +he lifted up his eyes, cried out: What’s the matter? Who +are you? And what is your business here? Come, man, said +the guide, be not so hot; here is none but friends! Yet the old +man gets up and stands upon his guard, and will know of them what they +are.” That weather-beaten oak-tree under which we first +meet with Old Honest is an excellent emblem of the man. When he +sat down to rest his old bones that day he did not look out for a bank +of soft moss or for a bed of fragrant roses; that knotted oak-tree alone +had power to draw down under its sturdy trunk this heart of human oak. +It was a sight to see those thin grey haffets making a soft pillow of +that jutting knee of gnarled and knotty oak, and with his well-worn +quarterstaff held close in a hand all wrinkled skin and scraggy bone. +And from that day till he waved his quarterstaff when half over the +river and shouted, Grace reigns! there is no pilgrim of them all that +affords us half the good humour, sagacity, continual entertainment, +and brave encouragement we enjoy through this same old Christian gentleman.</p> +<p>1. Now, let us try to learn two or three lessons to-night from +Old Honest, his history, his character, and his conversation. +And, to begin with, let all those attend to Old Honest who are slow +in the uptake in the things of religion. O fools and slow of heart! +exclaimed our Lord at the two travellers to Emmaus. And this was +Old Honest to the letter when he first entered on the pilgrimage life; +he was slow as sloth itself in the things of the soul. I have +often wondered, said Greatheart, that any should come from your place; +for your town is worse than is the City of Destruction itself. +Yes, answered Honest, we lie more off from the sun, and so are more +cold and senseless. And his biographer here annotates on the margin +this reflection: “Stupefied ones are worse than merely carnal.” +So they are; though it takes some insight to see that, and some courage +to carry that through. Now, to be downright stupid in a man’s +natural intellects is sad enough, but to be stupid in the intellects +of the soul and of the spirit is far more sad. You will often +see this if you have any eyes in your head, and are not one of the stupid +people yourself. You will see very clever people in the intellects +of the head who are yet as stupid as the beasts in the stall in the +far nobler intellects of the heart. You will meet every day with +men and women who have received the best college education this city +can give them, who are yet stark stupid in everything that belongs to +true religion. They are quick to find out the inefficiency of +a university chair, or a schoolmaster’s desk, but they know no +more of what a New Testament pulpit has been set up for than the stupidest +sot in the city. The Divine Nature, human nature, sin, grace, +redemption, salvation, holiness, heart-corruption, spiritual life, prayer, +communion with God, a conversation and a treasure in heaven,—to +all these noblest of studies and divinest of exercises they are as a +beast before God. When you come upon a man who is a sot in his +senses and in his understanding, you expect him to be the same in his +spiritual life. But to meet with an expert in science, a classical +scholar, an author or a critic in letters, a leader in political or +ecclesiastical or municipal life, and yet to discover that he is as +stupid as any sot in the things of his own soul, is one of the saddest +and most disheartening sights you can see. Much sadder and much +more disheartening than to see stairs and streets of people who can +neither read nor write. And yet our city is full of such stupid +people. You will find as utter spiritual stupidity among the rich +and the lettered and the refined of this city as you will find among +the ignorant and the vicious and the criminal classes. Is stupidity +a sin? asks Thomas in his Forty-Sixth Question. And the great +schoolman answers himself, “Stupidity may come of natural incapacity, +in which case it is not a sin. But it may come, on the other hand, +of a man immersing his soul in the things of this world so as to shut +out all the things of God and of the world to come, in which case stupidity +is a deadly sin.” Now, from all that, you must already see +what you are to do in order to escape from your inborn and superinduced +stupidity. You are, like Old Honest, to open your gross, cold, +senseless heart to the Sun of Righteousness, and you are to take care +every day to walk abroad under His beams. You are to emigrate +south for your life, as our well-to-do invalids do, to where the sun +shines in his strength all the day. You are to choose such a minister, +buy and read such a literature, cultivate such an acquaintanceship, +and follow out such a new life of habits and practices as shall bring +you into the full sunshine, till your heart of ice is melted, and your +stupefied soul is filled with spiritual sensibility. For, “were +a man a mountain of ice,” said Old Honest, “yet if the Sun +of Righteousness will arise upon him his frozen heart shall feel a thaw; +and thus hath it been with me.” Your poets and your philosophers +have no resource against the stupidity that opposes them. “Even +the gods,” they complain, “fight unvictorious against stupidity.” +But your divines and your preachers have hope beside the dullest and +the stupidest and even the most imbruted. They point themselves +and their slowest and dullest-witted hearers to Old Honest, this rare +old saint; and they set up their pulpit with hope and boldness on the +very causeway of the town of Stupidity itself.</p> +<p>2. In the second place,—on this fine old pilgrim’s +birth and boyhood and youth. The apostle says that there is no +real difference between one of us and another; and what he says on that +subject must be true. No; there is really no difference compared +with the Celestial City whether a pilgrim is born in Stupidity, in Destruction, +in Vanity, or in Darkland. At the same time, nature, as well as +grace, is of God, and He maketh, when it pleaseth Him, one man to differ +in some most important respects from another. You see such differences +every day. Some children are naturally, and from their very infancy, +false and cruel, mean and greedy; while their brothers and sisters are +open and frank and generous. One son in a house is born a vulgar +snob, and one daughter a shallow-hearted and shameless little flirt; +while another brother is a born gentleman, and another sister a born +saint. Some children are tender-hearted, easily melted, and easily +moulded; while others in the same family are hard as stone and cold +as ice. Sometimes a noble and a truly Christian father will have +all his days to weep and pray over a son who is his shame; and then, +in the next generation, a grandson will be born to him who will more +than recover the lost image of his father’s father. And +so is it sometimes with father Adam’s family. Here and there, +in Darkland, in Destruction, and in Stupidity, a child will be born +with a surprising likeness to the first Adam in his first estate. +That happy child at his best is but the relics and ruins of his first +father; at the same time, in him the relics are more abundant and the +ruins more easy to trace out. And little Honest was such a well-born +child. For, Stupidity and all, there was a real inborn and inbred +integrity, uprightness, straightforwardness, and nobleness about this +little and not over-clever man-child. And, on the principle of +“to him that hath shall be given,” there was something like +a special providence that hedged this boy about from the beginning. +“I girded thee though thou hast not known Me” was never +out of Old Honest’s mouth as often as he remembered the days of +his own youth and heard other pilgrims mourning over theirs. “I +have surnamed thee though thou hast not known Me,” he would say +to himself in his sleep. Slow-witted as he was, no one had been +able to cheat young Honest out of his youthful integrity. He had +not been led, and he had led no one else, into the paths of the destroyer. +He could say about himself all that John Bunyan so boldly and so bluntly +said about himself when his enemies charged him with youthful immorality. +He left the town in nobody’s debt. He left the print of +his heels on no man or woman or child when he took his staff in his +hand to be a pilgrim. The upward walk of too many pilgrims is +less a walk than an escape and a flight. The avenger of men’s +blood and women’s honour has hunted many men deep into heaven’s +innermost gate. But Old Honest took his time. He walked, +if ever pilgrim walked, all the way with an easy mind. He lay +down to sleep under the oaks on the wayside, and smiled like a child +in his sleep. And, when he was suddenly awaked, instead of crying +out for mercy and starting to his heels, he grasped his staff and demanded +even of an armed man what business he had to break in on an honest pilgrim’s +midday repose! The King of the Celestial City had a few names +even in Stupidity which had not defiled their garments, and Old Honest +was one of them. And all his days his strength was as the strength +of ten, because his heart was pure.</p> +<p>3. At the same time, honesty is not holiness; and no one knew +that better than did this honest old saint. When any one spoke +to Old Honest about his blameless youth, the look in his eye made them +keep at arm’s-length as he growled out that without holiness no +man shall see God! Writing from Aberdeen to John Bell of Hentoun, +Samuel Rutherford says: “I beseech you, in the Lord Jesus, to +mind your country above; and now, when old age is come upon you, advise +with Christ before you put your foot into the last ship and turn your +back on this life. Many are beguiled with this that they are free +of scandalous sins. But common honesty will not take men to heaven. +Alas! that men should think that ever they met with Christ who had never +a sick night or a sore heart for sin. I have known a man turn +a key in a door and lock it by.” “I can,” says +John Owen, “and I do, commend moral virtues and honesty as much +as any man ought to do, and I am sure there is no grace where they are +not. Yet to make anything to be our holiness that is not derived +from Jesus Christ,—I know not what I do more abhor.” +“Are morally honest and sober men qualified for the Lord’s +Supper?” asks John Flavel. “No; civility and morality +do not make a man a worthy communicant. They are not the wedding +garment; but regenerating grace and faith in the smallest measure are.” +“My outside may be honest,” said this honest old pilgrim, +“while all the time my heart is most unholy. My life is +open to all men, but I must hide my heart with Christ in God.”</p> +<p>4. And then this racy-hearted old bachelor was as full of delight +in children, and in children’s parties, with all their sweetmeats +and nuts and games and riddles,—quite as much so—as if he +had been their very grandfather himself. Nay, this rosy-hearted +old rogue was as inveterate a matchmaker as if he had been a mother +of the world with a houseful of daughters on her hands and with the +sons of the nobility dangling around. It would make you wish you +could kiss the two dear old souls, Gaius the innkeeper and Old Honest +his guest, if you would only read how they laid their grey heads together +to help forward the love-making of Matthew and Mercy. Yes, it +would be a great pity, said Old Honest,—thinking with a sigh of +his own childless old age,—it would be a great pity if this excellent +family of our sainted brother should fail for want of children, and +die out like mine. And the two old plotters went together to the +mother of the bridegroom, and told her with an aspect of authority that +she must put no obstacle in her son’s way, but take Mercy as soon +as convenient into a closer relation to herself. And Gaius said +that he for his part would give the marriage supper. And I shall +make no will, said Honest, but hand all I have over to Matthew my son. +This is the way, said Old Honest; and he skipped and smiled and kissed +the cheek of the aged mother and said, Then thy two children shall preserve +thee and thy husband a posterity in the earth! Then he turned +to the boys and he said, Matthew, be thou like Matthew the publican, +not in vice, but in virtue. Samuel, he said, be thou like Samuel +the prophet, a man of faith and of prayer. Joseph, said he, be +thou like Joseph in Potiphar’s house, chaste, and one that flees +from temptation. And James, be thou like James the Just, and like +James the brother of our Lord. Mercy, he said, is thy name, and +by mercy shalt thou be sustained and carried through all thy difficulties +that shall assault thee in the way, till thou shalt come thither where +thou shalt look the Fountain of Mercy in the face with comfort. +And all this while the guide, Mr. Greatheart, was very much pleased, +and smiled upon the nimble old gentleman.</p> +<p>5. “Then it came to pass a while after that there was +a post in the town that inquired for Mr. Honest. So he came to +his house where he was, and delivered to his hands these lines, Thou +art commanded to be ready against this day seven night, to present thyself +before thy Lord at His Father’s house. And for a token that +my message is true, all thy daughters of music shall be brought low. +Then Mr. Honest called for his friends and said unto them, I die, but +shall make no will. As for my honesty, it shall go with me: let +him that comes after me be told of this. When the day that he +was to be gone was come he addressed himself to go over the river. +Now, the river at that time overflowed the banks at some places. +But Mr. Honest in his lifetime had spoken to one Good-conscience to +meet him there, the which he also did, and lent him his hand, and so +helped him over. The last words of Mr. Honest were, Grace reigns! +So he left the world.” Look at that picture and now look +at this: “They then addressed themselves to the water, and, entering, +Christian began to sink, and crying out to his good friend Hopeful, +he said, I sink in deep waves, the billows go over my head, all His +waters go over me. Then said the other, Be of good cheer, my brother, +I feel the bottom, and it is good. Then said Christian, Ah, my +friend, the sorrows of death have compassed me about; I shall not see +the land that flows with milk and honey. And with that a great +horror and darkness fell upon Christian, so that he could not see before +him; and all the words that he spoke still tended to discover that he +had horror of mind lest he should die in that river and never obtain +entrance in at the gate. Here also, as they that stood by perceived, +he was much in the troublesome thoughts of the sins that he had committed, +both since and before he began to be a pilgrim. ’Twas also +observed that he was troubled with apparitions of hobgoblins and evil +spirits. Hopeful, therefore, had much ado to keep his brother’s +head above water. Yea, sometimes he would be quite gone down, +and then ere a while he would rise up again half dead.” +My brethren, all my brethren, be not deceived; God is not mocked; for +whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap. Whom the Lord +loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom He receiveth. +Thou, O God, wast a God that forgavest them, but Thou tookest vengeance +on their inventions.</p> +<h2>MR. FEARING</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Happy is the man that feareth alway.”—<i>Solomon</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>For humour, for pathos, for tenderness, for acute and sympathetic +insight at once into nature and grace, for absolutely artless literary +skill, and for the sweetest, most musical, and most exquisite English, +show me another passage in our whole literature to compare with John +Bunyan’s portrait of Mr. Fearing. You cannot do it. +I defy you to do it. Spenser, who, like John Bunyan, wrote an +elaborate allegory, says: It is not in me. Take all Mr. Fearing’s +features together, and even Shakespeare himself has no such heart-touching +and heart-comforting character. Addison may have some of the humour +and Lamb some of the tenderness; but, then, they have not the religion. +Scott has the insight into nature, but he has no eye at all for grace; +while Thackeray, who, in some respects, comes nearest to John Bunyan +of them all, would be the foremost to confess that he is not worthy +to touch the shoe-latchet of the Bedford tinker. As Dr. Duncan +said in his class one day when telling us to read Augustine’s +Autobiography and Halyburton’s:—“But,” he said, +“be prepared for this, that the tinker beats them all!” +“Methinks,” says Browning, “in this God speaks, no +tinker hath such powers.”</p> +<p>Now, as they walked along together, the guide asked the old gentleman +if he knew one Mr. Fearing that came on pilgrimage out of his parts. +“Yes,” said Mr. Honest, “very well. He was a +man that had the root of the matter in him; but he was one of the most +troublesome pilgrims that ever I met with in all my days.” +“I perceive you knew him,” said the guide, “for you +have given a very right character of him.” “Knew him!” +exclaimed Honest, “I was a great companion of his; I was with +him most an end. When he first began to think of what would come +upon us hereafter, I was with him.” “And I was his +guide,” said Greatheart, “from my Master’s house to +the gates of the Celestial City.” “Then,” said +Mr. Honest, “it seems he was well at last.” “Yes, +yes,” answered the guide, “I never had any doubt about him; +he was a man of a choice spirit, only he was always kept very low, and +that made his life so burdensome to himself and so troublesome to others. +He was, above many, tender of sin; he was so afraid of doing injuries +to others that he would often deny himself of that which was lawful +because he would not offend.” “But what,” asked +Honest, “should be the reason that such a good man should be all +his days so much in the dark?” “There are two sorts +of reasons for it,” said the guide; “one is, the wise God +will have it so: some must pipe and some must weep. Now, Mr. Fearing +was one that played upon this base. He and his fellows sound the +sackbut, whose notes are more doleful than the notes of other music +are. Though, indeed, some say that the base is the ground of music. +And, for my part, I care not at all for that profession that begins +not with heaviness of mind. The first string that the musician +usually touches is the base when he intends to put all in tune. +God also plays upon this string first when He sets the soul in tune +for Himself. Only, here was the imperfection of Mr. Fearing, that +he could play upon no other music but this till toward his latter end.”</p> +<p>1. Take Mr. Fearing, then, to begin with, at the Slough of +Despond. Christian and Pliable, they being heedless, did both +fall into that bog. But Mr. Fearing, whatever faults you may think +he had—and faults, too, that you think you could mend in him—at +any rate, he was never heedless. Everybody has his fault to find +with poor Mr. Fearing. Everybody blames poor Mr. Fearing. +Everybody can improve upon poor Mr. Fearing. But I will say again +for Mr. Fearing that he was never heedless. Had Peter been on +the road at that period he would have stood up for Mr. Fearing, and +would have taken his judges and would have said to them, with some scorn—Go +to, and pass the time of your sojourning here with something of the +same silence and the same fear! Christian’s excuse for falling +into the Slough was that fear so followed him that he fled the next +way, and so fell in. But Mr. Fearing had no such fear behind him +in his city as Christian had in his. All Mr. Fearing’s fears +were within himself. If you can take up the distinction between +actual and indwelling sin, between guilt and corruption, you have already +in that the whole key to Mr. Fearing. He was blamed and counselled +and corrected and pitied and patronised by every morning-cloud and early-dew +neophyte, while all the time he lived far down from the strife of tongues +where the root of the matter strikes its deep roots still deeper every +day. “It took him a whole month,” tells Greatheart, +“to face the Slough. But he would not go back neither. +Till, one sunshiny morning, nobody ever knew how, he ventured, and so +got over. But the fact of the matter is,” said the shrewd-headed +guide, “Mr. Fearing had, I think, a slough of despond in his own +mind; and a slough that he carried everywhere with him.” +Yes, that was it. Greatheart in that has hit the nail on the head. +With one happy stroke he has given us the whole secret of poor Mr. Fearing’s +life-long trouble. Just so; it was the slough in himself that +so kept poor Mr. Fearing back. This poor pilgrim, who had so little +to fear in his past life, had yet so much scum and filth, spume and +mire in his present heart, that how to get on the other side of that +cost him not a month’s roaring only, but all the months and all +the years till he went over the River not much above wet-shod. +And, till then, not twenty million cart-loads of wholesome instructions, +nor any number of good and substantial steps, would lift poor Mr. Fearing +over the ditch that ran so deep and so foul continually within himself. +“Yes, he had, I think, a slough of despond in his mind, a slough +that he carried everywhere with him, or else he never could have been +the man he was.” I, for one, thank the great-hearted guide +for that fine sentence.</p> +<p>2. It was a sight to see poor Mr. Fearing at the wicket gate. +“Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” He read +the inscription over the gate a thousand times, but every time he read +it his slough-filled heart said to him, Yes, but that is not for such +as you. Pilgrim after pilgrim came up the way, read the writing, +knocked, and was taken in; but still Mr. Fearing stood back, shaking +and shrinking. At last he ventured to take hold of the hammer +that hung on the gate and gave with it a small rap such as a mouse might +make. But small as the sound was, the Gatekeeper had had his eye +on his man all the time out of his watch-window; and before Mr. Fearing +had time to turn and run, Goodwill had him by the collar. But +that sudden assault only made Mr. Fearing sink to the earth, faint and +half-dead. “Peace be to thee, O trembling man!” said +Goodwill. “Come in, and welcome!” When he did +venture in, Mr. Fearing’s face was as white as a sheet. +You would have said that an officer had caught a thief if you had seen +poor Mr. Fearing hiding his face, and the Gatekeeper hauling him in. +And not all the entertainment for which the Gate was famous, nor all +the encouragement that Goodwill was able to speak, could make terrified +Mr. Fearing for once to smile. A more hard-to-entertain pilgrim, +all the Gate declared when he had gone, they had never had in their +hospitable house.</p> +<p>3. “So he came,” said the guide, “till he +came to our House; but as he behaved himself at the Gate, so he did +at my Master the Interpreter’s door. He lay about in the +cold a good while before he would adventure to call. Yet he would +not go back neither. And the nights were cold and long then. +At last I think I looked out of the window, and perceiving a man to +be up and down about the door, I went out to him, and asked what he +was; but, poor man, the water stood in his eyes. So I perceived +what he wanted. I went in, therefore, and told it in the house, +and we showed the thing to our Lord. So He sent me out again to +entreat him to come in, but I dare say I had hard work to do it. +At last he came in, and I will say that for my Lord, He carried it wonderful +lovingly to Mr. Fearing. There were but a few good bits at the +table, but some of it was laid upon his trencher.” In this +way the guide tells us his first introduction to Mr. Fearing, and how +Mr. Fearing behaved himself in the Interpreter’s House. +For instance, in the parlour full of dust, when the Interpreter said +that the dust is original sin and inward corruption, you would have +thought that the Interpreter had stabbed poor Mr. Fearing to the heart, +so did he break out and weep. Before the damsel could come with +the pitcher, Mr. Fearing’s eyes alone would have laid the dust, +they were such a fountain of tears. When he saw Passion and Patience, +each one in his chair—“I am that child in rags,” said +Mr. Fearing; “I have already received all my good things!” +Also, at the wall where the fire burned because oil was poured into +it from the other side, he perversely turned that fire also against +himself. And when they came to the man in the iron cage, you could +not have told whether the miserable man inside the cage or the miserable +man outside of it sighed the loudest. And so on, through all the +significant rooms. The spider-room overwhelmed him altogether, +till his sobs and the beating of his breast were heard all over the +house. The robin also when gobbling up spiders he made an emblem +of himself, and the tree that was rotten at the heart,—till the +Interpreter’s patience with this so perverse pilgrim was fairly +worn out. So the Interpreter shut up his significant rooms, and +had this so troublesome pilgrim into his own chamber, and there carried +it so tenderly to Mr. Fearing that at last he did seem to have taken +some little heart of grace. “And then we,” said Greatheart, +“set forward, and I went before him; but the man was of few words, +only he would often sigh aloud.”</p> +<p>4. “Dumpish at the House Beautiful” is his biographer’s +not very respectful comment on the margin of the history. There +were too many merry-hearted damsels running up and down that house for +Mr. Fearing. He could not lift his eyes but one of those too-tripping +maidens was looking at him. He could not stir a foot but he suddenly +ran against a talking and laughing bevy of them. There was one +thing he loved above everything, and that was to overhear the talk that +went on at that season in that house about the City above, and about +the King of that City, and about His wonderful ways with pilgrims, and +the entertainment they all got who entered that City. But to get +a word out of Mr. Fearing upon any of these subjects,—all the +king’s horses could not have dragged it out of him. Only, +the screen was always seen to move during such conversations, till it +soon came to be known to all the house who was behind the screen. +And the talkers only talked a little louder as the screen moved, and +took up, with a smile to one another, another and a yet more comforting +topic.</p> +<p>The Rarity Rooms also were more to Mr. Fearing than his necessary +food. He would be up in the morning and waiting at the doors of +those rooms before the keepers had come with their keys. And they +had to tell him that the candles were to be put out at night before +he would go away. He was always reading, as if he had never read +it before, the pedigree of the Lord of the Hill. Moses’ +rod, Shamgar’s goad, David’s sling and stone, and what not—he +laughed and danced and sang like a child around these ancient tables. +The armoury-room also held him, where were the swords, and shields, +and helmets, and breast-plates, and shoes that would not wear out. +You would have thought you had your man all right as long as you had +him alone among these old relics; but, let supper be ready, and the +house gathered, and Mr. Fearing was as dumpish as ever. Eat he +would not, drink he would not, nor would he sit at the same table with +those who ate and drank with such gladness. I remembered Mr. Fearing +at the House Beautiful when I was present at a communion season some +time back in Ross-shire. The church was half full of Mr. Fearing’s +close kindred that communion morning. For, all that the minister +himself could do, and all that the assisting minister could do—no! +to the table those self-examined, self-condemned, fear-filled souls +would not come. The two ministers, like Mr. Greatheart’s +Master, carried it wonderful lovingly with those poor saints that day; +but those who are in deed, and not in name only, passing the time of +their sojourning here in fear—they cannot all at once be lifted +above all their fears, even by the ablest action sermons, or by the +most wise and tender table-addresses. And, truth to tell, though +you will rebuke me all the way home to-night for saying it, my heart +sat somewhat nearer to those old people who were perhaps a little too +dumpish in their repentance and their faith and their hope that morning, +than it did to those who took to the table with a light heart. +I know all your flippant cant about gospel liberty and against Highland +introspection, as you call it—as well as all your habitual neglect +of a close and deep self-examination, as Paul called it; but I tell +you all to-night that it would be the salvation of your soul if you +too worked your way up to every returning Lord’s table with much +more fear and much more trembling. Let a man examine himself, +Saxon as well as Celt, in Edinburgh as well as in Ross-shire, and so +let him eat of that flesh and drink of that blood. “These +pills,” said Mr. Skill, “are to be taken three at a time +fasting in half a quarter of a pint of the tears of repentance; these +pills are good to prevent diseases, as well as to cure when one is sick. +Yea, I dare say it, and stand to it, that if a man will but use this +physic as he should, it will make him live for ever. But thou +must give these pills no other way but as I have prescribed; for, if +you do, they will do no good.” “Then he and I set +forward,” said the guide, “and I went before; but my man +was of but few words, only he would often sigh aloud.”</p> +<p>5. As to the Hill Difficulty, that was no stick at all to Mr. +Fearing; and as for the lions, he pulled their whiskers and snapped +his fingers in their dumfoundered faces. For you must know that +Mr. Fearing’s trouble was not about such things as these at all; +his only fear was about his acceptance at last. He beat Mr. Greatheart +himself at getting down into the Valley of Humiliation, till the guide +was fain to confess that he went down as well as he ever saw man go +down in all his life. This pilgrim cared not how mean he was, +so he might be but happy at last. That is the reason why so many +of God’s best saints take so kindly and so quietly to things that +drive other men mad. You wonder sometimes when you see an innocent +man sit down quietly under accusations and insults and injuries that +you spend all the rest of your life resenting and repaying. And +that is the reason also that so many of God’s best saints in other +ages and other communions used to pursue evangelical humility and ascetic +poverty and seclusion till they obliterated themselves out of all human +remembrance, and buried themselves in retreats of silence and of prayer. +Yes, you are quite right. A garment of sackcloth may cover an +unsanctified heart; and the fathers of the desert did not all escape +the depths of Satan and the plague of their own heart. Quite true. +A contrite heart may be carried about an applauding city in a coach +and six; and a crucified heart may be clothed in purple and fine linen, +and may fare sumptuously every day. A saint of God will sometimes +sit on a throne with a more weaned mind than that with which Elijah +or the Baptist will macerate themselves in the wilderness. Every +man who is really set on heaven must find his own way thither; and he +who is really intent on his own way thither will neither have the time +nor the heart to throw stones at his brother who thinks he has discovered +his own best way. All the pilgrims who got to the City at last +did not get down Difficulty and through Humiliation so well as Mr. Fearing +did; nor was it absolutely necessary that they should. It was +not to lay down an iron-fast rule for others, but it was only to amuse +the way with his account of Mr. Fearing, that the guide went on to say: +“Yes, I think there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that valley +and my man. For I never saw him better in all his pilgrimage than +when he was in that valley. For here he would lie down, embrace +the ground, and kiss the very flowers that grew in this valley. +He would now be up every morning by break of day, tracing and walking +to and fro in that valley.”