LETTER XXV.
Valley of Achor, Jan. 26th, 1819.
Mr. J. Clark.
MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,
I thank you for your letter. I am always glad to hear how my dear friends go on in the divine life; and if they are not increasing sensibly in faith, hope, and love, yet, if growing downward in humility it is still well. What we are in our fallen state, as sinners, must be learned by us—this is all the hell we shall ever experience in this world, and some have found that to be quite hell enough. Under this painful chastening, Jonah cried out of the belly of hell.—The Psalmist declared God had laid him in the lowest deeps. Jeremiah wished he had never been born—and Job cursed his day!—and all their painful agonies of soul was nothing to be compared to the painful soul-distress which the Lord Jesus felt, when he entered the garden of Gethsemane, and his vast mind was filled with horrors, terrors, and frights—the guilt of sin sunk his spirits, the wrath of God melted his heart—and his agonies were inconceivable.—Oh! what did our Christ endure for some hours, yea, from nine o’clock at night till three the next afternoon: it will never be forgotten by him—his whole mind was taken up with it; every thing else was forgotten.—Sin and wrath, guilt and distress followed on him—wave upon wave, till he expired. And the very posture in which he hung as he died was very important. See his dear arms stretched out to receive you and me. See his dear feet waiting, fastened to the cross, to confer his blessing. See his side wide opened, to shew his heart to us—and see him bow his dear dying head, to kiss the poor returning soul, who is waiting at the foot of the cross till Jesus assures the soul of its interest in him. Here, I hope, my much esteemed friend is waiting. Here he is safe.
But you complain of sin—the Old man. And what is this old man?—it is a continual inclination to sin. Can the brightest saint alter this?—alas, No: And are you not astonished that such poor sinful beings as we are, that we should ever be proud of our rags? Proud, in the sight of God!—such is our depravity. And it is from this same source you feel so much deadness in divine things, so much darkness in soul, and such carelessness and wanderings in your best moments; these all spring from the heart, which we find to be bad indeed. I once knew a little of it, and often preached about it, but my views of it are much deeper now—I both see and feel, groan under and hate, what I cannot get rid of. O could I but get rid of what I feel, how happy should I be. There is but one remedy left, and that is a more blessed acquaintance with the dear Saviour, and the enjoyment of high and heavenly communion with him. To this blessing I humbly aspire. This fevor I am praying daily for—this, and this only, is the cure of all our spiritual diseases. This will make me happy in captivity, and contented with the will of God. But, alas, I am very rebellious! What a mercy when we can see that every trial, cross, loss, disappointment, pain, and difficulty is in covenant love, flowing to us, because God has loved us; and to conform us to his lovely image, we want the mind kept by an almighty power—still, resigned, quiet, and composed, as a hand ought to be steady, that holds a glass of some very costly liquid. We want keeping quiet, while God takes the opportunity of pouring into the soul the precious consolations; and helps us to believe that whatever happens, is certainly right, and will be for the best. I have heard of a man, that whatever he met with, he said it was for the best. One day, a dog stole his dinner, and his ungodly companions asked him, if that was for the best? They all being at work in the quarry, the man said, he would just run and see if the dog had eat all his dinner; and while he was gone out, the pit fell in, and killed all his companions. Thus it was for the best that the dog should steal his dinner.
I find there is nothing like prayer, reflection, and gratitude; but I am exactly like yourself; I am distressed with those opposite sinful propensities, which it is impossible to avoid; these intercept my peace, perplex my soul, grieve my spirit, becloud my evidences, and often steal my heart from God, till the Saviour shines again, and then I am renewed, refreshed, and strengthened again. May your spirit often thus experience the very gracious operations of the Holy Spirit, causing you to know, trust, and love the person of Jesus, as your covenant head, alone Saviour, all-sufficient righteousness and atoning sacrifice, ever-living intercessor and wonderful counsellor. May he be more precious to your heart, and dearer to your soul, in life and death; and may the same grace rest on your dear partner in life, and family, is the earnest prayer, and hearty wish, of your ever sincere and grateful
Ruhamah.