LETTER XVI.
Valley of Achor, December 17th, 1817.
Mrs. Hutchings.
MY DEAR MOTHER,
For such has been your affection and concern for me, which I trust will never go unrewarded by the dear Saviour. Many have been the attempts to keep you from attending my feeble ministry, to hurt your mind, to distress your spirit, and to perplex your heart, but having obtained help of God you continue to this day, only grieved that my enemies have at last gained that end they have been so long aiming at, and because you cannot make me as comfortable in my captivity as your heart desires. The Lord takes the will for the deed in the hearts of those who desire to fear his name, revere his truth, love the Saviour, trust his word, and hope in his finished work. This I trust is the case of the dear friend to whom I now write. This is an act of free favour from a good and gracious God, and where these things are to be found, the Spirit has begun a work he will never leave or forsake. May it be clearer to your mind, more powerful upon your heart, more evident to your faith, and produce in your soul such a hope as will never fail, till you see God in glory.
I have often intended to call on you, and talk of these sweet things, because you wished me so to do, and because God had given to your mind an humble desire to know Christ, and be found in him. But a continued scene of bustle all day, and too frequently in company with my enemies, which I now deeply lament. This hindered me; and sometimes, at night, I was weary in, though not with my work, that I needed rest, so then Satan stopt me; but I shall be happy to talk with you now by letter, and perhaps it will be much better than our conversation might have been, because you can read another time what you might not have remembered in talk. I hope never to grow weary of reminding my dear friends of that one thing that is truly needful, the experimental knowledge of Christ. The tidings of the Gospel are very simple, being only a declaration that God the Father, Son, and Spirit, as the God of love, purposed to glorify each other; in the everlasting happiness of a number that no man can number—and methinks I hear you say, I would give ten thousand worlds, at times, to know if I am among that number. The Lord, I hope, will make that clear to you soon. Each adorable person in the Trinity, agreed to take names, suited to the offices they would sustain in the business of our salvation. One adorable person condescended to take the name of Father—the dearest, the most familiar, the sweetest name—and as he appeared in that character, he called forth the second adorable person, as Mediator; and after proposing to him another nature, besides his God-head, he became the elect head of all his dear family, who appeared in his mind, just as they will be in the resurrection—truly glorious. I hope Mrs. Hutchings was seen among the brilliant throng. But for the greater displays of grace, God permitted this happy number to fall into sin, with all the dreadful consequences that should attend such a fall. Upon the fore-sight of this, the dear Son of God was called, and he graciously consented to come down into this world, to stand in our stead, to take our place, to obey the law which we had broken, and which obedience of his, was to be reckoned ours. Yes my dear friend, this text has often gladdened my heart. “But to us it shall be imputed, who believe in him.” O what a comfort, our dear Lord not only obeyed the Law, but he endured the penalty of it, which was all that was implied in the “Curse of God.” But dear Lord, what did that imply; no heart can conceive, no tongue can ever describe it—his heart melted like wax, his dear knees trembled, his spirit was filled with anguish, and his whole soul felt the pangs of the damned—the sufferings of his dear, his sacred body were dreadful, but the sufferings of his soul, were the very soul of his sufferings. O what must sin be—may we see it as a most dreadful evil, and those who make a mock at sin mock the Saviour’s bitter anguish. He died, but in dying he satisfied the justice of God, and the Father has declared himself well pleased, quite satisfied with his work. God can now be holy, yet save an unholy sinner; he can be just, and yet justify an ungodly creature; he can be God, and yet pardon the very vilest. The work is done, it was for sinners Jesus died—then sure I hope he died for thee. In this hope I trust you will live, not upon what you may ever feel, that may encourage you, but entirely upon the work of Christ. May this simple testimony encourage you to pray in spirit, when you have but few words, or perhaps, like Hannah, no words to say; yet your spirit I hope will be often going up to God, the holy and ever blessed Spirit, who also engaged in the same agreement with the Father and the Son, that he would assume such offices for those for whom the Redeemer died. That he would shew them their need of Jesus, that he would enlighten them, so that they might see Christ was exactly suited for them; that he would help them to call upon him, to run to him when stung with guilt; that he would enable them to hope in his person, to trust in his work, to love his name, his gospel, his people, and his ways; to wait on him in secret and in public, till be graciously shewed them their interest in Christ, and the interest Christ has in them. That he would give them honourable thoughts of Jesus, and enable them to rejoice that Jesus has precious thoughts of them. This is the work of the blessed Spirit, and if my dear Friend desires this work on the heart to live and die with, I must beg her to take every opportunity to entreat this divine Spirit to work these things in the mind, according to his promise, “I will write my laws in their minds, I will be merciful to their unrighteousness, and their sins I will remember no more.” Let me beg of you, when you have got through this letter, to read the thirteen first verses of the eleventh chapter of Luke, and if you ever do me the honour to read this side of my letter again, and can make it out very easily, always read the same verses again.
God bless you—when I write to one, I write to you both. Kind respects to all the family.
Your’s truly,
Ruhamah.