</p> +<p>6. Now, do you think you could guess how Mr. Fearing conducted +himself in Vanity Fair? Your guess is important to us and to you +to-night; for it will show whether or no John Bunyan and Mr. Greatheart +have spent their strength for nought and in vain on you. It will +show whether or no you have got inside of Mr. Fearing with all that +has been said; and thus, inside of yourself. Guess, then. +How did Mr. Fearing do in Vanity Fair, do you think? To give you +a clue, recollect that he was the timidest of souls. And remember +how you have often been afraid to look at things in a shop window lest +the shopkeeper should come out and hold you to the thing you were looking +at. Remember also that you are the life-long owners of some things +just because they were thrown at your head. Remember how you sauntered +into a sale on one occasion, and, out of sheer idleness and pure fun, +made a bid, and to your consternation the encumbrance was knocked down +to your name; and it fills up your house to-day till you would give +ten times its value to some one to take it away for ever out of your +sight. Well, what was it that those who were so shamelessly and +so pesteringly cadging about places, and titles, and preferments, and +wives, and gold, and silver, and such like—what was it they prevailed +on this poor stupid countryman to cheapen and buy? Do you guess, +or do you give it up? Well, Greatheart himself was again and again +almost taken in; and would have been had not Mr. Fearing been beside +him. But Mr. Fearing looked at all the jugglers, and cheats, and +knaves, and apes, and fools as if he would have bitten a firebrand. +“I thought he would have fought with all the men of the fair; +I feared there we should have both been knock’d o’ th’ +head, so hot was he against their fooleries.” And then—for +Greatheart was a bit of a philosopher, and liked to entertain and while +the away with tracing things up to their causes—“it was +all,” he said, “because Mr. Fearing was so tender of sin. +He was above many tender of sin. He was so afraid, not for himself +only, but of doing injury to others, that he would deny himself the +purchase and possession and enjoyment even of that which was lawful, +because he would not offend.” “All this while,” +says Bunyan himself, in the eighty-second paragraph of <i>Grace Abounding</i>, +“as to the act of sinning I was never more tender than now. +I durst not take a pin or a stick, though but so big as a straw, for +my conscience now was sore and would smart at every touch. I could +not now tell how to speak my words for fear I should misplace them.” +“The highest flames,” says Jeremy Taylor in his <i>Life +of Christ</i>, “are the most tremulous.”</p> +<p>7. “But when he was come at the river where was no bridge, +there, again, Mr. Fearing was in a heavy case. Now, he said, he +should be drowned for ever, and so never see that Face with comfort +that he had come so many miles to behold. And here also I took +notice of what was very remarkable; the water of that river was lower +at this time than ever I saw it in all my life, so he went over at last +not much above wet-shod.” Then said Christiana, “This +relation of Mr. Fearing has done me good. I thought nobody had +been like me, but I see there was some semblance betwixt this good man +and I, only we differed in two things. His troubles were so great +that they broke out, but mine I kept within. His also lay so hard +upon him that he could not knock at the houses provided for entertainment, +but my trouble was always such that it made me knock the louder.” +“If I might also speak my heart,” said Mercy, “I must +say that something of him has also dwelt in me. For I have ever +been more afraid of the lake, and the loss of a place in Paradise, than +I have been of the loss of other things. Oh! thought I, may I +have the happiness to have a habitation there: ’tis enough though +I part with all the world to win it.” Then said Matthew, +“Fear was one thing that made me think that I was far from having +that within me that accompanies salvation; but if it was so with such +a good man as he, why may it not also go well with me?” +“No fears, no grace,” said James. “Though there +is not always grace where there is fear of hell; yet, to be sure, there +is no grace where there is no fear of God.” “Well +said, James,” said Greatheart; “thou hast hit the mark, +for the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom; and, to be sure, they +that want the beginning have neither middle nor end.” But +we shall here conclude our discourse of Mr. Fearing after we have sent +after him this farewell:—</p> +<blockquote><p> “It is because<br /> +Then thou didst fear, that now thou dost not fear.<br /> +Thou hast forestalled the agony, and so<br /> +For thee the bitterness of death is past.<br /> +Also, because already in thy soul<br /> +The judgment is begun. That day of doom,<br /> +One and the same for this collected world—<br /> +That solemn consummation for all flesh,<br /> +Is, in the case of each, anticipate<br /> +Upon his death; and, as the last great day<br /> +In the particular judgment is rehearsed,<br /> +So now, too, ere thou comest to the Throne,<br /> +A presage falls upon thee, as a ray<br /> +Straight from the Judge, expressive of thy lot.<br /> +That calm and joy uprising in thy soul<br /> +Is first-fruit to thy recompense,<br /> +And heaven begun.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>FEEBLE-MIND</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Comfort the feeble-minded.”—<i>Paul</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Feeble-mind shall first tell you his own story in his own words, +and then I shall perhaps venture a few observations upon his history +and his character.</p> +<p>“I am but a sickly man, as you see,” said Feeble-mind +to Greatheart, “and because Death did usually knock once a day +at my door, I thought I should never be well at home. So I betook +myself to a pilgrim’s life, and have travelled hither from the +town of Uncertain, where I and my father were born. I am a man +of no strength at all of body, nor yet of mind; but would, if I could, +though I can but crawl, spend my life in the pilgrim’s way. +When I came at the gate that is at the head of the way, the Lord of +that place did entertain me freely. Neither objected he against +my weakly looks, nor against my feeble mind; but gave me such things +as were necessary for my journey, and bade me hope to the end. +When I came to the house of the Interpreter I received much kindness +there; and, because the Hill Difficulty was judged too hard for me, +I was carried up that hill by one of his servants. Indeed I have +found much relief from pilgrims, though none were willing to go so softly +as I am forced to do. Yet, still, as they came on, they bid me +be of good cheer, and said that it was the will of their Lord that comfort +should be given to the feeble-minded, and so went on their own pace. +I look for brunts by the way; but this I have resolved on, to wit, to +run when I can, to go when I cannot run, and to creep when I cannot +go. As to the main, I thank Him that loves me, I am fixed. +My way is before me, my mind is beyond the river that has no bridge, +though I am, as you see, but of a feeble mind.”</p> +<p>Then said old Mr. Honest, “Have you not some time ago been +acquainted with one Mr. Fearing, a pilgrim?” “Acquainted +with him! yes. He came from the town of Stupidity, which lies +four degrees to the northward of the City of Destruction, and as many +off where I was born. Yet we were well acquainted; for, indeed, +he was mine uncle, my father’s brother. He and I have been +much of a temper; he was a little shorter than I, but yet we were much +of a complexion.” “I perceive that you know him,” +said Mr. Honest, “and I am apt to believe also that you were related +one to another; for you have his whitely look, a cast like his with +your eye, and your speech is much alike.”</p> +<p>“Alas!” Feeble-mind went on, “I want a suitable +companion. You are all lusty and strong, but I, as you see, am +weak. I choose therefore rather to come behind, lest, by reason +of my many infirmities, I should be both a burden to myself and to you. +I am, as I said, a man of a weak and feeble mind, and shall be offended +and made weak at that which others can bear. I shall like no laughing; +I shall like no gay attire; I shall like no unprofitable questions. +Nay, I am so weak a man as to be offended with what others have a liberty +to do. I do not yet know all the truth. I am a very ignorant +Christian man. Sometimes, if I hear some rejoice in the Lord, +it troubles me because I cannot do so too. It is with me as with +a weak man among the strong, or as with a sickly man among the healthy, +or as a lamp despised.” “But, brother,” said +Greatheart, “I have it in commission to comfort the feeble-minded +and to support the weak.” Thus therefore, they went on—Mr. +Greatheart and Mr. Honest went before; Christiana and her children went +next; and Mr. Feeble-mind and Mr. Ready-to-halt came behind with his +crutches.</p> +<p>1. In the first place, a single word as to Feeble-mind’s +family tree.</p> +<p>Thackeray says that <i>The Peerage</i> is the Family Bible of every +true-born Englishman. Every genuine Englishman, he tells us, teaches +that sacred book diligently to his children. He talks out of it +to them when he sits in the house and when he walks by the way. +He binds it upon his children’s hands, and it is as a frontlet +between their eyes. He writes its names upon the doorposts of +his house, and makes pictures out of it upon his gates. Now, John +Bunyan was a born Englishman in his liking for a family tree. +He had no such tree himself—scarcely so much as a bramble bush; +but, all the same, let the tinker take his pen in hand, and the pedigrees +and genealogies of all his pilgrims are sure to be set forth as much +as if they were to form the certificates that those pilgrims were to +hand in at the gate.</p> +<p>Feeble-mind, then, was of an old, a well-rooted and a wide-spread +race. The county of Indecision was full of that ancient stock. +They had intermarried in-and-in also till their small stature, their +whitely look, the droop of their eye, and their weak leaky speech all +made them to be easily recognised wherever they went. It was Feeble-mind’s +salvation that Death had knocked at his door every day from his youth +up. He was feeble in body as well as in mind; only the feebleness +of his body had put a certain strength into his mind; the only strength +he ever showed, indeed, was the strength that had its roots in a weak +constitution at which sickness and death struck their dissolving blows +every day. To escape death, both the first and the second death, +any man with a particle of strength left would run with all his might; +and Feeble-mind had strength enough somewhere among his weak joints +to make him say, “But this I have resolved on, to wit, to run +when I can, to go when I cannot run, and to creep when I cannot go. +As to the main, I am fixed!”</p> +<p>2. At the Wicket Gate pilgrim Feeble-mind met with nothing +but the kindest and the most condescending entertainment. It was +the gatekeepers way to become all things to all men. The gatekeeper’s +nature was all in his name; for he was all Goodwill together. +No kind of pilgrim ever came wrong to Goodwill. He never found +fault with any. Only let them knock and come in and he will see +to all the rest. The way is full of all the gatekeeper’s +kind words and still kinder actions. Every several pilgrim has +his wager with all the rest that no one ever got such kindness at the +gate as he got. And even Feeble-mind gave the gatekeeper this +praise—“The Lord of the place,” he said, “did +entertain me freely. Neither objected he against my weakly looks +nor against my feeble mind. But he gave me such things as were +necessary for my journey, and bade me hope to the end.” +All things considered, that is perhaps the best praise that Goodwill +and his house ever earned. For, to receive and to secure Feeble-mind +as a pilgrim—to make it impossible for Feeble-mind to entertain +a scruple or a suspicion that was not removed beforehand—to make +it impossible for Feeble-mind to find in all the house and in all its +grounds so much as a straw over which he could stumble—that was +extraordinary attention, kindness, and condescension in Goodwill and +all his good-willed house. “Go on, go on, dear Mr. Feeble +mind,” said Goodwill giving his hand to Mr. Fearing’s nephew, +“go on: keep your feeble mind open to the truth, and still hope +to the end!”</p> +<p>3. “As to the Interpreter’s House, I received much +kindness there.” That is all. But in that short speech +I think there must he hid no little shame and remorse. No words +could possibly be a severer condemnation of Feeble-mind than his own +two or three so irrelevant words about the Interpreter’s house. +No doubt at all, Feeble-mind received kindness there; but that is not +the point. That noble house was not built at such cost, and fitted +up, and kept open all the year round, and filled with fresh furniture +from year to year, merely that those who passed through its significant +rooms might report that they had received no rudeness at the hands of +the Interpreter. “‘Come,’ said the Interpreter +to Feeble-mind, ‘and I will show thee what will be profitable +to thee.’ So he commanded his man to light the candle and +bid Feeble-mind follow him. But it was all to no use. Feeble-mind +had neither the taste nor the capacity for the significant rooms. +Nay, as one after another of those rich rooms was opened to him, Feeble-mind +took a positive dislike to them. Nothing interested him; nothing +instructed him. But many things stumbled and angered him. +The parlour full of dust, and how the dust was raised and laid; Passion +and Patience; the man in the iron cage; the spider-room; the muck-rake +room; the robin with its red breast and its pretty note, and yet with +its coarse food; the tree, green outside but rotten at the heart,—all +the thanks the Interpreter took that day for all that from Feeble-mind +was in such speeches as these: You make me lose my head. I do +not know where I am. I did not leave the town of Uncertain to +be confused and perplexed in my mind with sights and sounds like these. +Let me out at the door I came in at, and I shall go back to the gate. +Goodwill had none of these unhappy rooms in his sweet house!” +Nothing could exceed the kindness of the Interpreter himself; but his +house was full of annoyances and offences and obstructions to Mr. Feeble-mind. +He did not like the Interpreter’s house, and he got out of it +as fast as he could, with his mind as feeble as when he entered it; +and, what was worse, with his temper not a little ruffled.</p> +<p>And we see this very same intellectual laziness, this very same downright +dislike at divine truth, in our own people every day. There are +in every congregation people who take up their lodgings at the gate +and refuse to go one step farther on the way. A visit to the Interpreter’s +House always upsets them. It turns their empty head. They +do not know where they are. They will not give what mind they +have to divine truth, all you can do to draw them on to it, till they +die as feeble-minded, as ignorant, and as inexperienced as they were +born. They never read a religious book that has any brain or heart +in it. The feeble <i>Lives</i> of feeble-minded Christians, written +by feeble-minded authors, and published by feeble-minded publishers,—we +all know the spoon-meat that multitudes of our people go down to their +second childhood upon. Jonathan Edwards—a name they never +hear at home, but one of the most masculine and seraphic of interpreters—has +a noble discourse on The Importance and Advantage of a thorough Knowledge +of Divine Truth. “Consider yourselves,” he says, “as +scholars or disciples put into the school of Christ, and therefore be +diligent to make proficiency in Christian knowledge. Content not +yourselves with this, that you have been taught your Catechism in your +childhood, and that you know as much of the principles of religion as +is necessary to salvation. Let not your teachers have cause to +complain that while they spend and are spent to impart knowledge to +you, you take little pains to learn. Be assiduous in reading the +Holy Scriptures. And when you read, observe what you read. +Observe how things come in. Compare one scripture with another. +Procure and diligently use other books which may help you to grow in +this knowledge. There are many excellent books extant which might +greatly forward you in this knowledge. There is a great defect +in many, that through a lothness to be at a little expense, they provide +themselves with no more helps of this nature.” Weighty, +wise, and lamentably true words.</p> +<p>“Mundanus,” says William Law, “is a man of excellent +parts, and clear apprehension. He is well advanced in age, and +has made a great figure in business. He has aimed at the greatest +perfection in everything. The only thing which has not fallen +under his improvement, nor received any benefit from his judicious mind, +is his devotion; this is just in the same poor state it was when he +was six years of age, and the old man prays now in that little form +of words which his mother used to hear him repeat night and morning. +This Mundanus that hardly ever saw the poorest utensil without considering +how it might be made or used to better advantage, has gone on all his +life long praying in the same manner as when he was a child; without +ever considering how much better or oftener he might pray; without considering +how improvable the spirit of devotion is, how many helps a wise and +reasonable man may call to his assistance, and how necessary it is that +our prayers should be enlarged, varied, and suited to the particular +state and condition of our lives. How poor and pitiable is the +conduct of this man of sense, who has so much judgment and understanding +in everything but that which is the whole wisdom of man!” +How true to every syllable is that! How simple-looking, and yet +how manly, and able, and noble! We close our young men’s +session with Law and Butler to-night, and I cannot believe that our +session with those two giants has left one feeble mind in the two classes; +they were all weeded out after the first fortnight of the session; though, +after all is done, there are still plenty left both among old and young +in the congregation. Even Homer sometimes nods; and I cannot but +think that John Bunyan has made a slip in saying that Feeble-mind enjoyed +the Interpreter’s House. At any rate, I wish I could say +as much about all the feeble minds known to me.</p> +<p>4. The Hill Difficulty, which might have helped to make a man +of Feeble-mind, saw a laughable, if it had not been such a lamentable, +spectacle. For it saw this poor creature hanging as limp as wet +linen on the back of one of the Interpreter’s sweating servants. +Your little boy will explain the parable to you. Shall I do this? +or, shall I rather do that? asks Feeble-mind at every stop. Would +it be right? or, would it be wrong? Shall I read that book? +Shall I go to that ball? Shall I marry that man? Tell me +what to do. Give me your hand. Take me up upon your back, +and carry me over this difficult hill. “I was carried up +that,” says poor Feeble-mind, “by one of his servants.”</p> +<p>5. “The one calamity of Mr. Feeble-mind’s history,” +says our ablest commentator on Bunyan, “was the finest mercy of +his history.” That one calamity was his falling into Giant +Slay-good’s hands, and his finest mercy was his rescue by Greatheart, +and his consequent companionship with his deliverer, with Mr. Honest, +and with Christiana and her party till they came to the river. +You constantly see the same thing in the life of the Church and of the +Christian Family. Some calamity throws a weak, ignorant, and immoral +creature into close contact with a minister or an elder or a Christian +visitor, who not only relieves him from his present distress, but continues +to keep his eye upon his new acquaintance, introduces him to wise and +good friends, invites him to his house, gives him books to read, and +keeps him under good influences, till, of a weak, feeble, and sometimes +vicious character, he is made a Christian man, till he is able for himself +to say, It was good for me to be afflicted; the one calamity of my history +has been my best mercy!</p> +<p>6. Feeble-mind, I am ashamed to have to admit, behaved himself +in a perfectly scandalous manner at the house of Gaius mine host. +He went beyond all bounds during those eventful weeks. Those weeks +were one long temptation to Feeble-mind—and he went down in a +pitiful way before his temptation. Two marriages and two honeymoons, +with suppers and dances every night, made the old hostelry like very +Pandemonium itself to poor Feeble-mind. He would have had Matthew’s +and James’s marriages conducted next door to a funeral. +Because he would not eat flesh himself, he protested against Gaius killing +a sheep. “Man,” said old Honest, almost laying his +quarterstaff over Feeble-mind’s shoulders—“Man, dost +thou think because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and +ale?” “I shall like no laughing,” said Feeble-mind; +“I shall like no gay attire; I shall like no unprofitable questions.” +I think it took some self-conceit to refuse to sit at table beside Christiana +because of her gay attire. And I hope Mercy did not give up dressing +well, even after she was married, to please that weak-minded old churl. +And as to unprofitable questions—we are all tempted to think that +question unprofitable which our incapacity or our ignorance keeps us +silent upon at table. We think that topic both ill-timed and impertinent +and unsafe to which we are not invited to contribute anything. +“I am a very ignorant man,” he went on to say; and, if that +was said in any humility, Feeble-mind never said a truer word. +“It is with me as it is with a weak man among the strong, or as +with a sick man among the healthy, or as a lamp despised in the thought +of him that is at ease.” All which only brought Greatheart +out in his very best colours. “But, brother,” said +the guide, “I have it in commission to comfort the feeble-minded, +and to support the weak. You must needs go along with us; we will +wait for you, we will lend you our help, we will deny ourselves of some +things, both opinionative and practical, for your sake; we will not +enter into doubtful disputations before you; we will be made all things +to you rather than that you shall be left behind.”</p> +<p>7. The first thing that did Mr. Feeble-mind any real good was +his being made military guard over the women and the children while +the men went out to demolish Doubting Castle. <i>Quis custodiet</i>? +you will smile and say when you hear that. Who shall protect the +protector? you will say. But wait a little. Greatheart knew +his business. For not only did Feeble-mind rise to the occasion, +when he was put to it; but, more than that, he was the soul of good +company at supper-time that night. “Jocund and merry” +are the very words. Yes; give your feeble and fault-finding folk +something to do. Send them to teach a class. Send them down +into a mission district. Lay a sense of responsibility upon them. +Leave them to deal with this and that emergency themselves. Cease +carrying them on your back, and lay weak and evil and self-willed people +on their back. Let them feel that they are of some real use. +As Matthew Arnold says, Let the critic but try practice, and you will +make a new man of him. As Greatheart made of Feeble-mind by making +him mount guard over the Celestial caravan while the fighting men were +all up at Doubting Castle.</p> +<p>8. “Mark this,” says Mr. Feeble-mind’s biographer +on the early margin of his history, lest we should be tempted to forget +the good parts of this troublesome and provoking pilgrim—“Mark +this.” This, namely, which Feeble-mind says to his guide. +“As to the main, I thank Him that loves me, I am fixed. +My way is before me, my mind is beyond the river that has no bridge, +though I am, as you see, but of a feeble mind.” And that +leads us with returning regard and love to turn to the end of his history, +where we read: “After this Mr. Feeble-mind had tidings brought +him that the post sounded his horn at his chamber door. Then he +came in and told him, saying, I am come to tell thee that thy Master +hath need of thee, and that in very little time thou must behold His +face in brightness. Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his friends, +and told them what errand had been brought to him, and what token he +had received of the truth of the message. As for my feeble mind +he said, that I shall leave behind me, for I shall have no need of that +in the place whither I go. Nor is it worth bestowing upon the +poorest pilgrim. Wherefore, when I am gone, I desire that you +would bury it in a dung-hill. This done, and the day being come +in which he was about to depart, he entered the river as the rest. +His last words were, Hold out, faith and patience! So he went +over to the other side.”</p> +<h2>GREAT-HEART</h2> +<blockquote><p>“—when thou shalt enlarge my heart.”—<i>David</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>On Sabbath, the 12th December 1886, I heard the late Canon Liddon +preach a sermon in St. Paul’s Cathedral, in which he classed Oliver +Cromwell with Alexander the Sixth and with Richard the Third. +I had taken my estimate of the great Protector’s character largely +from Carlyle’s famous book, and you can judge with what feelings +I heard the canon’s comparison. And, besides, I had been +wont to think of the Protector as having entered largely into John Bunyan’s +portrait of Greatheart, the pilgrim guide. And the researches +and the judgments of Dr. Gardiner have only gone to convince me, the +eloquent canon notwithstanding, that Bunyan could not have chosen a +better contemporary groundwork for his Greatheart than just the great +Puritan soldier. Cromwell’s “mental struggles before +his conversion,” his life-long “searchings of heart,” +his “utter absence of vindictiveness,” his unequalled capacity +for “seeing into the heart of a situation,” and his own +“all-embracing hospitality of heart”—all have gone +to reassure me that my first guess as to Bunyan’s employment of +the Protector’s matchless personality and services had not been +so far astray. And the oftener I read the noble history of Greatheart, +the better I seem to hear, beating behind his fine figure, by far the +greatest heart that ever ruled over the realm of England.</p> +<p>1. The first time that we catch a glimpse of Greatheart’s +weather-beaten and sword-seamed face is when he is taking a stolen look +out of the window at Mr. Fearing, who is conducting himself more like +a chicken than a man around the Interpreter’s door. And +from that moment till Mr. Fearing shouted “Grace reigns!” +as he cleared the last river, never sportsman surely stalked a startled +deer so patiently and so skilfully and so successfully as Greatheart +circumvented that chicken-hearted pilgrim. “At last I looked +out of the window, and perceiving a man to be up and down about the +door, I went out to him and asked him what he was; but, poor man, the +water stood ill his eyes. So I perceived what he wanted. +I went in, therefore, and told it in the house, and we showed the thing +to our Lord. So He sent me out again to entreat him to come in; +but I dare say I had hard work to do it.” Greatheart’s +whole account of Mr. Fearing always brings the water to my eyes also. +It is indeed a delicious piece of English prose. If I were a professor +of <i>belles lettres</i> instead of what I am, I would compel all my +students, under pain of rustication, to get those three or four classical +pages by heart till they could neither perpetrate nor tolerate bad English +any more. This camp-fire tale, told by an old soldier, about a +troublesome young recruit and all his adventures, touches, surely, the +high-water mark of sweet and undefiled English. Greatheart was +not the first soldier who could handle both the sword and the pen, and +he has not been the last. But not Cæsar and not Napier themselves +ever handled those two instruments better.</p> +<p>2. Greatheart had just returned to his Master’s house +from having seen Mr. Fearing safely through all his troubles and well +over the river, when, behold, another caravan of pilgrims is ready for +his convoy. For Greatheart, you must know, was the Interpreter’s +armed servant. When at any time Greatheart was off duty, which +in those days was but seldom, he took up his quarters again in the Interpreter’s +house. As he says himself, he came back from the river-side only +to look out of the Interpreter’s window to see if there was any +more work on the way for him to do. And, as good luck would have +it, as has been said, the guide was just come back from his adventures +with Mr. Fearing when a pilgrim party, than which he had never seen +one more to his mind, was introduced to him by his Master, the Interpreter. +“The Interpreter,” so we read at this point, “then +called for a man-servant of his, one Greatheart, and bid him take sword, +and helmet, and shield, and take these, my daughters,” said he, +“and conduct them to the house called Beautiful, at which place +they will rest next. So he took his weapons and went before them, +and the Interpreter said, God-speed.”</p> +<p>3. Now I saw in my dream that they went on, and Greatheart +went before them, so they came to the place where Christian’s +burden fell off his back and tumbled into a sepulchre. Here, then, +they made a pause, and here also they blessed God. “Now,” +said Christiana, “it comes to my mind what was said to us at the +gate; to wit, that we should have pardon by word and by deed. +What it is to have pardon by deed, Mr. Greatheart, I suppose you know; +wherefore, if you please, let us hear your discourse thereof.” +“So then, to speak to the question,” said Greatheart. +You have all heard about the “question-day” at Highland +communions. That day is so called because questions that have +arisen in the minds of “the men” in connection with doctrine +and with experience are on that day set forth, debated out, and solved +by much meditation and prayer; age, saintliness, doctrinal and experimental +reading, and personal experience all making their contribution to the +solution of the question in hand. Just such a question, then, +and handled in such a manner, was that question which whiled the way +and cheated the toil till the pilgrims came to the House Beautiful. +The great doctrinal and experimental Puritans, with Hooker at their +head, put forth their full strength and laid out their finest work just +on this same question that Christiana gave out at the place, somewhat +ascending, upon which stood a cross, and a little below, in the bottom, +a sepulchre. But not the great Comment on The Galatians itself, +next to the Holy Bible as it is, as most fit for a wounded conscience; +no, nor that perfect mass of purest gold, The Learned Discourse of Justification, +nor anything else of that kind known to me, is for one moment, to compare +in beauty, in tenderness, in eloquence, in scriptural depth, and in +scriptural simplicity with Greatheart’s noble resolution of Christiana’s +question which he made on the way from the Interpreter’s house +to the House Beautiful. “This is brave!” exclaimed +that mother in Israel, when the guide had come to an end. “Methinks +it makes my heart to bleed to think that He should bleed for me. +O Thou loving One! O Thou blessed One! Thou deservest to +have me, for Thou hast bought me. No marvel that this made the +water to stand in my husband’s eyes, and that it made him trudge +so nimbly on. O Mercy, that thy father and thy mother were here; +yea, and Mrs. Timorous too! Nay, I wish now with all my heart +that here was Madam Wanton too. Surely, surely their hearts would +be affected here!” Promise me to read at home Greatheart’s +discourse on the Righteousness of Christ, and you will thank me for +having exacted the promise.</p> +<p>The incongruity of a soldier handling such questions, and especially +in such a style, has stumbled some of John Bunyan’s fault-finding +readers. The same incongruity stumbled “the Honourable Colonel +Hacker, at Peebles or elsewhere,” to whom Cromwell sent these +from Edinburgh on the 25th December 1650—“But indeed I was +not satisfied with your last speech to me about Empson, that he was +a better preacher than fighter or soldier—or words to that effect. +Truly, I think that he that prays and preaches best will fight best. +I know nothing that will give like courage and confidence as the knowledge +of God in Christ will; and I bless God to see any in this army able +and willing to impart the knowledge they have for the good of others. +I pray you receive Captain Empson lovingly: I dare assure you he is +a good man and a good officer; I would we had no worse.”</p> +<p>4. “Will you not go in and stay till morning?” +said the porter to Greatheart, at the gate of the House Beautiful. +“No,” said the guide; “I will return to my lord to-night.” +“O sir!” cried Christiana and Mercy, “we know not +how to be willing you should leave us in our pilgrimage. Oh that +we might have your company till our journey’s end.” +Then said James, the youngest of the boys, “Pray be persuaded +to go with us and help us, because we are so weak and the way so dangerous +as it is.” “I am at my lord’s commandment,” +said Greatheart. “If he shall allow me to be your guide +quite through, I shall willingly wait upon you. But here you failed +at first; for when he bid me come thus far with you, then you should +have begged me of him to have gone quite through with you, and he would +have granted your request. However, at present, I must withdraw, +and so, good Christiana, Mercy, and my brave children, adieu!” +“Help lost for want of asking for,” is our author’s +condemnatory comment on the margin at this point in the history. +And there is not a single page in my history, or in yours, my brethren, +on which the same marginal lament is not written. What help we +would have had on our Lord’s promise if we had but taken the trouble +to ask for it! And what help we once had, and have now lost, just +because when we had it we did not ask for a continuance of it! +“No,” said Greatheart to the porter, and to the two women, +and to James—“No. I will return to my lord to-night. +I am at my lord’s commandment; only, if he shall still allot me +I shall willingly wait upon you.”</p> +<p>Now, what with the House Beautiful, so full of the most delightful +company; what with music in the house and music in the heart; what with +Mr. Brisk’s courtship of Mercy, Matthew’s illness, Mr. Skill’s +cure of the sick man, and what not—a whole month passed by like +a day in that so happy house. But at last Christiana and Mercy +signified it to those of the house that it was time for them to be up +and going. Then said Joseph to his mother, “It is convenient +that you send back to the house of Mr. Interpreter to pray him to grant +that Mr. Greatheart should be sent to us that he may be our conductor +the rest of our way.” “Good boy,” said she, +“I had almost forgot.” So she drew up a petition and +prayed Mr. Watchful the porter to send it by some fit man to her good +friend, Mr. Interpreter; who, when it was come and he had seen the contents +of the petition, said to the messenger, “Go, tell them that I +will send him.” . . . Now, about this time one knocked at the +door. So the porter opened, and, behold, Mr. Greatheart was there! +But when he came in, what joy was there! Then said Mr. Greatheart +to the two women, “My lord has sent each of you a bottle of wine, +and also some parched corn, together with a couple of pomegranates. +He has also sent the boys some figs and raisins to refresh you on your +way.” “The weak may sometimes call the strong to prayers,” +I read again in the margin opposite the mention of Joseph’s name. +Not that I am strong, and not that she is weak, but one of my people +I spent an hour with last afternoon whom you would to a certainty have +called weak had you seen her and her surrounding,—she so called +me to prayer that I had to hurry home and go straight to it. And +all last night and all this morning I have had as many pomegranates +as I could eat and as much wine as I could drink. Yes; you attend +to what the weakest will sometimes say to you, and they will often put +you on the way to get Greatheart back again with a load of wines and +fruits and corn on his shoulder to refresh you on your journey. +“Good boy!” said Christiana to Joseph her youngest son, +“Good boy! I had almost forgot!”</p> +<p>5. When old Mr. Honest began to nod after the good supper that +Gaius mine host gave to the pilgrims, “What, sir,” cried +Greatheart, “you begin to be drowsy; come, rub up; now here’s +a riddle for you.” Then said Mr. Honest, “Let’s +hear it.” Then said Mr. Greatheart,</p> +<blockquote><p>“He that will kill, must first be overcome;<br /> +Who live abroad would, first must die at home.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Hah!” said Mr. Honest, “it is a hard one; hard +to expound, and harder still to practise.” Yes; this after-supper +riddle of Mr. Greatheart is a hard one in both respects; and for this +reason, because the learned and much experienced guide—learned +with all that his life-long quarters in the Interpreter’s House +could teach him, and experienced with a lifetime’s accumulated +experience of the pilgrim life—has put all his learning and all +his life into these two mysterious lines. But old Honest, once +he had sufficiently rubbed up his eyes and his intellects, gave the +answer:</p> +<blockquote><p>“He first by grace must conquered be<br /> + That sin would mortify.<br /> +And who, that lives, would convince me,<br /> + Unto himself must die.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Exactly; shrewd old Honest; you have hit off both Greatheart and +his riddle too. You have dived into the deepest heart of the Interpreter’s +man-servant. “The magnanimous man” was Aristotle’s +masterpiece. That great teacher of mind and morals created for +the Greek world their Greatheart. But, “thou must understand,” +says Bunyan to his readers, “that I never went to school to Aristotle +or Plato. No; but to Paul, who taught Bunyan that what Aristotle +calls magnanimity is really pride—taught him that, till there +is far more of the Christian religion in those two doggerel lines at +Gaius’s supper-table than there is in all The Ethics taken together. +And it is only from a personal experience of the same life as that which +the guide puts here into his riddle that any man’s proud heart +will become really humble and thus really great, really enlarged, and +of an all-embracing hospitality like Cromwell’s and Greatheart’s +and John Bunyan’s own. Would you, then, become a Greatheart +too? And would you be employed in your day as they were employed +in their day? Then expound to yourself, and practise, and follow +out that deep riddle with which Greatheart so woke up old Honest:</p> +<blockquote><p>“He that will kill, must first be overcome;<br /> +Who live abroad would, first must die at home.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>6. Greatheart again and again at the river-side, Greatheart +sending pilgrim after pilgrim over the river with rapture, and he himself +still summoned to turn his back on the Celestial City, and to retrace +his steps through the land of Beulah, through the Valley of the Shadow +of Death, and through the Valley of Humiliation, and back to the Interpreter’s +house to take on another and another and another convoy of fresh pilgrims, +and his own abundant entrance still put off and never to come,—our +hearts bleed for poor Greatheart. Back and forward, back and forward, +year after year, this noble soul uncomplainingly goes. And, ever +as he waves his hand to another pilgrim entering with trumpets within +the gates, he salutes his next pilgrim charge with the brave words: +“Yet what I shall choose I wot not. For I am in a strait +betwixt two: having a desire to depart and to be with Christ. +Nevertheless to abide in the flesh is more needful for you, for your +furtherance and joy of faith by my coming to you again.” +If Greatheart could not “usher himself out of this life” +along with Christiana, and Mercy, and Mr. Honest, and Standfast, and +Valiant-for-truth—if he had still to toil back and bleed his way +up again at the head of another happy band of pilgrims—well, after +all is said, what had the Celestial City itself to give to Greatheart +better than such blessed work? With every such returning journey +he got a more and more enlarged, detached, hospitable, and Christ-like +heart, and the King’s palace in very glory itself had nothing +better in store for this soldier-guide than that. A nobler heaven +Greatheart could not taste than he had already in himself, as he championed +another and another pilgrim company from his Master’s earthly +gate to his Master’s heavenly gate. Like Paul, his apostolic +prototype, Greatheart sometimes vacillated just for a moment when he +came a little too near heaven, and felt its magnificent and almost dissolving +attractions full in his soul. You will see Greatheart’s +mind staggering for a moment between rest and labour, between war and +peace, between “Christ” on earth and “Christ” +in heaven—you will see all that set forth with great sympathy +and great ability in Principal Rainy’s new book on Paul’s +Epistle to the Philippians, and in the chapter entitled, The Apostle’s +Choice between Living and Dying.</p> +<p>Then there came a summons for Mr. Standfast. At which he called +to him Mr. Greatheart, and said unto him, “Sir, although it was +not my hap to be much in your good company in the days of my pilgrimage, +yet, since the time I knew you, you have been profitable to me. +When I came from home I left behind me a wife and five small children. +Let me entreat you, at your return (for I know that you will go and +return to your master’s house in hopes that you may be a conductor +to more of the holy pilgrims), that you send to my family and let them +be acquainted with all that hath and shall happen to me. Tell +them, moreover, of my happy arrival to this place, and of the present +late blessed condition I am in, and so on for many other messages and +charges.” Yes, Mr. Standfast; very good. But I would +have liked you on your deathbed much better if you had had a word to +spare from yourself and your wife and your children for poor Greatheart +himself, who had neither wife nor children, nor near hope of heaven, +but only your trust and charge and many suchlike trusts and charges +to carry out when you are at home and free of all trust and all charge +and all care. But yours is the way of all the pilgrims—so +long, at least, as they are in this selfish life. Let them and +their children only be well looked after, and they have not many thoughts +or many words left for those who sweat and bleed to death for them and +theirs. They lean on this and that Greatheart all their own way +up, and then they leave their widows and children to lean on whatever +Greatheart is sent to meet them; but it is not one pilgrim in ten who +takes the thought or has the heart to send a message to Mr. Greatheart +himself for his own consolation and support. I read that Mr. Ready-to-halt +alone, good soul, had the good feeling to do it. He thanked Mr. +Greatheart for his conduct and for his kindness, and so addressed himself +to his journey. All the same, noble Greatheart! go on in thy magnanimous +work. Take back all their errands. Seek out at any trouble +all their wives and children. Embark again and again on all thy +former battles and hardships for the good of other men. But be +assured that all this thy labour is not in vain in thy Lord. Be +well assured that not one drop of thy blood or thy sweat or thy tears +shall fall to the ground on that day when they that be wise shall shine +as the brightness of the firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness +as the stars for ever and ever. Go back, then, from thy well-earned +rest, O brave Greatheart! go back to thy waiting task. Put on +again thy whole armour. Receive again, and again fulfil, thy Master’s +commission, till He has no more commissions left for thy brave heart +and thy bold hand to execute. And, one glorious day, while thou +art still returning to thy task, it shall suddenly sound in thy dutiful +ears:—“Well done! good and faithful servant!” +And then thou too</p> +<blockquote><p>“Shalt hang thy trumpet in the hall<br /> +And study war no more.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>MR. READY-TO-HALT</h2> +<blockquote><p>“For I am ready to halt.”—<i>David</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Ready-to-halt is the Mephibosheth of the pilgrimage. While +Mephibosheth was still a child in arms, his nurse let the young prince +fall, and from that day to the day of his death he was lame in both +his feet. Mephibosheth’s life-long lameness, and then David’s +extraordinary grace to the disinherited cripple in commanding him to +eat continually at the king’s table; in those two points we have +all that we know about Mr. Ready-to-halt also. We have no proper +portrait, as we say, of Mr. Ready-to-halt. Mr. Ready-to-halt is +but a name on John Bunyan’s pages—a name set upon two crutches; +but, then, his simple name is so suggestive and his two crutches are +so eloquent, that I feel as if we might venture to take this life-long +lameter and his so serviceable crutches for our character-lecture to-night.</p> +<p>John Bunyan, who could so easily and so delightfully have done it, +has given us no information at all about Mr. Ready-to-halt’s early +days. For once his English passion for a pedigree has not compelled +our author’s pen. We would have liked immensely to have +been told the name, and to have seen displayed the whole family tree +of young Ready-to-halt’s father; and, especially, of his mother. +Who was his nurse also? And did she ever forgive herself for the +terrible injury she had done her young master? What were his occupations +and amusements as a little cripple boy? Who made him his first +crutch? Of what wood was it made? And at what age, and under +whose kind and tender directions did he begin to use it? And, +then, with such an infirmity, what ever put it into Mr. Ready-to-halt’s +head to attempt the pilgrimage? For the pilgrimage was a task +and a toil that took all the limbs and all the lungs and all the labours +and all the endurances that the strongest and the bravest of men could +bring to bear upon it. How did this complete cripple ever get +through the Slough, and first up and then down the Hill Difficulty, +and past all the lions, and over a thousand other obstacles and stumbling-blocks, +till he arrived at mine host’s so hospitable door? The first +surprised sight we get of this so handicapped pilgrim is when Greatheart +and Feeble-mind are in the heat of their discourse at the hostelry door. +At that moment Mr. Ready-to-halt came by with his crutches in his hand, +and he also was going on pilgrimage. Thus, therefore, they went +on. Mr. Greatheart and Mr. Honest went on before, Christiana and +her children went next, and Mr. Feeble-mind and Mr. Ready-to-halt came +behind with his crutches.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Put by the curtains, look within my veil,<br /> +Turn up my metaphors, and do not fail,<br /> +There, if thou seekest them, such things to find,<br /> +As will be helpful to an honest mind.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>1. Well, then, when we put by the curtains and turn up the +metaphors, what do we find? What, but just this, that poor Mr. +Ready-to-halt was, after all, the greatest and the best believer, as +the New Testament would have called him, in all the pilgrimage. +We have not found so great faith as that of Mr. Ready-to-halt, no, not +in the very best of the pilgrim bands. Each several pilgrim had, +no doubt, his own good qualities; but, at pure and downright believing—at +taking God at His bare and simple word—Mr. Ready-to-halt beat +them all. All that flashes in upon us from one shining word that +stands on the margin of our so metaphorical author. This single +word, the “promises,” hangs like a key of gold beside the +first mention of Mr. Ready-to-halt’s crutches—a key such +that in a moment it throws open the whole of Mr. Ready-to-halt’s +otherwise lockfast and secret and inexplicable life. There it +all is, as plain as a pike-staff now! Yes; Mr. Ready-to-halt’s +crutches are just the divine promises. I wonder I did not see +that all the time. Why, I could compose all his past life myself +now. I have his father and his mother and his nurse at my finger-ends +now. This poor pilgrim—unless it would be impertinence to +call him poor any more—had no limbs to be called limbs. +Such limbs as he had were only an encumbrance to this unique pedestrian. +All the limbs he had were in his crutches. He had not one atom +of strength to lean upon apart from his crutches. A bone, a muscle, +a tendon, a sinew, may be ill-nourished, undeveloped, green, and unknit, +but, at the worst, they are inside of a man and they are his own. +But a crutch, of however good wood it may be made, and however good +a lame man may be at using it—still, a crutch at its best is but +an outside additament; it is not really and originally a part of a man’s +very self at all. And yet a lame man is not himself without his +crutch. Other men do not need to give a moment’s forethought +when they wish to rise up to walk, or to run, or to leap, or to dance. +But the lame man has to wait till his crutches are brought to him; and +then, after slowly and painfully hoisting himself up upon his crutches, +with great labour, he at last takes the road. Mr. Ready-to-halt, +then, is a man of God; but he is one of those men of God who have no +godliness within themselves. He has no inward graces. He +has no past experiences. He has no attainments that he can for +one safe moment take his stand upon, or even partly lean upon. +Mr. Ready-to-halt is absolutely and always dependent upon the promises. +The promises of God in Holy Scripture are this man’s very life. +All his religion stands in the promises. Take away the promises, +and Mr. Ready-to-halt is a heap of heaving rags on the roadside. +He cannot take a single step unless upon a promise. But, at the +same time, give Mr. Ready-to-halt a promise in his hand and he will +wade the Slough upon it, and scale up and slide down the Hill Difficulty +upon it, and fight a lion, and even brain Beelzebub with it, till he +will with a grudge and a doubt exchange it even for the chariots and +the horses that wait him at the river. What a delight our Lord +would have taken in Mr. Ready-to-halt had He come across him on His +way to the passover! How He would have given Mr. Ready-to-halt +His arm; how He would have made Himself late by walking with him, and +would still have waited for him! Nay, had that been a day of chap-books +in carpenters’ shops and on the village stalls, how He would have +had Mr. Ready-to-halt’s story by heart had any brass-worker in +Galilee told the history! Our Lord was within an inch of telling +that story Himself, when He showed Thomas His hands and His side. +And at another time and in another place we might well have had Mr. +Ready-to-halt as one more of our Lord’s parables for the common +people. Only, He left the delight and the reward of drawing out +this parable to one He already saw and dearly loved in a far-off island +of the sea, the Puritan tinker of Evangelical England.</p> +<p>2. And now, after all that, would you think it going too far +if I were to say that in making Himself like unto all His brethren, +our Lord made Himself like Mr. Ready-to-halt too? Indeed He did. +And it was because his Lord did this, that Mr. Ready-to-halt so loved +his Lord as to follow Him upon crutches. It would not be thought +seemly, perhaps, to carry the figure too close to our Lord. But, +figure apart, it is only orthodox and scriptural to say that our Lord +accomplished His pilgrimage and finished His work leaning all along +upon His Father’s promises. Esaias is very bold about this +also, for he tells his readers again and again that their Messiah, when +He comes, will have to be held up. He will have to be encouraged, +comforted, and carried through by Jehovah. And in one remarkable +passage he lets us see Jehovah hooping Messiah’s staff first with +brass, and then with silver, and then with gold. Let Thomas Goodwin’s +genius set the heavenly scene full before us. “You have +it dialoguewise set forth,” says that great preacher. “First +Christ shows His commission, telling God how He had called Him and fitted +Him for the work of redemption, and He would know what reward He should +receive of Him for so great an undertaking. God at first offers +low; only the elect of Israel. Christ thinks these too few, and +not worth so great a labour and work, because few of the Jews would +come in; and therefore He says that He would labour in vain if this +were all His recompense; and yet withal He tells God that seeing His +heart is so much set on saving sinners, to satisfy Him, He will do it +even for those few. Upon this God comes off more freely, and openeth +His heart more largely to Him, as meaning more amply to content Him +for His pains in dying. ‘It is a light thing,’ says +God to Him, ‘that Thou shouldest be My servant to raise up the +tribes of Jacob—that is not worth Thy dying for. I value +Thy sufferings more than so. I will give Thee for a salvation +to the ends of the earth.’ Upon this He made a promise to +Christ, a promise which God, who cannot lie, promised before the world +began. God cannot lie, and, most of all, not to His Son.”</p> +<p>And, then, more even than that. This same deep divine tells +us that it is a certain rule in divinity that, whatsoever we receive +from Christ, that He Himself first receives in Himself for us. +All the promises of God’s word are made and fulfilled to Christ +first, and so to us in and after Him. In other words, our Lord’s +life was so planned for Him in heaven and was so followed out and fulfilled +by Him on earth, that, to take up the metaphor again, He actually tried +every crutch and every staff with His own hands and with His own armpits; +He actually leaned again and again His own whole weight upon every several +one of them. Every single promise, the most unlikely for Him to +lean upon and to plead, yet, be sure of it, He somehow made experiment +upon them all, and made sure that there was sufficient and serviceable +grace within and under every one of them. So that, Mr. Ready-to-halt, +there is no possible staff you can take into your hand that has not +already been in the hand of your Lord. Think of that, O Mr. Ready-to-halt! +Reverence, then, and almost worship thy staff! Throw all thy weight +upon thy staff. Confide all thy weakness to it. Talk to +it as thou walkest with it. Make it talk to thee. Worm out +of it all its secrets about its first Owner. And let it instruct +thee about how He walked with it and how He handled it. The Bible +is very bold with its Master. It calls Him by the most startling +names sometimes. There is no name that a penitent and a returning +sinner goes by that the Bible does not put somewhere upon the sinner’s +Saviour. And in one place it as good as calls Him Ready-to-halt +in as many words. Nay, it lets us see Him halting altogether for +a time; ay, oftener than once; and only taking the road again, when +a still stronger staff was put into his trembling hand. And if +John had but had room in his crowded gospel he would have given us the +very identical psalm with which our Lord took to the upward way again, +strong in His new staff. “For I am ready to halt,” +was His psalm in the house of His pilgrimage, “and My sorrow is +continually before Me. Mine enemies are lively, and they are strong; +and they that hate Me wrongfully are multiplied. They also that +render evil for good are Mine adversaries; because I follow the thing +that good is. Forsake Me not, O Lord; O My God, be not far from +Me. Make haste to help Me, O Lord My salvation.”</p> +<p>3. Among all the devout and beautiful fables of the “dispensation +of paganism,” there is nothing finer than the fable of blind Tiresias +and his staff. By some sad calamity this old prophet had lost +the sight of his eyes, and to compensate their servant for that great +loss the gods endowed him with a staff with eyes. As Aaron’s +rod budded before the testimony and bloomed blossoms and yielded almonds, +so Tiresias’ staff budded eyes, and divine eyes too, for the blind +prophet’s guidance and direction. Tiresias had but to take +his heaven-given staff in his hand, when, straightway, such a divinity +entered into the staff that it both saw for him with divine eyes, and +heard for him with divine ears, and then led him and directed him, and +never once in all his after journeys let him go off the right way. +All other men about him, prophets and priests both, often lost their +way, but Tiresias after his blindness, never, till Tiresias and his +staff became a proverb and a parable in the land. And just such +a staff, just such a crutch, just such a pair of crutches, were the +crutches of our own so homely Mr. Ready-to-halt. With all their +lusty limbs, all the other pilgrims often stumbled and went out of their +way till they had to be helped up, led back, and their faces set right +again. But, last as Mr. Ready-to-halt always came in the procession—behind +even the women and the children as his crutches always kept him—you +will seek in vain for the dot of those crutches on any by-path or on +any wrong road. No; the fact is, if you wish to go to the same +city, and are afraid you lose the way; as Evangelist said, “Do +you see yon shining light?” so I would say to you to-night, “Do +you see these crutch-marks on the road?” Well, keep your +feet in the prints of these crutches, and as sure as you do that they +will lead you straight to a chariot and horses, which, again, will carry +you inside the city gates. For Mr. Ready-to-halt’s crutches +have not only eyes like Tiresias’ staff, they have ears also, +and hands and feet. A lamp also burns on those crutches; and wine +and oil distil from their wonderful wood. Happy blindness that +brings such a staff! Happy exchange! eyes full of earth and sin +for eyes full of heaven and holiness!</p> +<p>4. “They began to be merry,” says our Lord, telling +the story of the heart-broken father who had got back his younger son +from a far country. And even Feeble-mind and Ready-to-halt begin +to be merry on the green that day after Doubting Castle has fallen to +Greatheart’s arms. Now, Christiana, if need was, could play +upon the viol, and her daughter Mercy upon the lute; and, since they +were so merry disposed, she played them a lesson, and Mr. Ready-to-halt +would dance. So he paid a boy a penny to hold one of his crutches, +and, taking Miss Much-afraid by the hand, to dancing they went. +And, I promise you he footed it well; the lame man leaped as an hart; +also the girl was to be commended, for she answered the music handsomely. +In spite of his life-long infirmity, there was deep down in Mr. Ready-to-halt +an unsuspected fund of good-humour. There was no heartier merriment +on the green that day than was the merriment that Mr. Ready-to-halt +knocked out of his nimble crutch. “True, he could not dance +without one crutch in his hand.” True, dear and noble Bunyan, +thou canst not write a single page at any time or on any subject without +thy genius and thy tenderness and thy divine grace marking the page +as thine own alone!</p> +<p>5. The next time we see Mr. Ready-to-halt he is coming in on +his crutches to see Christiana, for she has sent for him to see him. +So she said to him, “Thy travel hither hath been with difficulty, +but that will make thy rest the sweeter.” And then in process +of time there came a post to the town and his business this time was +with Mr. Ready-to-halt. “I am come to thee in the name of +Him whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon crutches. And +my message is to tell thee that He expects thee at His table to sup +with Him in His kingdom the next day after Easter.” “I +am sent for,” said Mr. Ready-to-halt to his fellow-pilgrims, “and +God shall surely visit you also. These crutches,” he said, +“I bequeath to my son that shall tread in my steps, with an hundred +warm wishes that he may prove better than I have done.” +Isaac was a child of promise, and Mr. Ready-to-halt had an Isaac also +on whom his last thoughts turned. Isaac had been born to Abraham +by a special and extraordinary and supernatural interposition of the +grace and the power of God; and Mr. Ready-to-halt had always looked +on himself as a second Abraham in that respect. A second Abraham, +and more. True, his son was not yet a pilgrim; perhaps he was +too young to be so called; but Greatheart will take back the old man’s +crutches—Greatheart was both man-of-war and beast-of-burden to +the pilgrims and their wives and children—and will in spare hours +teach young Ready-to-halt the use of the crutch, till the son can use +with the same effect as his father his father’s instrument. +Is your child a child of promise? Is he to you a product of nature, +or of grace? Did you receive him and his brothers and sisters +from God after you were as good as dead? Did you ever steal in +when his nurse was at supper and say over his young cradle, He hath +not dealt with me after my sins, nor rewarded me according to my iniquities? +Is it in your will laid up with Christ in God about your crutches and +your son what Mr. Ready-to-halt dictated on his deathbed? And +does God know that there is no wish in your old heart a hundred times +so warm for your son as is this wish,—that he may prove better +at handling God’s promises than you have been? Then, happy +son, who has old Mr. Ready-to-halt for his father!</p> +<p>6. “He whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon +crutches, expects thee at His table the next day after Easter.” +Take comfort, cripples! Had it been said that the King so expects +Greatheart, or Standfast, or Valiant-for-truth, that would have been +after the manner of the kings of this world. But to insist on +having Mr. Ready-to-halt beside Him by such and such a day; to send +such a post to a pilgrim who has not a single sound bone in all his +body; to a sinner without a single trustworthy grace in all his heart; +to a poor and simple believer who has nothing in his hand but one of +God’s own promises—Who is a king like unto our King? +Surely King David was never a better type of Christ than when he said +to Mephibosheth, lame in both his feet from his nurse’s arms: +“Fear not, Mephibosheth, for I will surely show thee kindness, +and thou shalt eat bread at my table continually.” And Mephibosheth +shall always be our spokesman when he bows himself and says in return: +“What is thy servant, that thou shouldst look upon such a dead +dog as I am?”</p> +<h2>VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH</h2> +<blockquote><p>“—They are not valiant for the truth.”—<i>Jeremiah</i></p> +<p>“—Ye should contend earnestly for the faith.”—<i>Jude</i>.</p> +<p>“Forget not Master Valiant-for-the-Truth,<br /> +That man of courage, tho’ a very youth.<br /> +Tell every one his spirit was so stout,<br /> +No man could ever make him face about.”<br /> +<i>Bunyan</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“I am of Dark-land, for there was I born, and there my father +and mother are still.” “Dark-land,” said the +guide; “doth not that lie upon the same coast as the City of Destruction?” +“Yes, it doth,” replied Valiant-for-truth. “And +had I not found incommodity there, I had not forsaken it at all; but +finding it altogether unsuitable to me, and very unprofitable for me, +I forsook it for this way. Now, that which caused me to come on +pilgrimage was this. We had one Mr. Tell-true came into our parts, +and he told it about what Christian had done, that went from the City +of Destruction. That man so told the story of Christian and his +travels that my heart fell into a burning haste to be gone after him, +nor could my father and mother stay me, so I got from them, and am come +thus far on my way.”</p> +<p>1. A very plain and practical lesson is already read to us +all in Valiant-for-truth’s explanation of his own pilgrimage. +He tells the guide that he was made a pilgrim just by having the story +of The Pilgrim told to him. All that Tell-true did was just to +recite the story of the pilgrim, when young Valiant’s heart fell +into a burning haste to be a pilgrim too. My brethren, could any +lesson be plainer? Read the <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i> with +your children. And, after a time, read it again till they call +it beautiful, and till you see the same burning haste in their hearts +that young Valiant felt in his heart. Circulate the <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i>. Make opportunities to give the <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i> to the telegraph boys and errand boys at your door. +Never go on a holiday without taking a dozen cheap and tasteful copies +of <i>The Pilgrim</i> to give to boys and girls in the country. +Make sure that no one, old or young, of your acquaintance, in town or +country, is without a good copy of <i>The Pilgrim</i>. And the +darker their house is, make all the more sure that John Bunyan is in +it.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Now may this little book a blessing be,<br /> +To those that love this little book and me<br /> +And may its buyer have no cause to say<br /> +His money is but lost or thrown away.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>2. But the great lesson of Valiant’s so impressive life +lies in the tremendous fight he had with three ruffians who all set +upon him at once and well-nigh made an end of him. For, when we +put by the curtains here again, and turn up the metaphors, what do we +find? What, but a lesson of first-rate importance for many men +among ourselves; for many public men, many ministers, and many other +much-in-earnest men. For Valiant, as his name tells us, was set +to contend for the truth. He had the truth. The truth was +put into his keeping, and he was bound to defend it. He was thrown +into a life of controversy, and thus into all the terrible temptations—worse +than the temptations to whoredom or wine—that accompany a life +of controversy. The three scoundrels that fell upon Valiant at +the mouth of the lane were Wildhead, Inconsiderate, and Pragmatic. +In other words, the besetting temptations of many men who are set as +defenders of the truth in religion, as well as in other matters, is +to be wild-headed, inconsiderate, self-conceited, and intolerably arrogant. +The bloody battle that Valiant fought, you must know, was not fought +at the mouth of any dark lane in the midnight city, nor on the side +of any lonely road in the moonless country. This terrible fight +was fought in Valiant’s own heart. For Valiant was none +of your calculating and cold-blooded friends of the truth. He +did not wait till he saw the truth walking in silver slippers. +Let any man lay a finger on the truth, or wag a tongue against the truth, +and he will have to settle it with Valiant. His love for the truth +was a passion. There was a fierceness in his love for the truth +that frightened ordinary men even when they were on his own side. +Valiant would have died for the truth without a murmur. But, with +all that, Valiant had to learn a hard and a cruel lesson. He had +to learn that he, the best friend of truth as he thought he was, was +at the same time, as a matter of fact, the greatest enemy that the truth +had. He had to take home the terrible discovery that no man had +hurt the truth so much as he had done. Save me from my friend! +the truth was heard to say, as often as she saw him taking up his weapons +in her behalf. We see all that every day. We see Wildhead +at his disservice of the truth every day. Sometimes above his +own name, and sometimes with grace enough to be ashamed to give his +name, in the newspapers. Sometimes on the platform; sometimes +in the pulpit; and sometimes at the dinner-table. But always to +the detriment of the truth. In blind fury he rushes at the character +and the good name of men who were servants of the truth before he was +born, and whose shield he is not worthy to bear. How shall Wildhead +be got to see that he and the like of him are really the worst friends +the truth can possibly have? Will he never learn that in his wild-bull +gorings at men and at movements, he is both hurting himself and hurting +the truth as no sworn enemy of his and of the truth can do? Will +he never see what an insolent fool he is to go on imputing bad motives +to other men, when he ought to be prostrate before God on account of +his own? More than one wild-headed student of William Law has +told me what a blessing they have got from that great man’s teaching +on the subject of controversy. Will the Wildheads here to-night +take a line or two out of that peace-making author and lay them to heart? +“My dear L-, take notice of this, that no truths, however solid +and well-grounded, will help you to any divine life, but only so far +as they are taught, nourished, and strengthened by an unction from above; +and that nothing more dries and extinguishes this heavenly unction than +a talkative reasoning temper that is always catching at every opportunity +of hearing or telling some religious matters. Stop your ears and +shut your eyes to all religious tales . . . I would no more bring a +false charge against a deist than I would bear false witness against +an apostle. And if I knew how to do the deists more justice in +debate I would gladly do it . . . And as the gospel requires me to be +as glad to see piety, equity, strict sobriety, and extensive charity +in a Jew or a Gentile as in a Christian; as it obliges me to look with +pleasure upon their virtues, and to be thankful to God that such persons +have so much of true and sound Christianity in them; so it cannot be +an unchristian spirit to be as glad to see truths in one party of Christians +as in another, and to look with pleasure upon any good doctrines that +are held by any sect of Christian people, and to be thankful to God +that they have so much of the genuine saving truths of the gospel among +them . . . Selfishness and partiality are very inhuman and base qualities +even in the things of this world, but in the doctrines of religion they +are of a far baser nature. In the present divided state of the +Church, truth itself is torn and divided asunder; and, therefore, he +is the only true Catholic who has more of truth and less of error than +is hedged in by any divided part. To see this will enable us to +live in a divided part unhurt by its division, and keep us in a true +liberty and fitness to be edified and assisted by all the good that +we hear or see in any other part of the Church. And thus, uniting +in heart and spirit with all that is holy and good in all Churches, +we enter into the true communion of saints, and become real members +of the Holy Catholic Church, though we are confined to the outward worship +of only one particular part of it. And thus we will like no truth +the less because Ignatius Loyola or John Bunyan were very jealous for +it, nor have the less aversion to any error because Dr. Trapp or George +Fox had brought it forth.” If Wildhead would take a winter +of William Law, it would sweeten his temper, and civilise his manners, +and renew his heart.</p> +<p>3. Inconsiderate, again, is the shallow creature he is, and +does the endless mischief that he does, largely for lack of imagination. +He never thinks—neither before he speaks nor after he has spoken. +He never put himself in another man’s place all his days. +He is incapable of doing that. He has neither the head nor the +heart to do that. He never once said, How would I like that said +about me? or, How would I like that done to me? or, How would that look +and taste and feel to me if I were in So-and-so’s place? +It needs genius to change places with other men; it needs a grace beyond +all genius; and this poor headless and heartless creature does not know +what genius is. It needs imagination, the noblest gift of the +mind, and it needs love, the noblest grace of the heart, to consider +the case of other people, and to see, as Butler says, that we differ +as much from other people as they differ from us. And it is by +far the noblest use of the imagination, far nobler than carving a Laocoon, +or painting a Last Judgment, or writing a “Paradiso” or +a “Paradise Lost,” to put ourselves into the places of other +men so as to see with their eyes, and feel with their hearts, and sympathise +with their principles, and even with their prejudices. Now, the +inconsiderate man has so little imagination and so little love that +he is sitting here and does not know what I am saying; and what suspicion +he has of what I am saying is just enough to make him dislike both me +and what I am saying too. But his dull suspicion and his blind +dislike are more than made up for by the love and appreciation of those +lovers and defenders of the truth who painfully feel how wild and inconsiderate, +how hot-headed, how thoughtless, and how reckless their past service +even of God’s truth has been.</p> +<blockquote><p>“The King is full of grace and fair regard.<br /> +Consideration, like an angel, came<br /> +And whipp’d the offending Adam out of him.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>4. And as to Pragmatic, I would not call you a stupid person +even though you confided to me that you had never heard this footpad’s +name till to-night. John Bunyan has been borrowing Latin again, +and not to the improvement of his style, or to the advantage of his +readers. It would be insufferably pragmatic in me to begin to +set John Bunyan right in his English; but I had rather offend the shades +of a hundred John Bunyans than leave my most unlettered hearer without +his full and proper Sabbath-night lesson. The third armed thief, +then, that fell upon Valiant was, under other names, Impertinence, Meddlesomeness, +Officiousness, Over-Interference. Pragmatic,—by whatever +name he calls himself, there is no mistaking him. He is never +satisfied. He is never pleased. He is never thankful. +He is always setting his superiors right. He is like the Psalmist +in one thing, he has more understanding than all his teachers. +And he enjoys nothing more than in letting them know that. There +is nothing he will not correct you in—from cutting for the stone +to commanding the Channel Fleet. Now, if all that has put any +visual image of Pragmatic into your mind, you will see at once what +an enemy he too is fitted to be to the truth. For the truth does +not stand in points, but in principles. The truth does not dwell +in the letter but in the spirit. The truth is not served by setting +other people right, but by seeing every day and in every thing how far +wrong we are ourselves. The truth is like charity in this, that +it begins at home. It is like charity in this also, that it never +behaves itself unseemly. A pragmatical man, taken along with an +inconsiderate man, and then a wild-headed man added on to them, are +three about as fatal hands as any truth could fall into. The worst +enemy of the truth must pity the truth, and feel his hatred at the truth +relenting, when he sees her under the championship of Wildhead, Inconsiderate, +and Pragmatic.</p> +<p>5. The first time we see Valiant-for-truth he is standing at +the mouth of Dead-man’s-lane with his sword in his hand and with +his face all bloody. “They have left upon me, as you see,” +said the bleeding man, “some of the marks of their valour, and +have also carried away with them some of mine.” And, in +like manner, we see Paul with the blood of Barnabas still upon him when +he is writing the thirteenth of First Corinthians; and John with the +blood of the Samaritans still upon him down to his old age when he is +writing his First Epistle; and John Bunyan with the blood of the Quakers +upon him when he is covertly writing this page of his autobiography +under the veil of Valiant-for-truth; and William Law with the blood +of Bishop Hoadly and John Wesley dropping on the paper as he pens that +golden passage which ends with Dr. Trapp and George Fox. Where +did you think Paul got that splendid passage about charity? Where +did you think William Law got that companion passage about Church divisions, +and about the Church Catholic? Where are such passages ever got +by inspired apostles, or by any other men, but out of their own bloody +battles with their own wild-headedness, intolerance, dislike, and resentment? +Where do you suppose I got the true key to the veiled metaphor of Valiant-for-truth? +It does not exactly hang on the doorpost of his history. Where, +then, could I get it but off the inside wall of my own place of repentance? +Just as you understand what I am now labouring to say, not from my success +in saying it, but from your own trespasses against humility and love, +your unadvised speeches, and your wild and whirling words. Without +shame and remorse, without self-condemnation and self-contempt, none +of those great passages of Paul, or John, or Bunyan, or Law were ever +written; and without a like shame, remorse, self-condemnation, and self-contempt +they are not rightly read.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Oh! who shall dare in this frail scene<br /> +On holiest, happiest thoughts to lean,<br /> +On Friendship, Kindred, or on Love?<br /> +Since not Apostles’ hands can clasp<br /> +Each other in so firm a grasp,<br /> +But they shall change and variance prove.</p> +<p>“But sometimes even beneath the moon<br /> +The Saviour gives a gracious boon,<br /> +When reconciled Christians meet,<br /> +And face to face, and heart to heart,<br /> +High thoughts of Holy love impart<br /> +In silence meek, or converse sweet.</p> +<p>“Oh then the glory and the bliss<br /> +When all that pained or seemed amiss<br /> +Shall melt with earth and sin away!<br /> +When saints beneath their Saviour’s eye,<br /> +Filled with each other’s company,<br /> +Shall spend in love the eternal day!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>6. Then said Greatheart to Mr. Valiant-for-truth, “Thou +hast worthily behaved thyself; let me see thy sword.” So +he showed it him. When he had taken it in his hand and had looked +thereon a while, the guide said: “Ha! it is a right Jerusalem +blade!” “It is so,” replied its owner. +“Let a man have one of these blades with a hand to wield it, and +skill to use it, and he may venture upon an angel with it. Its +edges will never blunt. It will cut flesh, and bones, and soul, +and spirit, and all.” Both Damascus and Toledo blades were +famous in former days for their tenacity and flexibility, and for the +beauty and the edge of their steel. But even a Damascus blade +would be worthless in a weak, cowardly, or unskilled hand; while even +a poor sword in the hand of a good swordsman will do excellent execution. +And much more so when you have both a first-rate sword and a first-rate +swordsman, such as both Valiant and his Jerusalem blade were. +Ha! yes. This is a right wonderful blade we have now in our hand. +For this sword was forged in no earthly fire; and it was whetted to +its unapproachable sharpness on no earthly whetstone. But, best +of all for us, when a good soldier of Jesus Christ has this sword girt +on his thigh he is able then to go forth against himself with it; against +his own only and worst enemy—that is, against himself. As +here, against his own wildness of head and pride of heart. Against +his own want of consideration also. “My people do not consider.” +As also against himself as a lawless invader of other men’s freedom +of judgment, following of truth, public honour, and good name. +As the Arabian warriors see themselves and dress themselves in their +swords as in a glass, so did Valiant-for-truth see the thoughts and +intents, the joints and the marrow of his own disordered soul in his +Jerusalem blade. In the sheen of it he could see himself even +when the darkness covered him; and with its two edges all his after-life +he slew both all real error in other men and all real evil in himself. +“Thou hast done well,” said Greatheart the guide. +“Thou hast resisted unto blood, striving against sin. Thou +shalt abide by us, come in and go out with us, for we are thy companions.”</p> +<p>7. “Sir,” said the widow indeed to Valiant-for-truth, +“sir, you have in all places shown yourself true-hearted.” +The first time she ever saw this man that she is now seeing for the +last time on this side the river, his own mother would not have known +him, he was so hacked to pieces with the swords of his three assailants. +But as she washed the blood off the mangled man’s head and face +and hands, she soon saw beneath all his bloody wounds a true, a brave, +and a generous-hearted soldier of the Cross. The heart is always +the man. And this woman had lived long enough with men to have +discovered that. And with all his sears she saw that it was at +bottom the truth of his heart that had cast him into so many bloody +encounters. There were men in that company, and men near the river +too, with far fewer marks of battle, and even of defeat, upon them, +who did not get this noble certificate and its accompanying charge and +trust from this clear-eyed widow. And, then, she had never forgot—how +could she?—his exclamation, and almost embrace of her as of his +own mother, when he burst out with his eyes full of blood, “Why, +is this Christian’s wife? What! and going on pilgrimage +too? It glads my heart! Good man! How joyful will +he be when he shall see her and her children enter after him in at the +gates into the city!” He would have been hacked a hundred +times worse than he was before the widow of Christian, and the mother +of his children, would have seen anything but the manliest beauty in +a young soldier who could salute an old woman in that way. It +gladdened her heart to hear him, you may be sure, as much as it gladdened +his heart to see her. And that was the reason that she actually +set Greatheart himself aside, and left her children under this young +man’s sword and shield. “I would also entreat you +to have an eye to my children,” she said. Young men, has +any dying mother committed her children, if you at any time see them +faint, to you? Have you ever spoken so comfortably to any poor +widow about her sainted husband that she has passed by some of our foremost +citizens, and has astonished and offended her lawyers by putting a stripling +like you into the trusteeship? Did ever any dying mother say to +you that she had seen you to be so true-hearted at all times that she +entreated you to have an eye to her children? Speaking at this +point for myself, I would rather see my son so trusted at such an hour +by such a woman than I would see him the Chancellor of Her Majesty’s +Exchequer, or the Governor of the Bank of England. And so to-night +would you.</p> +<h2>STANDFAST</h2> +<blockquote><p>“So stand fast in the Lord, my dearly beloved.”—<i>Paul</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In his supplementary picture of Standfast John Bunyan is seen at +his very best, both as a religious teacher and as an English author. +On the Enchanted Ground Standfast is set before us with extraordinary +insight, sagacity, and wisdom; and then in the terrible river he is +set before us with an equally extraordinary rapture and transport; while, +in all that, Bunyan composes in English of a strength and a beauty and +a music in which he positively surpasses himself. Just before +he closes his great book John Bunyan rises up and once more puts forth +his very fullest strength, both as a minister of religion and as a classical +writer, when he takes Standfast down into that river which that pilgrim +tells us has been such a terror to so many, and the thought of which +has so often affrighted himself.</p> +<p>When Greatheart and his charge were almost at the end of the Enchanted +Ground, so we read, they perceived that a little before them was a solemn +noise as of one that was much concerned. So they went on and looked +before them. And behold, they saw, as they thought, a man upon +his knees, with hands and eyes lift up, and speaking, as they thought, +earnestly to one that was above. They drew nigh, but could not +tell what he said; so they went softly till he had done. When +he had done, he got up and began to run towards the Celestial City. +“So-ho, friend, let us have your company,” called out the +guide. At that the man stopped, and they came up to him. +“I know this man,” said Mr. Honest; “his name, I know, +is Standfast, and he is certainly a right good pilgrim.” +Then follows a conversation between Mr. Honest and Mr. Standfast, in +which some compliments and courtesies are exchanged, such as are worthy +of such men, met at such a time and in such a place. “Well, +but, brother,” said Valiant-for-truth, “tell us, I pray +thee, what was it that was the cause of thy being upon thy knees even +now? Was it for that some special mercy laid obligations upon +thee, or how?” And then Standfast tells how as he was coming +along musing with himself, Madam Bubble presented herself to him and +offered him three things. “I was both aweary and sleepy +and also as poor as a howlet, and all that the wicked witch knew. +And still she followed me with her enticements. Then I betook +me, as you saw, to my knees, and with hands lift up and cries, I prayed +to Him who had said that He would help. So just as you came up +the gentlewoman went her way. Then I continued to give thanks +for my great deliverance; for I verify believe she intended me no good, +but rather sought to make stop of me in my journey. What a mercy +is it that I did resist her, for whither might she not have drawn me?” +And then, after all this discourse, there was a mixture of joy and trembling +among the pilgrims, but at last they broke out and sang:</p> +<blockquote><p>“What danger is the pilgrim in,<br /> +How many are his foes,<br /> +How many ways there are to sin,<br /> +No living mortal knows!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>1. “Well, as I was coming along I was musing with myself,” +said Standfast. You understand what it is to come along musing +with yourself, do you not, my brethren? “I will muse on +the work of Thy hands,” says the Psalmist. And again, “While +I was musing the fire burned.” Well, Standfast was much +given to musing, just as David was. Each several pilgrim has his +own way of occupying himself on the road; but Standfast could never +get his fill just of musing. Standfast loved solitude. Standfast +liked nothing better than to walk long stretches at a time all by himself +alone. Standfast was like the apostle when he preferred to take +the twenty miles from Troas to Assos on foot and alone, rather than +to round the cape on shipboard in a crowd. “Minding himself +to go afoot,” says the apostle’s companion. It would +have made a precious chapter in the Acts of the Apostles had the author +of that book been able to give his readers some of Paul’s musings +as he crossed the Troad on foot that day. But in the absence of +Paul’s musings we have here the musings of a man whom Paul would +not have shaken off had he foregathered with him on that lonely road. +For Standfast was in a deep and serious muse mile after mile, when, +who should step into the middle of his path right before him but Madam +Bubble with her body and her purse and her bed? Now, had this +hungry howlet of a pilgrim been at that moment in any other but a musing +mood of mind, he had to a certainty sold himself, soul and body, Celestial +City and all, to that impudent slut. But, as He would have it +who overrules Madam Bubble’s descents, and all things, Standfast +was at that moment in one of his most musing moods, and all her smiles +and all her offers fell flat and poor upon him. Cultivate Standfast’s +mood of mind, my brethren. Walk a good deal alone. Strike +across country from time to time alone and have good long walks and +talks with yourself. And when you know that you are passing places +of temptation see that your thoughts, and even your imaginations, are +well occupied with solemn considerations about the certain issue of +such and such temptations; and then, to you, as to Standfast,</p> +<blockquote><p>“The arrow seen beforehand slacks its flight.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>2. But, musing alone, the arrow seen beforehand, and all, Standfast +would have been a lost man on that lonely road that day had he not instantly +betaken himself to his knees. And it was while Standfast was still +on his knees that the ascending pilgrims heard that concerned and solemn +noise a little ahead of them. Did you ever suddenly come across +a man on his knees? Did you ever surprise a man at prayer as Greatheart +and his companions surprised Standfast? I do not ask, Did you +ever enter a room and find a family around their morning or evening +altar? We have all done that. And it left its own impression +upon us. But did you ever spring a surprise upon a man on his +knees alone and in broad daylight? I did the other day. +It was between eleven and twelve o’clock in the forenoon when +I asked a clerk if his master was in. Yes, he said, and opened +his master’s door. When, before I was aware, I had almost +fallen over a man on his knees and with his face in his hands. +“I pray thee,” said Valiant-for-truth, “tell us what +it was that drew thee to thy knees even now. Was it that some +special mercy laid its obligations on thee, or how?” I did +not say that exactly to my kneeling friend, though it was on the point +of my tongue to say it. My dear friend, I knew, had his own difficulties, +though he was not exactly as poor as a howlet. And it might have +been about some of his investments that had gone out of joint that he +went that forenoon to Him who had said that He would help. Or, +like the author of the <i>Christian Perfection</i> and <i>The Spirit +of Prayer</i>, it was the sixth hour of the day, and he may have gone +to his knees for his clerks, or for his boys at school, or for himself +and for the man in the same business with himself right across the street. +I knew that my friend had the charming book at home in which such counsels +as these occur: “If masters were thus to remember their servants, +beseeching God to bless them, letting no day pass without a full performance +of this devotion, the benefit would be as great to themselves as to +their servants.” And perhaps my friend, after setting his +clerks their several tasks for the day, was now asking grace of God +for each one of them that they might not be eye-servants and men-pleasers, +but the servants of Christ doing the will of God from the heart. +Or, again, he may have read in that noble book this passage: “If +a father were daily to make some particular prayer to God that He would +please to inspire his children with true piety, great humility, and +strict temperance, what could be more likely to make the father himself +become exemplary in these virtues?” Now, my friend (who +can tell?) may just that morning have lost his temper with his son; +or he may last night have indulged himself too much in eating, or in +drinking, or in debate, or in detraction; and that may have made it +impossible for him to fix his whole mind on his office work that morning. +Or, just to make another guess, when he opened the book I had asked +him to buy and read, he may have lighted on this heavenly passage: “Lastly, +if all people when they feel the first approaches of resentment or envy +or contempt towards others; or if in all little disagreements and misunderstandings +whatever they should have recourse at such times to a more particular +and extraordinary intercession with God for such persons as had roused +their envy, resentment, or discontent—this would be a certain +way to prevent the growth of all uncharitable tempers.” +You may think that I am taking a roundabout way of accounting for my +friend’s so concerned attitude at twelve o’clock that business +day; but the whole thing seemed to me so unusual at such a time and +in such a place that I was led to such guesses as these to account for +it. In so guessing I see now that I was intruding myself into +matters I had no business with; but all that day I could not keep my +mind off my blushing friend. For, like Mr. Standfast, my dear +friend blushed as he stood up and offered me the chair he had been kneeling +at. “But, why, did you see me?” said Mr. Standfast. +“Yes, I did,” quoth the other, “and with all my heart +I was glad at the sight.” “And what did you think?” +said Mr. Standfast.</p> +<p>3. “Was it,” asked Valiant-for-truth, in a holy +curiosity, “was it some special mercy that brought thee to thy +knees even now?” Yes; Valiant-for-truth had exactly hit +it. Gracious wits, like great wits, jump together. “Yes,” +confessed Standfast, “I continue to give thanks for my great deliverance.” +My brethren, you all pray importunately in your time of sore trouble. +Everybody does that. But do you feel an obligation, like Standfast, +to abide still on your knees long after your trouble is past? +Nature herself will teach us to pray; but it needs grace, and great +grace continually renewed, to teach us to praise, and to continue all +our days to praise. How we once prayed, ay, as earnestly, and +as concernedly, and as careless as to who should see or hear us as Standfast +himself! How some of us here to-night used to walk across a whole +country all the time praying! How we hoodwinked people in order +to get away from them to pray for twenty miles at a time all by ourselves! +Under that bush—it still stands to mark the spot; in that wood, +long since cut down into ploughed land—we could show our children +the spot to this day where we prayed, till a miracle was wrought in +our behalf. Yes, till God sent from above and took us as He never +took a psalmist, and set our feet upon a still more wonderful rock. +How He, yes, HE, with His own hand cut the cords, broke the net, and +set us free! Come, all ye that fear God! we then said, and said +it with all sincerity too. And yet, how have we forgotten what +He did for our soul? We start like a guilty thing surprised when +we think how long it is since we had a spell of thanksgiving. +Shame on us! What treacherous hearts we have! What short +memories we have! How soon we forgive ourselves, and so forget +the forgiveness of our God! Brethren, let us still lay plans for +praise as we used to do for prayer. If our friends will go out +with us, let us at least insist on walking home alone. Let us +say with Paul that we get sick at sea; and, besides, that we have some +calls to make and some small accounts to settle before we leave the +country. Tell them not to wait dinner for us. And then let +us take plenty of time. Let us stop at all our old stations and +call back all our old terrors; let us repeat aloud our old psalms—the +twenty-fifth, the fifty-first, the hundred and third, and the hundred +and thirtieth. We used to terrify people with our prayers as Standfast +terrified the young pilgrims that day; let us surprise and delight them +now with our psalms of thanksgiving. For, with all our disgraceful +ingratitude in the past, if William Law is right, we are even yet not +far from being great saints, if he is not wrong when he asks: “Would +you know who is the greatest saint in the world? It is not he +who prays most or fasts most; it is not he who gives most alms, or is +most eminent for temperance, chastity, or justice. But it is he +who is most thankful to God, and who has a heart always ready to praise +God. This is the perfection of all virtues. Joy in God and +thankfulness to God is the highest perfection of a divine and holy life.” +Well, then, what an endless cause of joy and thankfulness have we! +Let us acknowledge it, and henceforth employ it; and we shall, please +God, even yet be counted as not low down but high up among the saints +and the servants of God.</p> +<p>4. Christiana said many kind and wise and beautiful things +to all the other pilgrims before she entered the river, but it was observed +that though she sent for Mr. Standfast, she said not one word to him +when he came; she just gave him her ring. “The touch is +human and affecting,” says Mr. Louis Stevenson, in his delightful +paper on Bagster’s “Bunyan,” in the <i>Magazine of +Art</i>. By the way, do you who are lovers of Bunyan literature +know that remarkable and delicious paper? The Messrs. Bagster +should secure that paper and should issue an <i>edition de luxe</i> +of their neglected “Bunyan,” with Mr. Stevenson’s +paper for a preface and introduction. Bagster’s “Illustrated +Bunyan,” with an introduction on the illustrations by Mr. Louis +Stevenson, if I am not much mistaken, would sell by the thousand.</p> +<p>5. Lord Rosebery knows books and loves books, and he has called +attention to the surpassing beauty of the English in the deathbed scenes +of the <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>. And every lover of pure, +tender, and noble English must, like the Foreign Secretary, have all +those precious pages by heart. Were it not that we all have a +cowardly fear at death ourselves, and think it wicked and cruel even +to hint at his approaching death even to a fast-dying man, we would +never let any of our friends lie down on his sick-bed without having +a reassuring and victorious page of the <i>Pilgrim</i> read to him every +day. If the doctors would allow me, I would have these heavenly +pages reprinted in sick-bed type for all my people. But I am afraid +at the doctors. And thus one after another of my people passes +away without the fortification and the foretaste that the deathbeds +of Christian, and Christiana, and Hopeful, and Mr. Fearing, and Mr. +Feeble-mind, and Mr. Honest, and Mr. Standfast would most surely have +given to them. Especially the deathbed, if I must so call it, +of Mr. Standfast. But as Christiana said nothing that could be +heard to Mr. Standfast about his or her latter end, but just looked +into his eyes and gave him her ring, so I may not be able to say all +that is in my heart when your doctor is standing close by. But +you will understand what I would fain say, will you not? You will +remember, and will have this heavenly book read to you alternately with +your Bible, will you not? Even the most godless doctor will give +way to you when you tell him that you know as well as he does just how +it is with you, and that you are to have your own way for the last time. +I know a doctor who first forbade her minister and her family to tell +his patient that she was dying, and at the same time told them to take +away from her bedside all such alarming books as the <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i> and the <i>Saint’s Rest</i>, and to read to her a +reassuring chapter out of <i>Old Mortality</i> and <i>Pickwick</i>.</p> +<p>It will, no doubt, put the best-prepared of us into a deep muse, +as it put Standfast, when we are first told that we must at once prepare +ourselves for a change of life. But I for one would not for worlds +miss that solemn warning, and that last musing-time. It will all +be just as my Master pleases; but if it is within His will I shall till +then continue to petition Him that I may have a passage over the river +like the passage of Standfast. Or, if that may not now be, then, +at least, a musing-time like his. The post from the Celestial +City brought Mr. Standfast’s summons “open” in his +hand. And thus it was that Standfast’s translation did not +take him by surprise. Standfast was not plunged suddenly and without +warning into the terrible river. He took the open summons into +big own hand and read it out like a man. After which he went, +as his manner was, for a good while into a deep and undisturbed muse. +As soon as he came out of his muse he would have Greatheart to be sent +for. And then their last conversation together proceeded. +And no one interfered with the two brave-hearted men. No one interposed, +or said that Greatheart would exhaust or alarm Standfast, or would injuriously +hasten his end. Not only so, but all the way till he was half +over the river, Standfast kept up his own side of the noble conversation. +And it is his side of that half-earthly, whole-heavenly conversation +that I would like to have put into suitable type and scattered broadcast +over all our sick-beds.</p> +<p>6. “Tell me,” says Valdes to Julia in his <i>Christian +Alphabet</i>, “have you ever crossed a deep river by a ford?” +“Yes,” says Julia, “I have, many times.” +“And have you remarked how that by looking upon the water it seemed +as though your head swam, so that, if you had not assisted yourself, +either by closing your eyes, or by fixing them on the opposite shore, +you would have fallen into the water in great danger of drowning?” +“Yes, I have noticed that.” “And have you seen +how by keeping always for your object the view of the land that lies +on the other side, you have not felt that swimming of the head, and +so have suffered no danger of drowning?” “I have noticed +that too,” replied Julia. Now, it was exactly this same +way of looking, not at the black and swirling river, but at the angelic +conduct waiting for him at the further bank, and then at the open gate +of the Celestial City,—it was this that kept Standfast’s +head so steady and his heart like a glowing coal while he stood and +talked in the middle of the giddy stream. You would have thought +it was Paul himself talking to himself on the road to Assos. For +I defy even the apostle himself to have talked better or more boldly +to himself even on the solid midday road than Standfast talked to himself +in the bridgeless river. “I see myself,” he said, +“at the end of my journey now. My toilsome days are all +ended. I am going now to see that head that was crowned with thorns, +and that face that was spat upon for me. I loved to hear my Lord +spoken of, and wherever I have seen the print of His shoe in the earth +I have coveted to set my foot also. His name has been to me as +a civet-box; yea, sweeter than all perfumes. His word I did use +to gather for my food, and for antidotes against my faintings. +He has held me, and I have kept me from my iniquities. Yea, my +steps He has strengthened in my way.” Now, while Standfast +was thus in discourse his countenance changed, his strong man bowed +down under him, and after he had said “Take me!” he ceased +to be seen of them. But how glorious it was to see how the open +region was now filled with horses and chariots, with trumpeters and +pipers, and with singers and players on stringed instruments, all to +welcome the pilgrims as they went up and followed one another in at +the beautiful gate of the city!</p> +<h2>MADAM BUBBLE</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”—<i>Solomon</i>.</p> +<p>“I have overcome the world.”—<i>Our Lord</i>.</p> +<p>“Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. +For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the +eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. +And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof.”—<i>John</i>.</p> +<p>“This bubble world.”—<i>Quarles</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Madam Bubble’s portrait was first painted by the Preacher. +And he painted her portrait with extraordinary insight, boldness, and +truthfulness. There is that in the Preacher’s portrait of +Madam Bubble which only comes of the artist having mixed his colours, +as Milman says that Tacitus mixed his ink, with resentment and with +remorse. Out of His reading of Solomon and Moses and the Prophets +on this same subject, as well as out of His own observation and experience, +conflict and conquest, our Lord added some strong and deep and inward +touches of His own to that well-known picture, and then named it by +the New Testament name of the World. And then, after Him, His +longest-lived disciple set forth the same mother and her three daughters +under the three names that still stick to them to this day,—the +lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. +But it was reserved for John Bunyan to fill up and to finish those outlines +of Scripture and to pour over the whole work his own depth and strength +of colour, till, altogether, Madam Bubble stands out as yet another +masterpiece of our dreamer’s astonishing genius. Let us +take our stand before this heaving canvas, then, till we have taken +attentive note of some of John Bunyan’s inimitable touches and +strokes and triumphs of truth and art. “One in very pleasant +attire, but old . . . This woman is a witch . . . I am the mistress +of the world, she said, and men are made happy by me . . . A tall, comely +dame, something of a swarthy complexion.” In the newly discovered +portrait of a woman, by Albert Dürer, one of the marks of its genuineness +is the way that the great artist’s initials A. D. are pencilled +in on the embroidery of the lady’s bodice. And you will +note in this gentlewoman’s open dress also how J. B. is inextricably +woven in. “She wears a great purse by her side also, and +her hand is often in her purse fingering her money. Yea, this +is she that has bought off many a man from a pilgrim’s life after +he had fairly begun it. She is a bold and an impudent slut also, +for she will talk with any man. If there be one cunning to make +money in any place, she will speak well of him from house to house . +. . She has given it out in some places also that she is a goddess, +and therefore some do actually worship her . . . She has her times and +open places of cheating, and she will say and avow it that none can +show a good comparable to hers. And thus she has brought many +to the halter, and ten thousand times more to hell. None can tell +of the mischief that she does. She makes variance betwixt rulers +and subjects, betwixt parents and children, ’twixt neighbour and +neighbour, ’twixt a man and his wife, ’twixt a man and himself, +’twixt the flesh and the heart.” And so on in the +great original. “Had she stood by all this while,” +said Standfast, whose eyes were still full of her, “you could +not have set Madam Bubble more amply before me, nor have better described +her features.” “He that drew her picture was a good +limner,” said Mr. Honest, “and he that so wrote of her said +true”.</p> +<p>1. “I am the mistress of this world,” says Madam +Bubble. And though all the time she is a bold and impudent slut, +yet it is the simple truth that she does sit as a queen over this world +and over the men of this world. For Madam Bubble has a royal family +like all other sovereigns. She has a court of her own, too, with +its ball-room presentations and its birthday honours. She has +a cabinet council also, and a bar and a bench with their pleadings and +their decisions. Far more than all that, she has a church which +she has established and of which she is the head; and a faith also of +which she is the defender. She has a standing army also for the +extension and the protection of her dominions. She levies taxes, +too, and sends out ambassadors, and makes treaties, and forms offensive +and defensive alliances. But what a bubble all this World is to +him whose eyes have at last been opened to see the hollowness and the +heartlessness of it all! For all its pursuits and all its possessions, +from a child’s rattle to a king’s sceptre, all is one great +bubble. Wealth, fame, place, power; art, science, letters; politics, +churches, sacraments, and scriptures—all are so many bubbles in +Madam Bubble’s World. This wicked enchantress, if she does +not find all these things bubbles already, by one touch of her evil +wand she makes them so. She turns gold into dross, God into an +idle name, and His Word into words only; unless when in her malice she +turns it into a fruitful ground of debate and contention; a ground of +malice and hatred and ill-will. Vanity of vanities; all is vanity +and vexation of spirit. Still, she sits a queen and a goddess +to a great multitude: to all men, to begin with. And, like a goddess, +she sheds abroad her spirit in her people’s hearts and lifts up +upon them for a time the light of her countenance.</p> +<p>2. “I am the mistress of the world,” she says, +“and men are made happy by me.”—I would like to see +one of them. I have seen many men to whom Madam Bubble had said +that if they would be ruled by her she would make them great and happy. +But though I have seen not a few who have believed her and let themselves +be ruled by her, I have never yet seen one happy man among them.—The +truth is, Madam Bubble is not able to make men happy even if she wished +to do it. She is not happy herself, and she cannot dispense to +others what she does not possess. And, yet, such are her sorceries +that, while her old dupes die in thousands every day, new dupes are +born to her every day in still greater numbers. New dupes who +run to the same excess of folly with her that their fathers ran; new +dupes led in the same mad dance after Madam Bubble and her three daughters. +But, always, and to all men, what a bubble both the mother and all her +daughters are! How they all make promises like their lying mother, +and how, like her, they all lead men, if not to the halter and to hell, +as Greatheart said, yet to a life of vanity and to a death of disappointment +and despair! What bubbles of empty hopes both she and her three +children blow up in the brains of men! What pictures of untold +happiness they paint in the imaginations of men! What pleasures, +what successes in life, what honours and what rewards she pledges herself +to see bestowed! “She has her times and open places of cheating,” +said one who knew her and all her ways well. And when men and +women are still young and inexperienced, that is one of her great cheating +times. At some seasons of the year, and in some waters, to the +fisherman’s surprise and confusion, the fish will sometimes take +his bare hook; a bit of a red rag is a deadly bait. And Madam +Bubble’s poorest and most perfunctory busking is quite enough +for the foolish fish she angles for. And not in our salad days +only, when we are still green in judgment, but even to grey hairs, this +wicked witch continues to entrap us to our ruin. Love, in all +its phases and in all its mixtures, first deludes the very young; and +then place, and power, and fame, and money are the bait she busks for +the middle-aged and the old; and always with the same bubble end. +The whole truth is that without God, the living and ever-present God, +in all ages of it and in all parts and experiences of it, our human +life is one huge bubble. A far-shining, high-soaring bubble; but +sooner or later seen and tasted to be a bubble—a deceit-filled, +poison-filled bubble.—Happy by her! All men happy by her! +The impudent slut!</p> +<p>3. Another thing about this slut is this, that “she will +talk with any man.” She makes up to us and makes eyes at +us just as if we were free to accept and return her three offers. +And still she talks to us and offers us the same things she offered +to Standfast till, to escape her and her offers, he betook himself to +his knees. Nay, truth to tell, after she had deceived us and ensnared +us till we lay in her net cursing both her and ourselves, so bold and +so impudent and so persistent is this temptress slut, and such fools +and idiots are we, that we soon lay our eyes on her painted beauty again +and our heads in her loathsome lap; our heads on that block over which +the axe hangs by an angry hair. “She will talk with any +man.” No doubt; but, then, it takes two to make a talk, +and the sad thing is that there are few men among us so wise, so steadfast, +and so experienced in her ways that they will not on occasion let Madam +Bubble talk her talk to them, and talk back again to her. The +oldest saint, the oftenest sold and most dearly redeemed sinner, needs +to suspect himself to the end, till he is clear out of Madam Bubble’s +enchanted ground and for ever over that river of deliverance which shall +sweep Madam Bubble and all her daughters into the dead sea for ever.</p> +<blockquote><p>“The grey-haired saint may fail at last,<br /> + The surest guide a wanderer prove;<br /> +Death only binds us fast<br /> + To the bright shore of love.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>4. “She highly commends the rich,” the guide goes +on about Madam Bubble, “and if there be one cunning to get money +in any place she will speak well of him from house to house.” +“The world,” says Faber, “is not altogether matter, +nor yet altogether spirit. It is not man only, nor Satan only, +nor is it exactly sin. It is an infection, an inspiration, an +atmosphere, a life, a colouring matter, a pageantry, a fashion, a taste, +a witchery. None of all these names suit it, and all of them suit +it. Meanwhile its power over the human creation is terrific, its +presence ubiquitous, its deceitfulness incredible. It can find +a home under every heart beneath the poles. It is wider than the +catholic church, and it is masterful, lawless, and intrusive within +it. We are all living in it, breathing it, acting under its influence, +being cheated by its appearances, and unwarily admitting its principles.” +Let young ministers who wish to preach to their people on the World—after +studying what the Preacher, and the Saviour, and John, and John Bunyan +say about the World,—still read Faber’s powerful chapter +in his <i>Creator and Creature</i>. Yes; Madam Bubble finds a +home for herself in every heart beneath the poles. The truth is +Madam Bubble has no home, as she has no existence, but in human hearts. +And all that Solomon, and our Saviour, and John, and John Bunyan, and +Frederick Faber say about the world and about Madam Bubble they really +say about the heart of man. It is we, you and I, my brethren, +who so highly commend the rich. It is we ourselves here who speak +well from house to house of him whose father or whose self has been +cunning to get money. We either speak well or ill of them. +We either are sick with envy at them, or we fawn upon them and fall +down before them. How men rise in our esteem in the degree that +their money increases! With what reverence and holy awe we look +up at them as if they were gods and the sons of gods! They become +more than mortal men to our reverent imaginations. How happy, +how all but blessed they must be! we say to ourselves. Within +those park gates, under those high towers, in that silver-mounted carriage, +surrounded with all those liveried servants, and loved and honoured +by all those arriving and leaving guests—what happiness that rich +man must have! We are either eaten up of lean-eyed envy of this +and that rich man, or we positively worship them as other men worship +God and His saints. Yes; Madam Bubble is our very mother. +She conceived us and she suckled us. We were brought up in her +nurture and admonition. We learned her Catechism, and her shrine +is in our heart to-night. Like her, if only a pilgrim is poor, +we scorn him. We will not know him. But if there be any +one, pilgrim or no, cunning to get money, we honour him, and we claim +him as our kindred and relation, our acquaintance and our friend. +We will speak often of him as such from house to house. Just see +if we will not. There is room in our hearts, Madam Bubble, there +is room in our hearts for thee!</p> +<p>5. “She loves them most that think best of her.” +But, surely, surely, the guide goes quite too far in blaming and being +hard upon poor Madam Bubble for that? For, to give her fair play, +she is not at all alone in that. Is the guide himself wholly above +that? Do we not all do that? Is there one in ten, is there +one in a thousand, who hates and humiliates himself because his love +of men and women goes up or down just as they think of him? Yes; +Greatheart is true to his great name in his whole portrait of Madam +Bubble also, and nowhere more true than in this present feature. +For when any man comes to have any true greatness in his heart—how +he despises and detests himself as he finds himself out in not only +claiming kindred and acquaintance with the rich and despising and denying +the poor; but, still more, in loving or hating other men just as they +love or hate him! The world loves her own. Yes; but he who +has been taken out of the world, and who has had the world taken out +of him, he loves—he strives to love, he goes to his knees every +day he lives to love—those who not only do not think well of him, +but who both think ill of him and speak ill of him. “Humility,” +says William Law, “does not consist in having a worse opinion +of ourselves than we deserve, or in abasing ourselves lower than we +really are. But as all virtue is founded in truth, so humility +is founded in a true and just sense of our weakness, misery, and sin. +He who rightly feels and lives in this sense of his condition lives +in humility. And, it may be added, when our hearts are wholly +clothed with humility we shall be prompt to approve the judgment and +to endorse the sentence of those who think and speak the least good +of us and the most evil.”</p> +<p>6. “’Twas she,” so the guide at last wound +up, “that set Absalom against his father, and Jeroboam against +his master. ’Twas she that persuaded Judas to sell his Lord, +and that prevailed with Demas to forsake the godly pilgrim’s life. +None can tell all the mischief that Madam Bubble does. She makes +variance between rulers and subjects, between parents and children, +’twixt neighbour and neighbour, ’twixt a man and his wife, +’twixt a man and himself, ’twixt the flesh and the heart.” +Now, I shall leave that last indictment and its lessons and its applications +to yourselves, my brethren. You will get far more good out of +this accumulated count against Madam Bubble if you explain it, and open +it up, and prove it, and illustrate it to yourselves. Explain, +then, in what way this sorceress set Absalom against his father and +Jeroboam against his master. Point out in what way she makes variance +between a ruler and his subjects, and give illustrations. Put +your finger on a parent and on a child between whom there is variance +at this moment on her account. And, if you are that parent or +that child, what have you done to remove that variance? Name two +neighbours that to your knowledge Madam Bubble has come between; and +say what you have done to be a peacemaker there. Set down what +you would say to a man and his wife so as to put them on their guard +against Madam Bubble ever coming in between them. And, last and +best of all, point out to yourself at what times and in what ways this +wicked witch tries to make variance between God’s Holy Spirit +striving within you and your own evil heart still strong within you. +When you are weary and sleepy and hungry as a howlet, and, Madam Bubble +and her three daughters make a ring round you, what do you do? +Do you ever take to your knees? Really and honestly, do you? +When you find yourself out looking with holy fear on a rich and lofty +relation, and with insufferable contempt on a poor and intrusive relation, +by what name do you call yourself? Write it down. And when +she would fain put variance between you and those who do not think well +of you, what steps do you take to foil her? Where and how do you +get strength at that supreme moment to think of others as you would +have them think of you? “Oh,” said Standfast, “what +a mercy it is that I did resist her! for to what might she not have +drawn me?”</p> +<h2>GAIUS</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Gaius, mine host.”—<i>Paul</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Goodman Gaius was the head of a hostel that stood on the side of +the highway well on to the Celestial City. The hostess of the +hostel was no more, and the old hostel-keeper did all her once well-done +work and his own proper work into the bargain. Every day he inspected +the whole house with his own eyes, down even to the kitchen and the +scullery. The good woman had left our host an only daughter; but, +“Keep her as much out of sight as is possible,” she said, +and so fell asleep. And Gaius remembered his wife’s last +testament every day, till none of the hostel customers knew that there +was so much as a young hostess in all the house. “Yes, gentlemen,” +replied the old innkeeper. “Yes, come in. It is late, +but I take you for true men, for you must know that my house is kept +open only for such.” So he took the large pilgrim party +to their several apartments with his own eyes, and then set about a +supper for those so late arrivals. Stamping with his foot, he +brought up the cook with the euphonious and eupeptic name, and that +quick-witted domestic soon had a supper on the table that would have +made a full man’s mouth water. “The sight of all this,” +said Matthew, as the under-cook laid the cloth and the trenchers, and +set the salt and the bread in order—“the sight of this cloth +and of this forerunner of a supper begetteth in me a greater appetite +to my food than I thought I had before.” So supper came +up; and first a heave-shoulder and a wave-breast were set on the table +before them, in order to show that they must begin their meal with prayer +and praise to God. These two dishes were very fresh and good, +and all the travellers did eat heartily well thereof. The next +was a bottle of wine red as blood. So Gaius said to them, “Drink +freely; this is the juice of the true vine that makes glad the heart +of God and man.” And they did drink and were very merry. +The next was a dish of milk well crumbed. At the sight of which +Gaius said, “Let the boys have that, that they may grow thereby.” +And so on, dish after dish, till the nuts came with the recitations +and the riddles and the saws and the stories over the nuts. Thus +the happy party sat talking till the break of day.</p> +<p>1. Now, it is natural to remark that the first thing about +a host is his hospitality. And that, too, whether our host is +but the head of a hostel like Goodman Gaius, or the head of a well-appointed +private house like Gaius’s neighbour, Mr. Mnason. The first +and the last thing about a host is his hospitality. “Say +little and do much” is the example and the injunction to all our +housekeepers that Rabban Shammai draws out of the eighteenth of Genesis. +“Be like your father Abraham,” he says, “on the plains +of Mamre, who only promised bread and water, but straightway set Sarah +to knead three measures of her finest meal, while he ran to the herd +and fetched a calf tender and good, and stood by the three men while +they did eat butter and milk under the tree. Make thy Thorah an +ordinance: say little and do much: and receive every man with a pleasant +expression of countenance.” Now, this was exactly what Gaius +our goodman did that night, with one exception, which we shall be constrained +to attend to afterwards. “It is late,” he said, “so +we cannot conveniently go out to seek food; but such as we have you +shall be welcome to, if that will content.” At the same +time Taste-that-which-is-good soon had a supper sent up to the table +fit for a prince: a supper of six courses at that time in the morning, +so that the sun was already in the sky when Old Honest closed his casement.</p> +<p>“Dining in company is a divine institution,” says Mr. +Edward White, in his delightful <i>Minor Moralities of Life</i>. +“Let Soyer’s art be honoured among all men,” he goes +on. “Cookery distinguishes mankind from the beasts that +perish. Happy is the woman whose daily table is the result of +forethought. Her husband shall rise up and call her blessed. +It is piteous when the culinary art is neglected in our young women’s +education. Let them, as St. Peter says, imitate Sarah. Let +them see how that venerable princess went quickly to her kneading-trough +and oven and prepared an extempore collation of cakes and pilau for +the angels. How few ladies, whether Gentiles or Jewesses, could +do the like in the present day!”</p> +<p>2. The wistful and punctilious attention that Goodman Gaius +paid to each individual guest of his was a fine feature in his munificent +hospitality. He made every one who crossed his doorstep, down +even to Mr. Fearing, feel at once at home, such was his exquisite as +well as his munificent hospitality. “Come, sir,” he +said, clapping that white-faced and trembling pilgrim on the shoulder, +“come, sir, be of good cheer, you are welcome to me and to my +house; and what thou hast a mind to, that call for freely: for what +thou wouldst have my servants will do for thee, and they will do it +for thee with a ready mind.” All the same, for a long time +Mr. Fearing was mortally afraid of the servants. He would as soon +have thought of stamping his foot for a duchess to come up as for any +of Gaius’s serving-maids. He was afraid to make any noise +in his room lest all the house should hear it. He was afraid to +touch anything in the room lest it should fall and be broken. +We ourselves, with all our assumed ease and elaborate abandon, are often +afraid to ring our bell even in an inn. Mr. Fearing would as soon +have pulled the tail of a rattlesnake. But before their sojourn +was over, the Guide was amazed at Mr. Fearing, for that hare-hearted +pilgrim would be doing things in the house that he himself would scarcely +do who had been in the house a thousand times. It was Gaius’s +exuberant heartiness that had demoralised Mr. Fearing and made him almost +too forward even for a wayside inn. In little things also Gaius, +mine host, showed his sensitive and solicitous hospitality. We +all know housekeepers, not to say innkeepers, and not otherwise ungenerous +housekeepers either who will grudge us a sixpennyworth of sticks and +coals in a cold night, and that, too, in a room furnished to overflowing +by Morton Brothers or the Messrs. Maple. We take a candlestick +and a dozen candles with us in the boot of the carriage when we wish +to read or write late into the night in that great house. Another +housekeeper, who would give you her only daughter with her wealthy dowry, +will sometimes be seen by all in her house to grudge you a fresh cup +of afternoon tea when you drop in to see her and her daughter. +She says to herself that it is to spare the servants the stairs; but, +all the time, under the stairs, the servants are blushing for the sometimes +unaccountable stinginess of their unusually munificent mistress. +I shall give you “line upon line, precept upon precept, here a +little and there a little” of Aristotle upon munificence in little +things till you come up to his pagan standard. “There is +a real greatness,” he says, “even in the way that some men +will buy a toy to a child. Even in the smallest matters the munificent +man will act munificently!” As Gaius, mine host, munificently +did.</p> +<p>3. Speaking of children, what a night of entertainment good +old Gaius gave the children of the pilgrim party! “Let the +boys have the crumbed milk,” he gave orders. “Butter +and honey shall they eat,” he exclaimed over them as that brimming +dish came up. “This was our Lord’s dish when He was +a child,” he said to the mother of the boys, “that He might +know to refuse the evil and to choose the good.” Then they +brought up a dish of apples, and they were very good-tasted fruit. +Then said Matthew, “May we eat apples, since they were such by +and with which the serpent beguiled our first mother?” Then +said Gaius,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Apples were they by which we were beguiled,<br /> +Yet sin, not apples, hath our souls defiled.<br /> +Apples forbid, if eat, corrupt the blood.<br /> +To eat such, when commanded, does us good.<br /> +Drink of His flagons then, thou Church, His Dove,<br /> +And eat His apples who are sick of love.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then said Matthew, “I make the scruple because I awhile since +was sick with eating of fruit.” “Forbidden fruit,” +said the host, “will make you sick, but not what our Lord hath +tolerated.” While they were thus talking they were presented +with another dish, and it was a dish of nuts. Then said some at +the table, “Nuts spoil tender teeth, especially the teeth of children,” +which when Gaius heard, he said,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Hard texts are nuts (I will not call them cheaters)<br /> +Whose shells do keep their kernels from the eaters;<br /> +Ope then the shells and you shall have the meat;<br /> +They here are brought for you to crack and eat.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then Samuel whispered to his mother and said, “Mother, this +is a very good man’s house; let us stay here a good while before +we go any farther.” The which Gaius the host overhearing, +said, “With a very good will, my child.”</p> +<p>4. Widower as old Gaius was, and never for a single hour forgot +that he was, there was a certain sweet and stately gallantry awakened +in his withered old heart at the sight of Christiana and Mercy, and +especially at the sight of Matthew and Mercy when they were seen together. +He seems to have fallen almost in love with that aged matron, as he +called her, and the days of his youth came back to him as he studied +the young damsel, who was to her as a daughter. And this set the +loquacious old innkeeper upon that famous oration about women which +every man who has a mother, or a wife, or a sister, or a daughter has +by heart. And from that he went on to discourse on the great advantages +of an early marriage. He was not the man, nor was he speaking +to a mother who was the woman, ever to become a vulgar and coarse-minded +matchmaker; at the same time, he liked to see Matthew and Mercy sent +out on a message together, leaving it to nature and to grace to do the +rest. The pros and cons of early marriage were often up at his +hearty table, but he always debated, and Gaius was a great debater, +that true hospitality largely consisted in throwing open the family +circle to let young people get well acquainted with one another in its +peace and sweetness. And Gaius both practised what he preached, +and at the same time endorsed his watchful wife’s last testament, +when he gave his daughter Phebe to James, Christiana’s second +son, and thus was left alone, poor old Gaius, when the happy honeymoon +party started upward from his hostel door.</p> +<p>5. Their next host was one Mr. Mnason, a Cyprusian by nation, +and an old disciple. “How far have you come to-day?” +he asked. “From the house of Gaius our friend,” they +said. “I promise you,” said he, “you have gone +a good stitch; you may well be weary; sit down.” So they +sat down. “Our great want a while since,” said Old +Honest, “was harbour and good company, and now I hope we have +both.” “For harbour,” said the host, “you +see what it is, but for good company that will appear in the trial.” +After they were a little rested Old Honest again asked his host if there +were any store of good people in that town; and, “How,” +he said, “shall we do to see some of them? For the sight +of good men to them that are going on pilgrimage is like to the appearing +of the moon and stars to them that are sailing upon the seas.” +Then Mr. Mnason stamped with his foot and his daughter Grace came up, +when he sent her out for five of his friends in the town, saying that +he had a guest or two in his house at present to whom he would like +to introduce them.</p> +<p>Now, this is another of the good qualities of a good host, to know +the best and the most suitable people in the town, and to be on such +terms with them that on short notice they will step across to help to +entertain such travellers as had come to Mr. Mnason’s table. +And it is an excellent thing to be sure that when we are so invited +we shall not only get a good dinner, but also, as good “kitchen” +with our dinner, good company and good conversation. It is nothing +short of a fine art to gather together and to seat suitably beside one +another good and suitable people as Mr. and Miss Mnason did in their +hospitable house that afternoon. And then, as to the talk: let +the host and the hostess introduce the guests, and then let the guests +introduce their own topics. And as far as possible, in a city +and a day like this, let our topics be books rather than people. +And let the books be the books that the guests have read rather than +those that the host and the hostess have read. Books are a fine +subject for a talk at table. Only, let great readers order their +learned and literary talk so as not to lead the less learned into temptation. +There is no finer exercise of fine feeling than to be able to carry +on a conversation about matters that other people present are ignorant +of, and at the same time to interest them, to set them at ease, and +to make them forget both you and themselves. I had a letter the +other day from an English Church clergyman, in which he tells me that +his bishop is coming this month to his vicarage for a kind of visitation +and retreat, and that they are to have William Law’s <i>Characters +and Characteristics</i> read aloud to them when the bishop and the assembled +clergy are at their meals. For my part, I would rather hear a +good all-round talk on that book by the bishop and his clergy after +they had all read the book over and over again at home. But such +readings at assembled meals have all along been a feature of the best +fraternal life in the Church of England and in some of the sister churches.</p> +<p>6. Now, after dining and supping repeatedly with garrulous +old Gaius, and with the all-but-silent Mr. Mnason, I have come home +ruminating again and again on this—that a good host, the best +host, lets his guests talk while he attends to the table. If the +truth may even be whispered to one’s-self about a table that one +has just left, Gaius did his best to spoil his good supper by his own +over-garrulity. It was good talk that he entertained his waiting +guests with, but we may have too much of a good thing. His oration +in praise of women was an excellent oration, had it been delivered in +another house than his own; and, say, when he was asked to give the +health of Christiana, or of Matthew the bridegroom and Mercy the bride, +it would then have been perfect; but not in his own house, and not when +his guests were waiting for their supper. On the other hand, you +should have seen that perfect gentleman, Mr. Mnason. For that +true old Christian and old English gentleman never once opened his mouth +after he had set his guests a-talking. He was too busy watching +when any man’s dish was again empty. He was too much delighted +to see that every one of his guests was having his punctual share of +the supper, and at the same time his full share of the talk. Mr. +Fearing’s small voice was far more pleasant to Mr. Mnason than +his own voice was in his own best story. As I opened my own door +the other night after supping with Mr. and Miss Mnason, I said to myself—One +thing I have again seen and learned to-night, and that is, that a host, +and still more a hostess, should talk less at their own table than their +most silent, most bashful, and most backward guest. “Make +this an ordinance for thee,” said Rabban Shammai to his sons in +the law; “receive all thy guests with a pleasant expression of +countenance, and then say little and do much.”</p> +<h2>CHRISTIAN</h2> +<blockquote><p>“The disciples were called Christians first at +Antioch.”—<i>Luke</i>.</p> +<p>“Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.”—<i>King +Agrippa</i>.</p> +<p>“Let every one that nameth the name of Christ depart from iniquity.”—<i>Paul</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>All the other personages in the Pilgrim’s Progress come and +go; they all ascend the stage for a longer or shorter time, and then +pass off the stage and so pass out of our sight; but Christian in the +First Part, and Christiana in the Second Part, are never for a single +moment out of our sight. And, accordingly, we have had repeated +occasion and opportunity to learn many excellent lessons from the chief +pilgrim’s upward walk and heavenly conversation. But so +full and so rich are his life and his character, that some very important +things still remain to be collected before we finally close his history. +“Gather up the fragments that nothing be lost,” said our +Lord, after His miraculous meal of multiplied loaves and fishes with +His disciples. And in like manner I shall now proceed to gather +up some of the remaining fragments of Christian’s life and character +and experience. And I shall collect these fragments into the three +baskets of his book, his burden, and his sealed roll and certificate.</p> +<p>1. And first, a few things as to his book. “As +I slept I dreamed, and behold I saw a man clothed in rags standing in +a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, +and a great burden upon his back. I looked and saw him open the +book and read therein; and as he read he wept and trembled; and not +being able longer to contain he broke out with a lamentable cry, saying, +What shall I do?” We hear a great deal in these advertising +days, and not one word too much, about the books that have influenced +and gone largely to the making of our great men; but Graceless, like +John Bunyan, his biographer, was a man of but one book. But, then, +that book was the most influential of all books; it was the Book of +books; it was God’s very own and peculiar Book. And those +of us who, like this man, have passed out of a graceless into a gracious +state will for ever remember how that same Book at that time influenced +us till it made us what we are and shall yet be. We read many +other good books at that epoch in our life, but it was the pure Bible +that we read and prayed over out of sight the most. We needed +no commentators or exegetes on our simple Bible in those days. +The great texts stood out to our eyes in those days as if they had been +written with a sunbeam; while all other books (and we read nothing but +the best books in those days) looked like twilight and rushlight beside +our Bible. In those immediate, direct, and intense days we would +have satisfied Wordsworth and Matthew Arnold themselves in the way we +read our Bible with our eye never off the object. The Four Last +Things were ever before us—death and judgment, heaven and hell. +“O my dear wife,” said Graceless, “and you the children +of my bowels, I your dear friend am in myself undone by reason of a +burden that lieth hard upon me; moreover, I am for certain informed +that this our city will be burned with fire from heaven, in which fearful +overthrow both myself, with thee my wife, and you my sweet babes, shall +miserably come to ruin, except (the which yet I see not) some way of +escape can be found whereby we may be delivered.” He would +walk also solitarily in the fields, sometimes reading and sometimes +praying; and thus for some days he spent his time. Graceless at +that time and at that stage would have satisfied the exigent author +of the <i>Practical Treatise upon Christian Perfection</i> where he +says that “we are too apt also to think that we have sufficiently +read a book when we have so read it as to know what it contains. +This reading may be quite sufficient as to many books; but as to the +Bible we are not to think that we have read it enough because we have +often read and heard what it teaches. We must read our Bible, +not to know what it contains, but to fill our hearts with the spirit +of it.” And, again, and on this same point, “There +is this unerring key to the right use of the Bible. The Bible +has only one intent, and that is to make a man know, resist, and abhor +the working of his fallen earthly nature, and to turn the faith, hope, +and longing desire of his heart to God; and therefore we are only to +read our Bibles with this view and to learn this one lesson from it +. . . The critic looks into his books to see how Latin and Greek authors +have used the words ‘stranger’ and ‘pilgrim,’ +but the Christian, who knows that man lives in labour and toil, in sickness +and pain, in hunger and thirst, in heat and cold among the beasts of +the field, where evil spirits like roaring lions seek to devour him—he +only knows in what truth and reality man is a poor stranger and a distressed +pilgrim upon the earth.” John Bunyan read neither Plato +nor Aristotle, but he read David and Paul till he was the chief of sinners, +and till he was first the Graceless and then the Christian of his own +next-to-the-Bible book.</p> +<p>2. In the second place, and as to his burden. We are +supplied with no particulars as to the first beginnings, the gradual +make-up, and at last the terrible size of Christian’s burden. +What this pilgrim’s youthful life must have been in such a city +as his native city was, and while he was still a young man of such a +name and such a character in such a city, we are left to ourselves to +think and consider. Graceless was his name by nature, and his +life was as his name and his nature were. Still, as I have said, +we have no detailed and particular account of his early life when his +burden was still day and night in the making up. How long into +your life were you graceless, my brother? And what kind of life +did you lead day and night before you were persuaded or alarmed, as +the case may have been with you, into being a Christian? What +burdens do you carry on your broken back to this day that were made +up in the daylight or in the darkness by your own hands in your early +days? Were you early or were you too late in your conversion? +Or are you truly converted to God and to salvation even yet? And +are you at this moment still binding a burden on your back that you +shall never lay down on this side your grave—it may be, not on +this side your burning bed in hell? Ask yourselves all that before +God and before your own conscience, and make yourselves absolutely sure +that God at any rate is not mocked; and, therefore that you, too, shall +in the end reap exactly as you from the beginning have sown. “How +camest thou by thy burden at first?” asked Mr. Worldly-Wiseman +at the trembling pilgrim. “By reading this book in my hand,” +he answered. And, in the long run, it is always the Bible that +best creates a sinner’s burden, binds it on his back, and makes +it so terribly heavy to bear. Fear of death and judgment will +sometimes make up and bind on a sinner’s burden; and sometimes +the fear of man’s judgment on this side of death will do it. +Fear of being found out in some cases will make a man’s secret +sin far too heavy for him to bear. The throne of public opinion +is not a very white throne; at the same time, it is a coarse forecast +and a rough foretaste of the last judgment; and the fear of it not seldom +makes a man’s burden simply intolerable to him. Sometimes +a great sinner’s burden leads him to flight and outlawry; sometimes +to madness and self-murder; and sometimes, by the timeous and sufficient +grace of God, to the way of escape that our pilgrim took. Tenderness +of conscience, also, simple softness of heart and conscience, will sometimes +make a terrible burden out of what other men would call a very light +matter. Bind a burden on that iron pillar standing there, and +it will feel nothing and say nothing. But, bind the same burden +on that man in whose seat that dead pillar takes up a sitter’s +room, and he will make all that are in the house hear his sighs and +his groans. And lay an act of sin—an evil word or evil work +or evil thought—on one man among us, and he will walk about the +streets with as erect a head and as smiling a countenance and as light +a step as if he were an innocent child; while, lay half as much on his +neighbour, and it will so bruise him to the earth that all men will +take knowledge of him that he is a miserable man. Our Lord could +no doubt have carried His cross from the hall of judgment to the hill-top +without help had His back not been wet with blood. What with a +whole and an unwealed body, a well-rested and well-nourished body, He +could easily have carried, with His broken body and broken heart He +quite sank under. And so it is with His people. One of His +heart-broken, heart-bleeding people will sink down to death and hell +under a burden of sin and corruption that another of them will scarcely +feel or know or believe that it is there. Some sins again in themselves, +and by reason of several aggravations, are far more heavy to bear than +others, and by some sinners than others. I was reading Bishop +Andrewes to myself last night and came upon this pertinent passage. +“Sin: its measure, its harm, its scandal. Its quality: how +often—how long. The person by whom: his age, condition, +state, enlightenment. Its manner, motive, time, and place. +The folly of it, the ingratitude of it, the hardness of it, the presumptuousness +of it. By heart, by mouth, by deed. Against God, my neighbours, +my own body. By knowledge, by ignorance. Willingly and unwillingly. +Of old and of late. In boyhood and youth, in mature and old age. +Things done once, repeated often, hidden and open. Things done +in anger, and from the lust of the flesh and of the world. Before +and after my call. Asleep by night and awake by day. Things +remembered and things forgotten. Through the fiery darts of the +enemy, through the unclean desires of the flesh—I have sinned +against Thee. Have mercy on me, O God, and forgive me!” +That is the way some men’s burdens are made up to such gigantic +proportions and then bound on by such acute cords. That is the +way that Lancelot Andrewes and John Bunyan walked solitarily in the +fields, sometimes reading and sometimes praying, till the one of them +put himself into his immortal <i>Devotions</i>, and the other into his +immortal <i>Grace Abounding</i> and <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>.</p> +<p>“Then I saw in my dream that Christian asked the Gatekeeper +further if he could not help him off with his burden that was upon his +back, for as yet he had not got rid of it, nor could he by any means +get it off without help. He told him, ‘As to thy burden, +be content to bear it until thou comest to the place of deliverance, +for there it will fall from off thy back itself.’ Now I +saw in my dream that the highway up which Christian was to go was fenced +on either side with a wall, and that wall is Salvation. Up this +way, therefore, did burdened Christian run, but not without great difficulty, +because of the load on his back. He ran thus till he came to a +place somewhat ascending, and upon that place stood a cross, and a little +below in the bottom a sepulchre. So I saw in my dream that just +as Christian came up with the cross his burden loosed from off his back, +and began to tumble and so continued to do till it came to the mouth +of the sepulchre, where it fell in and I saw it no more. Then +was Christian glad and lightsome, and said with a merry heart, ‘He +hath given me rest by His sorrow, and life by His death!’”</p> +<blockquote><p>“Blest Cross! blest Sepulchre! Blest rather +be<br /> +The Man that there was put to shame for me.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But, then, how it could be that this so happy man was scarcely a +stone-cast past the cross when he had begun again to burden himself +with fresh sin, and thus to disinter all his former sin? How a +true pilgrim comes to have so many burdens to bear, and that till he +ceases to be any longer a pilgrim,—a burden of guilt, a burden +of corruption, and a burden of bare creaturehood,—I must leave +all that, and all the questions connected with all that, for you all +to think out and work out for yourselves; and you will not say any morning +on this earth, like Mrs. Timorous, that you have little to do.</p> +<p>3. The third of the three Shining Ones who saluted Christian +at the cross set a mark on his forehead, and put a roll with a seal +set upon it into his hand. A roll and a seal which he bid him +look on as he ran, and that he should give that roll in at the Celestial +Gate. Bunyan does not in all places come up to his usual clearness +in what he says about the sealed roll. We must believe that he +understood his own meaning and intention in all that he says, first +and last, about the roll, but he has not always made his meaning clear, +at least to one of his readers. Theological students, and, indeed, +all thoughtful Christian men, are invited to read Dr. Cunningham’s +powerful paper on Assurance in his <i>Reformers</i>. The whole +literature of Assurance is there taken up and weighed and sifted with +all that great writer’s incomparable learning and power and judgment. +Our Larger Catechism, also, is excellent on this subject; and this subject +is a favourite commonplace with all our best Calvinistic, Puritan, and +Evangelical authors. Let us take two or three passages out of +those authors just as a specimen, and so close.</p> +<p>“Can true believers”—Larger Catechism, Question +80—“Can true believers be infallibly assured that they are +in an estate of grace, and that they shall persevere therein to the +end? <i>Answer</i>: Such as truly believe in Christ, and endeavour +to walk in all good conscience before Him may, without extraordinary +revelation, by faith grounded upon the truth of God’s promise, +and by the Spirit enabling them to discern in themselves those graces +to which the promises of eternal life are made, and bearing witness +with their spirits that they are the children of God, they may be infallibly +assured that they are in the estate of grace, and shall persevere therein +unto salvation.” Question 81: “Are all true believers +at all times assured of their present being in a state of grace, and +that they shall be saved? <i>Answer</i>: Assurance of grace and +salvation not being of the essence of faith, true believers may wait +long before they obtain it, and, after the enjoyment thereof, may have +it weakened and intermitted through manifold distempers, sins, temptations, +and desertions; yet are they never left without such a presence and +support of the Spirit of God as keeps them from sinking into utter despair.” +“A Christian’s assurance,” says Fraser of Brea, “though +it does not firstly flow from his holiness, yet is ever after proportionable +to his holy walking. Faith is kept in a pure conscience. +Sin is like a blot of ink fallen upon our evidence. This I found +to be a truth.” “It was the speech of one to me,” +says Thomas Shepard of New England, “next to the donation of Christ, +no mercy like this, to deny assurance long; and why? For if the +Lord had not, I should have given way to a loose heart and life. +And this is a rule I have long held—long denial of assurance is +like fire to burn out some sin and then the Lord will speak peace.” +“Serve your God day and night faithfully,” says Dr. Goodwin. +“Walk humbly; and there is a promise of the Holy Ghost to come +and fill your hearts with joy unspeakable and glorious to rear you up +to the day of redemption. Sue this promise out, wait for it, rest +not in believing only, rest not in assurance by graces only; there is +a further assurance to be had.” “I would not give +a straw for that assurance,” says John Newton, “which sin +will not damp. If David had come from his adultery and still have +talked of his assurance, I should have despised his speech.” +“When we want the faith of assurance,” says Matthew Henry, +“let us live by the faith of adherence.” And then +the whole truth is in a nutshell in Isaiah and in John: “The effect +of righteousness shall be quietness and assurance for ever,” and +“My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue, +but in deed and in truth. And hereby we shall know that we are +of the truth, and so shall assure our hearts before Him.”</p> +<h2>CHRISTIANA</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Honour widows that are widows indeed.”—<i>Paul</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We know next to nothing of Christiana till after she is a widow indeed. +The names of her parents, and what kind of parents they were, the schools +and the boarding-schools to which they sent their daughter, her school +companions, the books she read, if she ever read any books at all, the +amusements she was indulged in and indulged herself in—on all +that her otherwise full and minute biographer is wholly silent. +He does not go back beyond her married life; he does not even go back +to the beginning of that. The only thing we are sure of about +Christiana’s early days is that she was an utterly ungodly woman +and that she married an utterly ungodly man. “Have you a +family? Are you a married man?” asked Charity of Christian +in the House Beautiful. “I have a wife and four small children,” +he replied. “And why did you not bring them along with you?” +Then Christian wept, and said: “Oh, how willingly would I have +done it; but they were all utterly averse to my going on pilgrimage.” +“But you should have talked to them,” said Charity, “and +have endeavoured to have shown them the danger of being behind.” +“So I did,” answered Christian. “And did you +pray to God that He would bless your counsel to them?” “Yes, +and with much affection; for you must think that my wife and poor children +were very dear unto me.” “But what could they say +for themselves why they came not?” “Why, my wife was +afraid of losing the world, and my children were given over to the foolish +delights of youth; so what with one thing and what with another, they +left me to wander in this manner alone.”</p> +<p>But what her husband’s conversion, good example, and most earnest +entreaties could not all do for his worldly wife, that his sudden death +speedily did. And thus it is that both Christiana’s best +life, all our interest in her, and all our information about her, dates, +sad to say, not from her espousal, nor from her marriage day, nor from +any part of her married life, but from her husband’s death. +Her maidenhood has no interest for us; all our interest is fixed on +her widowhood. This work of fiction now in our hands begins where +all other works of fiction end; for in the life of religion, you must +know, our best is always before us. Well, scarcely was her husband +dead when Christiana began to accuse herself of having killed him. +To take her own bitter words for it, the most agonising and remorseful +thoughts about her conduct to her husband stung her heart like so many +wasps. Ah yes! A wasp’s sting is but a blade of innocent +grass compared with the thoughts that have stung us all as we recalled +what we said and did to those who are now no more. There are graves +in the churchyard we dare not go near. “I have sinned away +your father!” she cried, as she threw herself on the earth at +the feet of her astounded children. “I have sinned away +your father and he is gone!” And yet there was no mark of +a bullet and no gash of a knife on his dead body, and no chemistry could +have extracted one grain of arsenic or of strychnine out of his blood. +But there are many ways of taking a man’s life besides those of +poison or a knife or a gunshot. Constant fault-finding, constant +correction and studied contempt before strangers, total want of sympathy +and encouragement, gloomy looks, rough remarks, all blame and never +a word of praise, things like these between man and wife will kill as +silently and as surely as poison or suffocation. Look at home, +my brethren, and ask yourselves what you will think of much of your +present conduct when it has borne its proper fruit. “Upon +this came into her mind by swarms all her unkind, unnatural, and ungodly +carriages to her dear friend, which also clogged her conscience and +did load her with guilt. It all returned upon her like a flash +of lightning, and rent the caul of her heart asunder.” “That +which troubleth me most,” she would cry out, “is my churlish +carriages to him when he was under distress. I am that woman,” +she would cry out and would not be appeased—“I am that woman +that was so hardhearted as to slight my husband’s troubles, and +that left him to go on his journey alone. How like a churl I carried +myself to him in all that! And so guilt took hold of my mind,” +she said to the Interpreter, “and would have drawn me to the pond!”</p> +<p>A minister’s widow once told me that she had gone home after +hearing a sermon of mine on the text, “What profit is there in +my blood?” and had destroyed a paper of poison she had purchased +in her despair on the previous Saturday night. It was not a sermon +from her unconscious minister, but it was far better; it was a conversation +that Christiana held with her four boys that fairly and for ever put +all thought of the pond out of their mother’s remorseful mind. +“So Christiana,” as we read in the opening of her history—“so +Christiana called her sons together and began thus to address herself +unto them: My sons, I have, as you may perceive, been of late under +much exercise in my soul about the death of your father. My carriages +to your father in his distress are a great load on my conscience. +Come, my children, let us pack up and be gone to the gate, that we may +see your father and be with him, according to the laws of that land.” +I like that passage, I think, the best in all Christiana’s delightful +history—that passage which begins with these words: “So +she called her children together.” For when she called her +children together she opened to them both her heart and her conscience; +and from that day there was but one heart and one conscience in all +that happy house. I was walking alone on a country road the other +day, and as I was walking I was thinking about my pastoral work and +about my people and their children, when all at once I met one of my +people. My second sentence to him was: “This very moment +I was thinking about your sons. How are they getting on?” +He quite well understood me. He knew that I was not indifferent +as to how they were getting on in business, but he knew that I was alluding +more to the life of godliness and virtue in their hearts and in their +characters. “O sir,” he said, “you may give +your sons the skin off your back, but they will not give you their confidence!” +So had it been with Christian and his sons. He had never managed, +even in his religion, to get into the confidence of his sons; but when +their mother took them into her agonised confidence, from that day she +was in all their confidences, good and bad. You who are in your +children’s confidences will pray in secret for my lonely friend +with the skin off his back, will you not? that he may soon be able to +call his sons together so as to start together on a new life of family +love, and family trust, and family religion. That was a fine sight. +Who will make a picture of it? This widow indeed at the head of +her family council-table, and Matthew at the foot, and James and Joseph +and Samuel all in their places. “Come, my children, let +us pack up that we may see your father!” Then did her children +burst into tears for joy that the heart of their mother was so inclined.</p> +<p>From that first family council let us pass on to Christiana’s +last interview with her family and her other friends. Her biographer +introduces her triumphant translation with this happy comment on the +margin: “How welcome is death to them that have nothing to do +but die!” Well, that was exactly Christiana’s case. +She had so packed up at the beginning of her journey; she had so got +and had so kept the confidences of all her sons; she had seen them all +so married in the Lord, and thus so settled in a life of godliness and +virtue; she had, in short, lived the life of a widow indeed, till, when +the post came for her, she had nothing left to do but just to rise up +and follow him. His token to her was an arrow with a point sharpened +with love, let easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually +with her that at the time appointed she must be gone. We have +read of arrows of death sharpened sometimes with steel and sometimes +with poison; but this arrow, shot from heaven, was sharpened to a point +with love. Indeed, that arrow, or the very fellow of it, had been +shot into Christiana’s heart long ago when she stood at that spot +somewhat ascending where was a cross and a sepulchre; and, especially, +ever since the close of Greatheart’s great discourse on pardon +by deed. For the hearing of that famous discourse had made her +exclaim: “Oh! Thou loving One, it makes my heart bleed to +think that Thou shouldest bleed for me! Oh! Thou blessed +One, Thou deservest to have me, for Thou hast bought me! Thou +deservest to have me all, for Thou hast paid for me ten thousand times +more than I am worth!” Now it was with all that love working +effectually in her heart that Christiana called for her children to +give them her blessing. And what a comfort it was to her to see +them all around her with the mark of the kingdom on their foreheads, +and with their garments white. “My sons and my daughters,” +she said, “be you all ready against the time His post calls for +you.” Then she called for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, and entreated +him to have an eye on her children, and to speak comfortably to them +if at any time he saw them faint. And then she gave Mr. Standfast +her ring. “Behold,” she said, as Mr. Honest came in—“Behold +an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile!” Then Mr. Ready-to-halt +came in, and then Mr. Despondency and his daughter Much-afraid, and +then Mr. Feeble-mind. Now the day drew on that Christiana must +be gone. So the road was full of people to see her take her journey. +But, behold! all the banks beyond the river were full of horses and +chariots which were come down from above to accompany her to the City +gates, so she came forth and entered the river with a beckon of farewell +to those that followed her to the river-side. The last word she +was heard to say here was, “I come, Lord, to be with Thee, and +to bless Thee.”</p> +<p>But with all this, you must not suppose that this good woman, this +mother in Israel, had forgotten her grandchildren. She would sooner +have forgotten her own children. But she was too good a woman +to forget either. For long ago, away back at the river on this +side the Delectable Mountains, she had said to her four daughters—I +must tell you exactly what she has said: “Here,” she said, +“in this meadow there are cotes and folds for sheep, and an house +is built here also for the nourishing and bringing up of those lambs, +even the babes of those women that go on pilgrimage. Also there +is One here who can have compassion and that can gather these lambs +with His arm and carry them in His bosom. This Man, she said, +will house and harbour and succour the little ones, so that none of +them shall be lacking in time to come. This Man, if any of them +go astray or be lost, He will bring them again, He will bind up that +which was broken, and will strengthen them that are sick. So they +were content to commit their little ones to that Man, and all this was +to be at the charge of the King, and so it was as a hospital to young +children and orphans.”</p> +<p>And now I shall sum up my chief impressions of Christiana under the +three heads of her mind, her heart, and her widowhood indeed.</p> +<p>1. The mother of Christian’s four sons was a woman of +real mind, as so many of the maidens, and wives, and widows of Puritan +England and Covenanting Scotland were. You gradually gather that +impression just from being beside her as the journey goes on. +She does not speak much; but, then, there is always something individual, +remarkable, and memorable in what she says. I have a notion of +my own that Christiana must have been a reader of that princely Puritan, +John Milton. And if that was so, that of itself would be certificate +enough as to her possession of mind. There is always a dignity +and a strength about her utterances that make us feel sure that she +had always had a mind far above her neighbours, Mrs. Bat’s-eyes, +Mrs. Light-mind, and Mrs. Know-nothing. The first time she opens +her mouth in our hearing she lets fall an expression that Milton had +just made famous in his <i>Samson</i>—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ease to the body some, none to the mind<br /> +From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm<br /> +Of hornets armed no sooner found alone,<br /> +But rush upon me thronging, and present<br /> +Times past, what once I was, and what am now.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Nor can I leave this point without asserting it to you that no church +and no school of theology has ever developed the mind as well as sanctified +the heart of the common people like the preaching of the Puritan pulpit. +Matthew Arnold was not likely to over-estimate the good that Puritanism +had done to England. Indeed, in his earlier writings he sometimes +went out of his way to lament the hurt that the Puritan spirit had done +to liberality of life and mind in his native land. But in his +riper years we find him saying: “Certainly,” he says, “I +am not blind to the faults of the Puritan discipline, but it has been +an invaluable discipline for that poor, inattentive, and immoral creature, +man. And the more I read history and the more I see of mankind, +the more I recognise the value of the Puritan discipline.” +And in that same Address he “founded his best hopes for that so +enviable and unbounded country in which he was speaking, America, on +the fact that so many of its millions had passed through the Puritan +discipline.” John Milton was a product of that discipline +on the one hand, as John Bunyan was on the other. Christiana was +another of its products in the sphere of the family, just as Matthew +Arnold himself had some of his best qualities out of the same fruitful +school.</p> +<p>2. Her heart, her deep, strong, tender heart, is present on +every page of Christiana’s noble history. Her heart keeps +her often silent when the water in her eyes becomes all the more eloquent. +When she does let her heart utter itself in words, her words are fine +and memorable. As, for one instance, after Greatheart’s +discourse on redemption. “O Mercy, that thy father and mother +were here; yea, and Mrs. Timorous also. Nay, I wish with all my +heart now that here was Madam Wanton, too. Surely, surely, their +hearts would be affected, nor could the fear of the one, nor the powerful +lusts of the other, prevail with them to go home again, and to refuse +to become good pilgrims.” But it was not so much what she +said herself that brought out the depth and tenderness of Christiana’s +heart, it was rather the way her heart loosened other people’s +tongues. You must all have felt how some people’s presence +straitens your heart and sews up your mouth. While there are other +people, again, whose simple presence unseals your heart and makes you +eloquent. We ministers keenly feel that both in our public and +in our private ministrations. There are people in whose hard and +chilling presence we cannot even say grace as we should say it. +Whereas, we all know other people, people of a heart, that is, whose +presence somehow so touches our lips that we always when near them rise +far above ourselves. Christiana did not speak much to her guides +and instructors and companions, but they always spoke their best to +her, and it was her heart that did it.</p> +<p>3. And then a widow indeed is just a true and genuine widow; +a widow not in her name and in her weeds only, but still more in her +deep heart, in her whole life, and in her garnered experience. +“Honour widows that are widows indeed. Now, she that is +a widow indeed and desolate, trusteth in God, and continueth in supplications +and in prayers night and day. Well reported of for good works; +if she have brought up children, if she have lodged strangers, if she +have washed the saints’ feet, if she have relieved the afflicted, +if she have diligently followed every good work.” These +are the true marks and seals and occupations of a widow indeed. +And if she has had unparalleled trials and irreparable losses, she has +her corresponding consolations and compensations. For she has +a freedom to go about and do good, a liberty and an experience that +neither the unmarried maiden nor the married wife can possibly have. +She can do multitudes of things that in the nature of things neither +of them can attempt to do. Things that would be both unseemly +and impossible for other women to say or to do are both perfectly seemly +and wholly open for her to say and to do. Her widowhood is a sacred +shield to her. Her sorrow is a crown of honour and a sceptre of +authority to her. She is consulted by the young and the inexperienced, +by the forsaken and by the forlorn, as no other human being ever is. +She has come through this life, and by a long experience she knows this +world and the hearts that fill it and make it what it is. A widow +indeed can show a sympathy, and give a counsel, and speak with a weight +of wisdom that one’s own mother cannot always do. All you +who by God’s sad dispensation are now clothed in the “white +and wimpled folds” of widowhood, let your prayer and your endeavour +day and night be that God would guide and enable you to be widows indeed. +And, if you do, you shall want neither your occupation nor your honour.</p> +<h2>THE ENCHANTED GROUND</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Surely there is no enchantment against Jacob, +neither is there any divination against Israel.”—<i>Balaam</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“I saw then in my dream that they went till they came into +a certain country whose air naturally tended to make one drowsy if he +came a stranger to it. And here Hopeful began to be very dull +and heavy of sleep, wherefore he said unto Christian, I do now begin +to grow so drowsy that I can scarcely hold up mine eyes; let us lie +down here and take one nap.” And then when we turn to the +same place in the Second Part we read thus: “By this time they +were got to the Enchanted Ground, where the air naturally tended to +make one drowsy. And that place was all grown over with briars +and thorns, excepting here and there, where was an enchanted arbour, +upon which, if a man sits, or in which if a man sleeps, ’tis a +question, say some, whether they shall ever rise or wake again in this +world. Now, they had not gone far, but a great mist and darkness +fell upon them all, so that they could scarce, for a great while, see +the one the other. Wherefore they were forced for some time to +feel for one another by words, for they walked not by sight. Nor +was there on all this ground so much as one inn or victualling-house +wherein to refresh the feebler sort. Then they came to an arbour, +warm, and promising much refreshing to the pilgrims, for it was finely +wrought above head, beautified with greens, and furnished with couches +and settles. It also had a soft couch on which the weary might +lean. This arbour was called The Slothful Man’s Friend, +on purpose to allure, if it might be, some of the pilgrims there to +take up their rest when weary. This, you must think, all things +considered, was tempting. I saw in my dream also that they went +on in this their solitary way till they came to a place at which a man +is very apt to lose his way. Now, though when it was light, their +guide could well enough tell how to miss those ways that led wrong, +yet in the dark he was put to a stand. But he had in his pocket +a map of all ways leading to or from the Celestial City, wherefore he +struck a light (for he never goes also without his tinder-box), and +takes a view of his book or map, which bids him be careful in that place +to turn to the right-hand way. Then I thought with myself, who +that goeth on pilgrimage but would have one of those maps about him, +that he may look when he is at a stand, which is the way to take?”</p> +<p>1. “But what is the meaning of all this?” asked +Christiana of the guide. “This Enchanted Ground,”—her +able and experienced friend answered her, “this is one of the +last refuges that the enemy to pilgrims has; wherefore it is, as you +see, placed almost at the end of the way, and so it standeth against +us with the more advantage. For when, thinks the enemy, will these +fools be so desirous to sit down as when they are weary, and when so +like to be weary as when almost at their journey’s end? +Therefore it is, I say, that the Enchanted Ground is placed so nigh +to the land Beulah and so near the end of their race; wherefore let +pilgrims look to themselves lest they fall asleep till none can waken +them.” “That masterpiece of Bunyan’s insight +into life, the Enchanted Ground,” says Mr. Louis Stevenson, “where +his allegory cuts so deep to people looking seriously on life.” +Yes, indeed, Bunyan’s insight into life! And his allegory +that cuts so deep! For a neophyte, and one with little insight +into life, or into himself, would go to look for this land of darkness +and thorns and pitfalls, alternated with arbours and settles and soft +couches—one new to life and to himself, I say, would naturally +expect to see all that confined to the region between the City of Destruction +and the Slough of Despond; or, at the worst, long before, and never +after, the House Beautiful. But Bunyan looked too straight at +life and too unflinchingly into his own heart to lay down his sub-Celestial +lands in that way; and when we begin to look with a like seriousness +on the religious life, and especially when we begin to look bold enough +and deep enough into our own heart, then we too shall freely acknowledge +the splendid master-stroke of Bunyan in the Enchanted Ground. +That this so terrible experience is laid down almost at the end of the +Celestial way—the blaze of light that pours upon our heads fairly +startles us, while at the same time it comforts us and assures us. +That this Enchanted Ground, which has proved so fatal to so many false +pilgrims, and so all but fatal to so many true pilgrims, should lie +around the very borders of Beulah, and should be within all but eye-shot +of the Celestial City itself,—that is something to be thankful +for, and something to lay up in the deepest and the most secret place +in our heart. That these pilgrims, after all their feastings and +entertainments—after the Delectable Mountains and the House Beautiful—should +all be plunged upon a land where there was not so much as a roadside +inn, where the ways were so dark and so long that the pilgrims had to +shout aloud in order to keep together, where, instead of moon or stars, +they had to walk in the spark of a small tinder-box—what an encouragement +and assurance to us is all that! That is no strange thing, then, +that is now happening to us, when, after our fine communion season, +we have suddenly fallen back into this deep darkness, and are cast into +these terrible temptations, and feel as if all our past experiences +and attainments and enjoyments had been but a self-delusion and a snare. +That we should all but have fallen fast asleep, and all but have ceased +both from watching against sin and from waiting upon God—well, +that is nothing more than Hopeful himself would have done had he not +had a wary old companion to watch over him, and to hold his eyes open. +Let all God’s people present who feel that they are nothing better +of all they have enjoyed of Scriptures and sacraments, but rather worse; +let all those who feel sure that they have wandered into a castaway +land, so dark, so thorny, so miry, and so lonely is their life—let +them read this masterpiece of John Bunyan again and again and take heart +of hope.</p> +<blockquote><p>“When Saints do sleepy grow, let them come hither<br /> +And hear how these two pilgrims talk together;<br /> +Yea, let them hear of them, in any wise,<br /> +Thus to keep ope their drowsy slumb’ring eyes;<br /> +Saints’ fellowship, if it be managed well,<br /> +Keeps them awake, and that in spite of hell.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>2. But far worse than all its briars and thorns, far more fatal +than all its ditches and pitfalls, were the enchanted arbours they came +on here and there planted up and down that evil land. For those +arbours are all of this fatal nature, that if a man falls asleep in +any of them it arises a question whether he shall ever come to himself +again in this world. Now, where there are no inns nor victualling-houses, +no Gaius and no Mr. Mnason, what a danger all those ill-intended arbours +scattered all up and down that country become! Well, then, the +first enchanted arbour that the pilgrims came to was built just inside +the borders of the land, and it was called The Stranger’s Arbour—so +many new-comers had lain down in it never to rise again. The young +and the inexperienced, with those who were naturally of a believing, +buoyant, easy mind, lay down in hundreds here. Hopeful’s +mind was naturally a mind of a soft and easy and self-indulgent cast; +and had he been alone that day, or had he had for a companion a man +of a less wary, less anxious, and less urgent mind than Christian was, +Hopeful had taken a nap, as he so confidingly called it—a fatal +nap in that arbour built by the enemy of pilgrims, just on purpose for +the young and the ignorant, the inexperienced and the self-indulgent.</p> +<p>3. The Slothful Man’s Arbour has been already described. +It was a warm arbour, and it promised much refreshing to the pilgrims. +It also had in it a soft couch on which the weary might lean. +“Let us lie down here and take just one nap; we shall be refreshed +if we take a nap!” “Do you not remember,” said +the other, “that one of the shepherds bid us beware of the Enchanted +Ground? And he meant by that that we should beware of sleeping; +wherefore let us not sleep as do others, but let us watch and be sober.” +Now, what is a nap? And what is it to take a nap in our religion? +The New Testament is full of warnings to those who read it and go by +it—most solemn and most fearful warnings—against <i>sleep</i>. +Now, have you any clear idea in your minds as to what this divinely +denounced sleep is? Sleep is good and necessary in our bodily +life. We would not live long if we did not sleep; we would soon +go out of our mind; we would soon lose our senses if we did not sleep. +Insomnia is one of the worst symptoms of our eager, restless, over-worked +age. “He giveth His beloved sleep”; and while they +sleep their corn grows they know not how. But sleep in the great +exhortation-passages of the Holy Scriptures does not mean rest and restoration; +it means in all those passages insensibility, stupidity, danger, and +death. In our nightly sleep, and in the measure of its soundness, +we are utterly dead to the world around us. Men may come into +our house and rob us of our most precious possessions; they may even +come up to our bed and murder us; our whole house may be in a blaze +about us; we may only awaken to leap out of sleep into eternity. +Now, we are all in a sleep like that in our souls. There is above +us, and around us, and beneath us, and within us the eternal world, +and we are all sound asleep; we are all stone-dead in the midst of it. +Devils and wicked men are stealing our treasures for eternity, and we +are sound asleep; hell is already kindling our bed beneath us, but we +smell not its flames, or we only catch the first gasp of them before +we make our everlasting bed among them. Therefore let us not sleep +as do others, but let us watch and be sober. What meanest thou, +O sleeper? arise and call upon thy God! When the guide shook Heedless +and Too-bold off their settles in that slothful arbour, the one of them +said with his eyes still shut, “I will pay you when I take my +money,” and the other said, “I will fight so long as I can +hold my sword in my hand.” At that one of the children laughed. +“What is the meaning of that?” asked Christiana. The +guide said: “They talk in their sleep.” So they did, +and so do all men. For this whole world is full of settles on +which men sleep and talk in their sleep. The newspapers to-morrow +morning will all be full to overflowing of what men have said and written +to-day and yesterday in their sleep. The shops and the banks and +the exchanges will all be full of men making promises and settling accounts +in their sleep. They will finger their purses, and grasp their +swords, and all in their sleep. And not children but devils will +laugh as they hear the folly that falls from men’s lips who are +besotted with spiritual sleep and drugged with spiritual and fleshly +sin. A dream cometh through the multitude of business. I +had just got this length in this lecture the other night when I went +to sleep. And in my sleep one of my people came to me and asked +me if I could make it quite clear and plain to him what it would be +for a man like him after a communion-time to begin to walk with God. +And I just wish I could make the things of the Enchanted Ground as plain +to myself and to you to-night as I was able to make a walk with God +plain to myself and to my visitor that night in my ministerial dream. +I often wish that my business mind worked as well in my study chair +and in my pulpit as it sometimes does in my bed and in my sleep. +“Now, I beheld in my dream that they talked more in their sleep +at this time than ever they did in all their journey. And being +in a muse thereabout, the gardener said even to me: Wherefore musest +thou at the matter? It is the nature of the fruit of the grapes +of those vineyards to go down so sweetly as to cause the lips of them +that are asleep to speak.” The reason my poor lips spake +so sweetly about a walk with God that night most have been because I +spent all the summer evening before walking with God and with you in +the vineyards of Beulah.</p> +<p>4. Listen to Samson, shorn of his locks, as he shakes himself +off a soft and sweetly-worked couch in The Sensual Man’s Arbour:</p> +<blockquote><p> “No, no;<br /> +It fits not; thou and I long since are twain;<br /> +Nor think me so unwary or accurst<br /> +To bring my feet again into the snare<br /> +Where once I have been caught; I know thy trains,<br /> +Though dearly to my cost, thy gins, and toils;<br /> +Thy fair enchanted cup and warbling charms<br /> +No more on me have power, their force is null’d;<br /> +So much of adder’s wisdom have I learnt<br /> +To fence my ear against thy sorceries.<br /> +If in my flower of youth and strength, when all men<br /> +Loved, honour’d, fear’d me, thou alone couldst hate me,<br /> +Thy husband, slight me, sell me, and forego me;<br /> +How wouldst thou use me now, blind, and thereby<br /> +Deceivable, in most things as a child,<br /> +Helpless, thence easily contemn’d, and scorn’d,<br /> +And last neglected? How wouldst thou insult,<br /> +When I must live uxorious to thy will<br /> +In perfect thraldom! How again betray me,<br /> +Bearing my words and doings to the lords<br /> +To gloss upon, and censuring, frown or smile!<br /> +This jail I count the house of liberty<br /> +To thine, whose doors my feet shall never enter.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>5. The love of money to some men is the root of all evil. +There came once a youth to St. Philip Neri and, flushed with joy, told +him that his parents after much entreaty had at length allowed him to +study law. St. Philip was not a man of many words. “What +then?” the saint simply asked the shining youth. “Then +I shall become a lawyer!” “And then?” pursued +Philip. “Then,” said the young man, “I shall +earn a nice sum of money, and I shall purchase a fine country house, +procure a carriage and horses, marry a handsome and rich wife, and lead +a delightful life!” “And then?” “Then,”—the +youth reflected as death and eternity arose before his eyes, and from +that day he began to take care of his immortal soul. Philip with +one word snatched that young man’s soul off The Rich Man’s +Settle.</p> +<p>6. The Vain Man’s Settle draws down many men to shame +and everlasting contempt. Praise a vain man or a vain woman aright +and enough and you will get them to do anything you like. Give +a vain man sufficient publicity in your paper or on your platform and +he will become a spy, a traitor, and cut-throat in your service. +The sorcerer’s cup of praise—keep it full enough in a vain +man’s hand, and he will sleep in the arbour of vanity till he +wakens in hell. Madam Bubble, the arch-enchantress, knows her +own, and she has, with her purse, her promotion, and her praise, bought +off many a promising pilgrim.</p> +<p>7. And then she, by virtue of whose sorceries this whole land +is drugged and enchanted, is such a bold slut that she will build a +Sacred Arbour even, and will fill it full of religious enchantment for +you rather than lose hold of you. She will consecrate places and +persons and periods for you if your taste lies that way; she will build +costly and stately churches for you; she will weave rich vestments and +carve rich vessels; she will employ all the arts; she will even sanctify +and set apart and seat aloft her holy men—what will she not do +to please you, to take you, to intoxicate and enchant you? She +will juggle for your soul equally well whether you are a country clown +in a feeing-market or a fine lady of æsthetic tastes and religious +sensibilities in the capital and the court. But I shall let Father +Faber speak, who can speak on this subject both with authority and with +attraction. “She can open churches, and light candles on +the altar, and intone <i>Te Deums</i> to the Majesty on high. +She can pass into the beauty of art, into the splendour of dress, and +into the magnificence of furniture. She can sit with high principles +on her lips discussing a religious vocation and praising God and sanctity. +On the benches of bishops and in the pages of good books you will find +her, and yet she is all the while the same huge evil creature.” +Yes; she is all the time the same Madam Bubble who offered to Standfast +her body, her purse, and her bed.</p> +<p>Now, would you know for yourself, like the communicant who came to +me in my sleep, how you are ever to get past all those arbours, and +settles, and seats, and couches, with all their sweet sorceries and +intoxicating enchantments—would you in earnest know that? +Then study well the case of one Standfast. Especially the time +when she who enchants this whole ground hereabouts set so upon that +pilgrim. In one word, it was this: he remembered his Lord; and, +like his Lord, he fell on his face; and as his Lord would have it, His +servant’s lips as they touched the ground touched also the healing +plant harmony and he was saved.</p> +<blockquote><p> “A small unsightly +root,<br /> +But of divine effect.<br /> +Unknown, and like esteem’d, and the dull swain<br /> +Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon;<br /> +And yet more med’cinal is it than that moly<br /> +That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave;<br /> +He call’d it haemony, and gave it me,<br /> +And bade me keep it as of sovran use<br /> +’Gainst all enchantments, mildew, blast, or damp,<br /> +Or ghastly furies’ apparition.<br /> +And now I find it true; for by this means<br /> +I knew the foul enchantress, though disguised,<br /> +Enter’d the very lime-twigs of her spells,<br /> +And yet came off. If you have this about you<br /> +(As I will give you when you go) you may<br /> +Boldly assault the necromancer’s hall:<br /> +Where if she be, with dauntless hardihood,<br /> +And brandished blade, rush on her, break her glass,<br /> +And shed her luscious liquor on the ground,<br /> +And seize her wand.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Prayer, my sin-beset brethren, standfast prayer, is the otherwise +unidentified haemony whose best habitat was the Garden of Gethsemane; +and with that holy root in your heart and in your mouth, there is “no +enchantment against Jacob, neither is there any divination against Israel.”</p> +<h2>THE LAND OF BEULAH</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Thou shalt be called Hephzibah, and thy land Beulah.”—<i>Isaiah</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The first thing that John Bunyan tells us about the land of Beulah +is this—that the shortest and the best way to the Celestial City +lies directly through that land. The land of Beulah has its own +indigenous inhabitants indeed. Old men dwell in the streets of +Beulah, and every man with his staff in his hand for very age. +The streets of the city also are full of boys and girls playing in the +streets thereof. The land of Beulah has its frequent visitors +also, and its welcome guests from the regions above. Some of the +shining ones come down from time to time and make a short sojourn in +Beulah. The angels in heaven have such a desire to see the lands +from which God’s saints come up that at certain seasons all the +suburbs of the Celestial City are full of those shining servants of +God and of the Lamb.</p> +<p>But what made the dreamer to smile and to talk so in his sleep was +when he saw that all the upward ways to the Celestial City ran through +the land of Beulah. He saw also in his dream how all the pilgrims +blamed themselves so bitterly now because they had misspent so much +of their time and strength in the ways below, and so had not come sooner +to see and to taste this blessed land. But, at the same time, +as it was, they all rejoiced with a great joy because that, after all +their delays and all their wanderings, their way still led them through +the borders of Beulah. Now, my dear fellow-communicants, how shall +we find our way at once, and without any more wanderings, into that +so desirable land? How shall we attain to walk its streets all +the rest of our days with our staff in our hand? How shall we +hope to see our boys and our girls playing in the streets of Beulah, +and eating all their days of its sweet and its healing fruits? +How shall we and our children with us henceforth escape the Slough of +Despond, and Giant Despair’s dungeon, and the Valley of the Shadow +of Death? The word, my brethren, the answer to all that, is nigh +unto us, even in our mouth and in our heart. For faith, simple +faith, will do all that both for us and for our children beside us. +A heart-feeding faith in God, in the word of God, and in the Son of +God, will do it. Faith, and then obedience. For obedience, +my brethren, is Beulah. All obedience is already Beulah. +Holy obedience will bring the whole of Beulah into your heart and into +mine at any moment. It is disobedience that makes so many of those +who otherwise are true pilgrims to miss so much of the land of Beulah. +Ask any affable old man with his staff in his hand for very age, and +he will tell you that it was his disobedience that kept him so long +out of the land of Beulah. While, let any man, and above all, +let any young man, begin early to live a life of believing obedience, +and he will grow up and grow old and see his children’s children +playing around his staff in the streets of Beulah. Let any young +man make the experiment for himself upon obedience and upon Beulah. +Let him not too easily believe any dreamer or even any seer about obedience +and about the land of Beulah. It is his own matter and not theirs; +and let him make experiment upon it all for his own satisfaction and +assurance. Let any young man, then, try prayer as his first step +into obedience, and especially secret prayer. Let him shut his +door to-night, and let him see if he is not already inside one of the +gates of Beulah. Let him deny himself every day also, if it is +only in a very little thing. Let him say sternly to his own heart +every hour of temptation, No! never! and on the spot a sweet waft of +Beulah’s finest spices will fall upon his face. “The +ineffable joy of renouncing joy” will every day make the lonely +wilderness of this world a constant Beulah to such a man. For, +to live at all times, in all places, and in all things for other men, +and never and in nothing for yourself—that is the deepest secret +of Beulah. To say it, if need be, three times to-night on your +face and in a sweat of blood, “Not my will, but Thine be done!”—that +will to-night turn the garden of Gethsemane itself into the very garden +of Glory. Do you doubt it? Are you not yet able to believe +it? Then hear about it from One who has Himself come through it. +Hear His word upon the whole matter who is the Way, the Truth, and the +Life. “Come unto Me,” says the King of Beulah, “all +ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. +Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, +and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For My yoke is easy and +My burden is light.” So after He had washed their feet, +and had taken His garments and was set down again, He said unto them, +“Know ye what I have done to you? For I have given you an +example, that ye should do as I have done to you. If ye know these +things, happy are ye if ye do them. If ye love Me, keep My commandments. +And I will pray the Father, and He shall give you another Comforter, +that He may abide with you for ever. If a man love Me, he will +keep My words; and My Father will love him, and We will come unto him +and will make Our abode with him. Peace I leave with you, My peace +I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. These +things have I spoken unto you that My joy might remain in you, and that +your joy might be full. Hitherto ye have asked nothing in My name; +ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full. Father, +I will that they also, whom Thou hast given Me, be with Me where I am.” +And thus I saw in my dream that their way lay right through the land +of Beulah, in which land they solaced themselves for a season.</p> +<p>2. “They solaced themselves.” Now, solace +is just the Latin <i>solatium</i>, which, again, is just a soothing, +an assuaging, a compensation, an indemnification. Well, that land +into which the pilgrims had now come was very soothing to their ruffled +spirits and to their weary hearts. It assuaged their many and +sore griefs also. It more than compensated them for all their +labours and all their afflictions. And it was a full indemnification +to them for all that they had forsaken and lost both in beginning to +be pilgrims and in enduring to the end. The children of Israel +had their first solace in their pilgrimage at Elim, where there were +twelve wells of water and threescore and ten palm-trees; and they encamped +there by the waters. And then they had their last and crowning +solace when the spies came back from Eshcol with a cluster of grapes +that they bare between two upon a staff, with pomegranates and figs. +And Moses kept solacing his charge all the way through the weary wilderness +with such strong consolations as these: “For the Lord thy God +bringeth thee into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains +and depths that spring out of valleys and hills; a land of wheat, and +barley, and vines, and fig-trees; a land of oil-olive and honey; a land +wherein thou shalt eat bread without scarceness, thou shalt not lack +anything in it; a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose hills +thou mayest dig brass.” Our Lord spake solace to His doubting +and fainting disciples also in many such words as these: “Verily, +I say unto you, there is no man that hath left house, or parents, or +brethren, or wife, or children for the kingdom of God’s sake, +who shall not receive manifold more in this present time, and in the +world to come life everlasting.” The Mount of Transfiguration +also was His own Beulah-solace; and the Last Supper and the prayer with +which it wound up were given to our Lord and to His disciples as a very +Eshcol-cluster from the Paradise above. Now, I saw in my dream +that they solaced themselves in the land of Beulah for a season. +Yea, here they heard continually the singing of birds. (The Latin +poets called the birds <i>solatia ruris</i>, because they refreshed +and cheered the rustic labourers with their sweet singing.) And +every day the flowers appeared in the earth, and the voice of the turtle +was heard in the land. In this country the sun shineth night and +day, for there is no night there.</p> +<p>3. “In this country the sun shineth night and day.” +How much Standfast must have enjoyed that land of light you may guess +when you recollect that he came from Darkland, which lies in the hemisphere +right opposite to the land of Beulah. In Darkland the sun never +shines to be called sunshine at all. All the days of his youth, +Standfast told his companions, he had sat beside his father and his +mother in that obscure land where to his sorrow his father and his mother +still sat. But in Beulah “the rose of evening becomes silently +and suddenly the rose of dawn.” This land lies beyond the +Valley of the Shadow of Death, neither could they from this place so +much as see Doubting Castle. Now, Doubting Castle is a dismal +place for any soul of man to be shut up into. And in that dark +hold there are dungeons dug for all kinds of doubting souls. There +are dungeons dug for the souls of men whose doubts are in their intellects, +as well as for those also whose doubts arise out of their hearts. +Some men read themselves into Doubting Castle, and some men sin and +sell themselves to its giant. God casts some of His own children +all their days into those dungeons as a punishment for their life of +disobedience; He casts others down into chains of darkness because of +their idleness and unfruitfulness. But Beulah is far away from +Doubting Castle. Beulah is a splendid spot for a studious man +to lodge in. For what a clear light shines night and day in Beulah! +To what far horizons a man’s eye will carry him in Beulah! +What large speculations rise before him who walks abroad in Beulah! +How clear the air is in Beulah, how clean the heart and how unclouded +the eye of its inhabitants! The King’s walks are in Beulah, +and the arbours where He delighteth to be. Blessed are the pure +in heart, for they shall be admitted to see God in the land of Beulah. +In the land of Beulah the sun shall no more be thy light by day, neither +for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee; but the Lord shall +be thine everlasting light, and thy God thy glory!</p> +<p>4. “In this land also the contract between the bride +and the bridegroom is renewed.” Now, there is no other day +so bitter in any man’s life as that day is on which his bridal +contract is broken off. And it is the very perfection and last +extremity of bitterness when his contract is broken off because of his +own past life. Let all those, then, who would fain enter into +that sweet contract think well about it beforehand. Let them look +back into all their past life. For all their past life will be +sure to find them out on the day of their espousals. If they have +their enemies—as all espoused men have—this is the hour +and the power of their enemies. The day on which any man’s +espousals are published is a small and local judgment-day to him. +For all the men, and, especially, all the women, who have ever been +injured by him, or who have injured themselves upon him; all the men +and all the women who for any reason, and for no reason, hate both him +and his happiness,—their tongues and their pens will take no sleep +till they have got his contract if they can, broken off. And even +when the bridegroom is too innocent, or the bride too true, or God too +good to let the contract continue long to be broken off, that great +goodness of God and that great trust of his contracted bride will only +make the bridegroom walk henceforth more softly and rejoice with more +trembling. And that is a most excellent mind. I know no +better mind in which any man, guilty or innocent, can enter on a married +life. I sometimes tell the bridegrooms that I can take a liberty +with to keep saying to themselves all the way up to the marriage altar +the tenth verse of the 103rd psalm; as well as when they come up afterwards +to the baptismal font: “He hath not dealt with us after our sins +nor rewarded us after our iniquities.” And it is surely +Beulah itself, at its very best, it is surely Beulah above itself, when +a happy bridegroom is full of that humble and happy mind, and when he +is in one and the same moment reconciled both to his bride on earth +and to his God and Father in heaven. In this land, therefore, +in the land of Beulah, the contract between the bride and the bridegroom +is renewed; yea, as the bridegroom rejoiceth over his bride, so shall +thy God rejoice over thee.</p> +<p>5. The salaams and salutations also that they were met with +as often as they went out to walk in the streets thereof were a constant +surprise, satisfaction, and sweetness to the fearful pilgrims. +No passer-by ever once frowned or scowled upon them because their faces +were Zionward, as they do in our cities. No one ever treated them +with scorn or contempt because they were poor or unlettered. No +man’s face either turned dark at them or was turned away from +them as they passed up the street. They never, all the time they +abode in Beulah, took to the lanes of the city to escape the unkind +looks of any of its citizens. Greatheart’s hand was never +away from his helmet. His helmet was never well on his head. +His always bare and unhelmeted head said to all the men of Beulah, I +love and honour and trust you. You would not hurt a hair of my +head. And so on, till all the streets of Beulah were one buzz +of salutation, congratulation, and benediction. Here they heard +voices from out of the city, loud voices, saying, Say ye to the daughter +of Zion, Behold, thy salvation cometh; behold, his reward is with him. +Here all the inhabitants of the country called them the holy people, +the redeemed of the Lord, sought out, a city not forsaken.</p> +<p>6. Now, as they walked in this land they had more rejoicing +than in parts more remote from the kingdom to which they were bound. +And still drawing nigh to that city they had yet a more perfect view +thereof. It was builded of pearls and precious stones, also the +street thereof was paved with gold, so that by reason of the natural +glory of the city and the reflection of the sunbeams upon it, Christian +with desire fell sick. Hopeful also had a fit or two of the same +disease. Wherefore here they lay by it awhile, crying out because +of their pangs, If you see my beloved, tell him that I am sick of love. +There are in all good cases of recovery three successive stages of soul-sickness. +True, soul-sickness always runs its own course, and it always runs its +own course in its own order. This special sickness first shows +itself when the soul becomes sick with sin. We have that sickness +set forth in many a psalm, notably in the thirty-eighth psalm; and in +a multitude of other scriptures, both old and new, this evil disease +is dealt with if we had only the eyes and the heart to read such scriptures. +The second stage of this sickness is when a sinner is not so much sick +with the sin that dwelleth in him as sick of himself. Sinfulness +in its second stage becomes so incorporate with the sinner’s whole +life—sin so becomes the sinner’s very nature, and, indeed, +himself,—that all his former loathing of sin passes over henceforth +into loathing of himself. This is the most desperate stage in +any man’s sickness; but, bad as it is, incurable as it is, it +must be passed into before the third stage of the healing process can +either be experienced or understood. In the case in hand, by the +time the pilgrims had come to Beulah they had all had their full share +of sin and of themselves till they here entered on an altogether new +experience. “Christian with desire fell sick,” we +read, “and Hopeful also had a fit or two of the same disease. +Wherefore here they lay by it a while, crying out because of their pangs, +If you see my beloved, tell him that I am sick of love.” +David, Paul, Bernard, Bunyan himself, Rutherford, Brainerd, M’Cheyne, +and many others crowd in upon the mind. I shall but instance John +Flavel and Mrs. Jonathan Edwards, and so close. John Flavel being +once on a journey set himself to improve the time by meditation, when +his mind grew intent, till at length he had such ravishing tastes of +heavenly joys, and such a full assurance of his interest therein, that +he utterly lost the sight and sense of this world and all its concerns, +so that for hours he knew not where he was. At last, perceiving +himself to be faint, he sat down at a spring, where he refreshed himself, +earnestly desiring, if it were the will of God, that he might there +leave the world. His spirit reviving, he finished his journey +in the same delightful frame, and all that night the joy of the Lord +still overflowed him so that he seemed an inhabitant of the other world. +The only other case of love-sickness I shall touch on to-night I take +from under the pen of a sin-sick and love-sick author, who has been +truthfully described as “one of the first, if not the very first, +of the masters of human reason,” and, again, as “one of +the greatest of the sons of men.” “There is a young +lady in New-haven,” says Edwards, “who is so loved of that +Great Being who made and rules the world, that there are certain seasons +in which this Great Being in some way or other invisible comes to her +and fills her mind with exceeding sweet delight, so that she hardly +cares for anything but to meditate upon Him. She looks soon to +dwell wholly with Him, and to be ravished with His love and delight +for ever. Therefore, if you present all this world before her, +with the richest of its treasures, she disregards it and cares not for +it, and is unmindful of any pain or affliction. She has a strange +sweetness in her mind, and a singular piety in her affections; is most +just and conscientious in all her conduct; and you could not persuade +her to do anything wrong or sinful, if you would give her the whole +world. She loves to be alone, walking in the fields and groves, +and seems to have some one invisible always communing with her.” +And so on, all through her seraphic history. “Now, if such +things are too enthusiastic,” says the author of <i>A Careful +and a Strict Enquiry into the Freedom of the Will</i>, “if such +things are the offspring of a distempered brain, let my brain be possessed +evermore of that blessed distemper! If this be distraction, I +pray God that the whole world of mankind may all be seized with this +benign, meek, beneficent, beatific, glorious distraction! The +peace of God that passeth all understanding; rejoicing with joy unspeakable +and full of glory; God shining in our hearts, to give the light of the +knowledge of God in the face of Jesus Christ; with open face beholding +as in a glass the glory of God, and being changed into the same image +from glory to glory, even as by the spirit of the Lord; being called +out of darkness into marvellous light, and having the day-star arise +in our hearts! What a sweet distraction is that! And out +of what a heavenly distemper and out of what a sane enthusiasm has all +that come to us!”</p> +<blockquote><p>“More I would speak: but all my words are faint;<br /> +Celestial Love, what eloquence can paint?<br /> +No more, by mortal words, can be expressed,<br /> +But all Eternity shall tell the rest.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>THE SWELLING OF JORDAN</h2> +<blockquote><p>“The swelling of Jordan.”—<i>Jeremiah</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Fore-fancy your deathbed,” says Samuel Rutherford. +“Take an essay,” he says in his greatest book, that perfect +mine of gold and jewels, <i>Christ Dying and Drawing Sinners to Himself</i>—“Take +an essay and a lift at your death, and look at it before it actually +comes to your door.” And so we shall. Since it is +appointed to all men once to die, and after death the judgment; and +since our death and our judgment are the only two things that we are +absolutely sure about in our whole future, we shall henceforth fore-fancy +those two events much more than we have done in the past. And +to assist us in that; to quicken our fancy, to kindle it, to captivate +it, and to turn our fancy wholly to our salvation, we have all the entrancing +river-scenes in the <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i> set before us; a +succession of scenes in which Bunyan positively revels in his exquisite +fancies, clothing them as he does, all the time, in language of the +utmost beauty, tenderness, pathos, power, and dignity. Let us +take our stand, then, on the bank of the river and watch how pilgrim +after pilgrim behaves himself in those terrible waters. We are +all voluntary spectators to-night, but we shall all be compulsory performers +before we know where we are.</p> +<p>1. On entering the river even Christian suddenly began to sink. +Fore-fancy that. All the words he spake still tended to discover +that he had great horror of mind and hearty fears that he would die +in that river; here also he was much in the troublesome thoughts of +the sins he had committed both since and before he began to be a pilgrim. +Fore-fancy that also, all you converted young men. Hopeful, therefore, +had much to do to keep his brother’s head above water; yea, sometimes +he would be quite gone down, and then in a while he would rise up again +half-dead. Then I saw in my dream that Christian was in a muse +a while; to whom also Hopeful added this word, “Be of good cheer; +Jesus Christ maketh thee whole.” And with that Christian +broke out with a loud voice, “When thou passest through the waters +I will be with thee, and through the rivers they shall not overflow +thee.” Then they both took courage and the enemy was after +that as still as a stone till they were gone over. Fore-fancy +that also. There is one other thing out of that crossing that +I hope I shall remember when I am in the river: “Be of good cheer,” +said Hopeful to his sinking fellow—“Be of good cheer, my +brother, I feel the bottom, and it is good.” “Hold +His hand fast,” wrote Samuel Rutherford to Lady Kenmure. +“He knows all the fords. You may be ducked in His company +but never drowned. Put in your foot, then, and wade after Him. +And be sure you set your feet always upon the stepping-stones.” +Yes; fore-fancy those stepping-stones, and often practise your feet +upon them before the time.</p> +<p>2. “Good woman,” said the post to Christiana, the +wife of Christian the pilgrim; “Hail, good woman, I bring thee +tidings that the Master calleth for thee, and expecteth thee to stand +in His presence in clothes of immortality within this ten days.” +Fore-fancy that also. Now the day was come that she must be gone. +And so the road was full of people to see her take her journey. +But, behold, all the banks beyond the river were full of horses and +chariots which were come down from above to accompany her to the city +gate. So she came forth and entered the river with a beckon of +farewell to those that followed her to the river-side. And thus +she went and entered in at the gate with all the ceremonies of joy that +her husband had done before her. Fore-fancy, if you can, some +of those ceremonies of joy.</p> +<p>3. When Mr. Fearing came to the river where was no bridge, +there again he was in a heavy case. Now, he said, he should be +drowned for ever and never see that Face with comfort he had come so +many miles to behold. And here also I took notice of what was +very remarkable; the water of that river was lower at this time than +ever I saw it in all my life. So he went over at last not much +above wet-shod. Fore-fancy and fore-arrange, if it be possible, +for a passage like that. When he was going tip to the gate Mr. +Greatheart began to take his leave of him, and to wish him a good reception +above. “I shall,” he said, “I shall.” +Be fore-assured, also, of a reception like that.</p> +<p>4. In process of time there came a post to the town again, +and his business was this time with Mr. Ready-to-halt. So he inquired +him out and said to him, “I am come to thee in the name of Him +whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon crutches. And my +message is to tell thee that He expects thee at His table to sup with +Him in His kingdom the next day after Easter.” After this +Mr. Ready-to-halt called for his fellow-pilgrims and told them, saying, +“I am sent for, and God shall surely visit you also. These +crutches,” he said, “I bequeath to my son that he may tread +in my steps, with a hundred warm wishes that he may prove better than +I have done.” When he came to the brink of the river, he +said, “Now I shall have no more need of these crutches, since +yonder are horses and chariots for me to ride on.” The last +words he was heard to say were, “Welcome life!” Let +all ready-to-halt hearts fore-fancy all that.</p> +<p>5. Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his friends and told them +what errand had been brought to him, and what token he had received +of the truth of the message. “As for my feeble mind,” +he said, “that I shall leave behind me, for I shall have no need +of that in the place whither I go. When I am gone, Mr. Valiant, +I desire that you would bury it in a dung-hill.” This done, +and the day being come in which he was to depart, he entered the river +as the rest. His last words were, “Hold out faith and patience.” +Fore-fancy such an end as that to your feeble mind also.</p> +<p>6. Did you ever know a family, or, rather, the relics of a +family, where there was just a decrepit old father and a lone daughter +left to nurse him through his second childhood? All his other +children are either married or dead; but both marriage and death have +spared Miss Much-afraid to watch over the dotage-days of Mr. Despondency; +till one summer afternoon the old man fell asleep in his chair to waken +where old men are for ever young. And in a day or two there were +two new graves side by side in the old churchyard. Even death +could not divide this old father and his trusty child. And so +when the time was come for them to depart, they went down together to +the brink of the river. The last words of Mr. Despondency were, +“Farewell night and welcome day.” His daughter went +through the river singing, but none could understand what it was she +said. Fore-fancy that, all you godly old men, with a daughter +who has made a husband and children to herself of her old father.</p> +<p>7. As I hear Old Honest shouting “Grace reigns!” +I always remember what a lady told me about a saying of her poor Irish +scullery-girl. The mistress and the servant were reading George +Eliot’s Life together in the kitchen, and when they came to her +deathbed, on the pillow of which Thomas A’Kempis lay open, “Mem,” +said the girl, “I used to read that old book in the convent; but +it is a better book to live upon than to die upon.” Now, +that was exactly Old Honest’s mind. He lived upon one book, +and then he died upon another. He lived according to the commandments +of God, but he died according to the comforts of the Gospel. Now, +we read in his history how that the river at that time overflowed its +banks in some places. But Mr. Honest had in his lifetime spoken +to one Good-conscience to meet him at the river, the which he also did, +and lent him his hand, and so helped him over. All the same, the +last words of Mr. Honest still were, “Grace reigns!” +And so he left the world. Fore-fancy whether or no you are making, +as one has said, “an assignation with terror” at that same +river-side.</p> +<p>8. Standfast was the last of the pilgrims to go over the river. +Standfast was left longest on this side the river because his Master +could best trust him here. His Master had to take away many of +His other servants from the evil to come, but He could trust Standfast. +You can safely trust a man who takes to his knees in every hour of temptation, +as Standfast was wont to do. “This river,” he said, +“has been a terror to many. Yea, the thoughts of it have +often frighted me also. The waters, indeed, are to the palate +bitter, and to the stomach cold; yet the thoughts of what I am going +to, and of the conduct that awaits me on the other side, doth lie as +a glowing coal at my heart. I see myself now at the end of my +journey, and my toilsome days are all ended. I am going now to +see that head that was crowned with thorns, and that face that was spit +upon for me. His name has been to me as a civet-box, yea, sweeter +than all perfumes. His word I did use to gather for my food, and +for antidotes against my faintings. He has held me up, and I have +kept myself from mine iniquities. Yea, my steps hath He strengthened +in the way.” Now, while he was thus in discourse his countenance +changed, his strong man bowed down under him, and after he had said, +“Take me, for I come to Thee,” he ceased to be seen of them. +Fore-fancy, if you have the face, an end like that for yourself.</p> +<p>This, then, is how Christian and Hopeful and Christiana and Old Honest +and all the rest did in the swelling river. But the important +point is, HOW WILL YOU DO? Have you ever fore-fancied how you +will do? Have you ever, among all your many imaginings, imagined +yourself on your deathbed? Have you ever thought you heard the +doctor whisper, “To-night”? Have you ever lain low +in your bed and listened to the death-rattle in your own throat? +And have you still listened to the awful silence in the house after +all was over? Have you ever shot in imagination the dreadful gulf +that stands fixed between life and death, and between time and eternity? +Have you ever tried to get a glimpse beforehand of your own place where +you will be an hour after your death, when they are putting the grave-clothes +on your still warm body, and when they are measuring your corpse for +your coffin? Where will you be by that time? Have you any +idea? Can you fancy it? Did you ever try? And if not, +why not? “My lord,” wrote Jeremy Taylor to the Earl +of Carbery, when sending him the first copy of the <i>Holy Dying</i>,—“My +lord, it is a great art to die well, and that art is to be learnt by +men in health; for he that prepares not for death before his last sickness +is like him that begins to study philosophy when he is going to dispute +publicly in the faculty. The precepts of dying well must be part +of the studies of them that live in health, because in other notices +an imperfect study may be supplied by a frequent exercise and a renewed +experience; but here, if we practise imperfectly once, we shall never +recover the error, for we die but once; and therefore it is necessary +that our skill be more exact since it cannot be mended by another trial.” +How wise, then, how far-seeing, how practical, and how urgent is the +prophet’s challenge and demand. “How wilt thou do +in the swelling of Jordan?”</p> +<p>1. Well, then, let us be practical before we close, and let +us descend to particulars. Let us take the prophet’s question +and run it through some parts and some practices of our daily life as +already dying men. And, to begin with, I have such a great faith +in good books, whether we are to live or die, that I am impelled to +ask you all at this point, and under shelter of this plain-spoken prophet, +What books have you laid in for your deathbed, and for the weeks and +months and even years before your death bed? What do you look +forward to be reading when Jordan is beginning to swell and roll for +you and to leap up toward your doorstep? If you get good from +good books—everybody does not—but supposing you are one +of those who do, what books can you absolutely count upon, without fail, +to put you in the best possible frame for the river, and for the convoy +across, and for the ceremonies of joy on the other side? What +special Scriptures will you have read every day to you? “Read,” +said John Knox to his weeping wife, “read where I first cast my +anchor.” An old lady I once knew used to say to me at every +visit, “The Fifty-first Psalm.” She was the daughter +of a Highland minister, and the wife of a Highland minister, and the +mother of a Highland minister, and of an elder to boot. “The +Fifty-first Psalm,” she said, and sometimes, “One of Hart’s +hymns also.” What is your favourite psalm and hymn? +Mr. James Taylor of Castle Street has several large-type libraries in +his catalogue. Mr. Taylor might start a much worse paying speculation +than a large-type library for the river-side; or, some select booklets +for deathbeds. The series might well open with “The Ninetieth +Psalm” in letters an inch deep. Scholars die as well as +illiterates, and there might be provided for them, among other things, +<i>The Phædo</i> in two languages, Plato’s and Jowett’s. +Then <i>The Seven Sayings from the Cross</i>. Bellarmine’s +<i>Art of Dying Well</i> would stand well beside John Bunyan’s +<i>Dying Sayings</i>. And, were I the editor, I would put in Bishop +Andrewes’ <i>Private Devotions</i>, if only for my own last use. +Then Richard Baxter’s <i>Saint’s Rest</i>, and John Howe’s +Platonico-Puritan book, <i>Blessedness of the Righteous</i>. Then +Bernard’s “New Jerusalem,” “The Sands of Time +are sinking,” “Rock of Ages,” and such like. +These are some of the little books I have within reach of my bed against +the hour when the post blows his first horn for me. You might +tell me some of your deathbed favourites.</p> +<p>2. Who will be your most welcome minister during your last +days on earth? For whom would you send to-night if the post were +suddenly to sound his horn at your side on your way home from church? +I can well believe it would not be your own minister. I have known +fathers and mothers in this congregation to send for other ministers +than their own minister when terrible trouble came upon them, and both +my conscience and my common sense absolutely approved of the step they +took. Five students were once sitting and talking together in +a city in which there was to be an execution to-morrow morning. +They were talking about the murderer who was to be executed in the morning, +and about the minister he had sent for to come to see him. And, +like students, they began to put it to one another—Suppose you +were to be executed to-morrow, for what minister in the city, or even +in the whole land, would you send? And, like students again, they +said—Let each one write down on a piece of paper the name of the +minister he would choose to be beside him at the last, and we shall +see each man’s last choice. They did so, when to their astonishment +it was discovered that they had all written the same minister’s +name! I do not know that they all went to his church every Sabbath +while they were young and, well, and not yet under sentence of death. +I do not think they did. For when I was in his church there was +only a handful of old and decayed-looking people in it. The chief +part of the congregation seemed to me to be a charity school. +And I gathered from all that a lesson—several lessons, and this +among the rest—that crowded passages do not always wait upon the +best pastors; and this also, that a waft of death soon discovers to +us a true minister from an incompetent and a counterfeit minister.</p> +<p>3. Writing to one of his correspondents about his correspondent’s +long-drawn-out deathbed, Samuel Rutherford said to him, “It is +long-drawn-out that you may have ample time to go over all your old +letters and all your still unsettled accounts before you take ship.” +Have you any such old letters lying still unanswered? Have you +any such old accounts lying still unsettled? Have you made full +reparation and restitution for all that you and yours have done amiss? +Fore-fancy that you will soon be summoned into His presence who has +said: “herefore, if thou bring thy gift before the altar, and +there rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee, leave there +thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy +brother, and then come and offer thy gift. Agree with thine adversary +quickly, whiles thou art in the way with him.” You know +all about Zacchaeus. I need not tell his story over again. +But as I write these lines I take up a London newspaper and my eyes +light on these lines: “William Avary was a man of remarkable gifts, +both of mind and character. He dedicated the residue of his strength +wholly to works of piety. In middle age he failed in business, +and in his old age, when better days came, he looked up such of his +old creditors as could be found and divided among them a sum of several +thousand pounds.” Look up such of your old creditors as +you can find, and that not in matters of money alone. And, be +sure you begin to do it now, before the horn blows. For, as sure +as you take your keys and open your old repositories, you will come +on things you had completely forgotten that will take more time and +more strength, ay, and more resources, than will then be at your disposal. +Even after you have begun at once and done all that you can do, you +will have to do at last as Samuel Rutherford told George Gillespie to +do: “Hand over all your bills, paid and unpaid, to your Surety. +Give Him the keys of the drawer, and let Him clear it out for Himself +after you are gone.”</p> +<p>4. And then, pray often to God for a clear mind between Him +and you, and for a quick, warm, and heaven-hungry heart at the last. +And take a promise from those who watch beside your bed that they will +not drug and stupefy you even though you should ask for it. Whatever +your pain, and it is all in God’s hand, make up your mind, if +it be possible, to bear it. It cannot be greater than the pain +of the cross, and your Saviour would not touch their drugs, however +well-intended. He determined to face the swelling of Jordan and +to enter His Father’s house with an unclouded mind. Try +your very uttermost to do the same. I cannot believe that the +thief even would have let the gall so much as touch his lips after Christ +had said to him, “To-day thou shalt be with Me in Paradise!” +Well, if your mind was ever clear and keen, let it be at its clearest +and its keenest at the last. Let your mind and your heart be full +of repentance, and faith, and love, and hope, and all such saying graces, +and let them all be at their fullest and brightest exercise, at that +moment. Be on the very tip-toe of expectation as the end draws +near. Another pang, another gasp, one more unutterable sinking +of heart and flesh as if you were going down into the dreadful pit—and +then the abundant entrance, and the beatific vision! What wilt +thou do then? What wilt thou say then? Hast thou thy salutation +and thy song ready? And what will it be?</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> Delivered +November 27th, 1892.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> January +1st, 1893.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BUNYAN CHARACTERS (SECOND SERIES)***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1886-h.htm or 1886-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/8/1886 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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