TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Wellington, Salop. Dec. 29, 1814.
My dear Friend,
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In my last I mentioned to you the illness and expected removal of my youngest brother, James. He has since been called to his rest, and I am truly thankful to be enabled to state that his death was attended with circumstances highly satisfactory, especially when it is remembered that he was not in any way a communicative lad, but, on the contrary, very silent and reserved. Well! he is gone—gone, I trust, to eternal glory. The Lord, in his rich mercy, prepare us all to follow him! He was the youngest among us, and the least likely to be first called. I hope that we have most of us been induced by the circumstance to watch and to be sober; “so to number our days as to apply our hearts unto wisdom.” As far as regards myself, I think I may say that the lesson has been very salutary. I have been led to consider myself as the next which shall be called, and, of course, eternal and invisible things have appeared exceedingly near. I thank God that death has no sting to me. Its sting is sin, and that my gracious Redeemer has mercifully removed. The anticipation, therefore, far from being a means of uneasiness, is matter of entire and sober satisfaction; not that I have any cause for disquietude here below—not that I have any restlessness of desire arising from a querulous or pettish feeling of discontent. No, my dear friend, God has been, and still continues to be, abundant in mercy and truth. But still these things are not my God—this world is not my home. I seem to myself like a school-boy very agreeably placed at school—fond of his master, pleased with his companions, and interested by his studies, he has every sober ground for satisfaction, and, as such, does not pettishly wish to be gone—does not for a moment think of leaving till his vacation shall arrive: but still the thoughts of home delight him, and when the summer which calls him there arrives, he most cheerfully complies—his kind master, his pleasing companions—his engaging studies—all are most gladly left; for these are not his home. Ah, my dear friend, how lightly should we all sit to the things beneath, to those which are nearest and dearest, did we but consider heaven more as our own place—as our heavenly Father’s house!
I often wish, my dear friend, that the bounds of our habitation were so fixed that we might not only correspond with, but face to face converse with, each other. This privilege I now enjoy with my friend King, who for nearly a year has been on the same spot, and even in the same house. But I still feel my heart longing after my absent friend. This indeed may originate in some latent feeling of ingratitude and discontent, which leads me to overlook the mercy vouchsafed, and to long for that denied. And yet I am not conscious that this is altogether the case: hardly a day elapses in which I do not thank God for the blessing granted me, through the medium of my present friend. He is a most choice and valuable young man—one of ten thousand. And yet the question frequently arises in my mind, why did I ever know—why did I feel so exceedingly attached to my absent friend, if it were not the intention of a gracious and indulgent God to give him to me in like manner? But the ways of the Lord are in the great deep: his footsteps are not known; and yet gracious, though unknown, I would therefore be thankful that I have a dear—dear—very dear friend, to whom I can write, and for whom I can pray, if I can do no more; and my mind is solaced and comforted with the hope that a day is coming in which we shall join to part no more; that glorious inheritance is at hand where some adjacent mansion shall be assigned us, or where distance shall prove no impediment or barrier to our intercourse. May our loving Saviour, who is “the way, the truth, and the life,” guide us and ours all safe to this glorious kingdom!
I remain,
Your very affectionate Friend and old Collegian,
“Mort.”
Another of his friends, the Rev. J. C., the present rector of a parish in Cheshire, may be here introduced—a friend whom he esteemed very highly. This gentleman, in the former years of his life, was engaged in business, and his friend was very desirous of detaching his mind from this pursuit, and of leading him to turn his attention to the sacred office. In one of his early letters pressing this change upon his consideration, he makes the following pertinent remark:—
“It is not easy, when fixed by circumstances, and extensively surrounded by our secular concerns, to follow the example of Matthew, and immediately to arise. The din of business and the clamour of dear friends drown the soft intimations of our passing Lord, and, questioning the reality of his call, we find it difficult to leave all behind.”
In the following extract of a letter to the Rev. J. Armstrong, Mr. Mortimer states what he conceived to be the qualifications of a minister of the word in a foreign or uncultivated soil; and also his views of Arminianism. His remarks on the latter subject were addressed to the editor, to whom, in a former letter, he had given some account of a plan which he and some of his friends had devised of raising a fund for the purchase of livings, and had given to the designation of the object an Arminian character. The editor, who has often been considered as a Calvinist, wrote to his friend to say he objected to the title of his projected association; adding, that, in the event of his returning home invalided, or from other causes, he could expect to derive no benefit from his friend’s patronage:—
Wellington, Salop. Feb. 25th, 1815.
My dear Friend,
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Were I required to point out those qualifications which should distinguish the minister of the word in a foreign or uncultivated soil, I should not specify those qualities which are too exclusively dwelt upon by many. I should not inquire into the fervour of his spirit, the commanding or winning nature of his aspect and address, the robustness of his frame—“his iron sinews, and his bones of brass;”—all these things are good auxiliaries, but they are not essentials. The grand requisite seems to be this, a quiet steady application to present duty, combined with a peaceful and unbroken reliance upon the Lord; for if an individual be possessed of a spirit and temper which this conduct supposes, he must succeed. Hosts of opposing difficulties will, one after another, fall before him like the petrified band who came to seize the person of our Lord. All his patient labours, the produce of his faith, shall bear the approving seal of God—all that he doeth shall prosper. But, if present duty be neglected, or supinely, or uninterestingly conducted—if his reliance and confidence on God be broken—if his oppressed spirit sink under every wave of discouragement which for the trial of his faith is permitted to pass over him—under such circumstances, prosperity is impossible; for even our gracious and our willing Lord can in no wise help us. From these considerations, I feel truly thankful that your spirit faints not, that your confidence in God still remains, and that you still apply yourself to your arduous work. This Moravian (I should rather have said this Christlike) spirit will, with the superadded blessing of the Lord, bring to you and your dear flock a train of mercies far exceeding the most sanguine of your expectations. “Be strong, therefore, and of a good courage; fear not, neither be dismayed; and then the Lord thy God will be with thee whithersoever thou goest.” He will “Cover thy head in the day of battle; he will take hold of shield and buckler; he will fight for thee, and thou shalt hold thy peace.” But while I am thus alluding to your ministerial duties, I would again recommend to you what I took the liberty of urging upon you somewhat at large in a former letter. I allude to class meetings. Whatever you do, my dear Armstrong, do not omit these. I have seen already, and daily continue to see, advantages the most unequivocal resulting from them; and am convinced that no one endued either with a spiritual mind, or with a desire after it, would make an experiment of their efficacy without most convincingly perceiving it. In your own case, I have no question but that the adoption of the plan I am recommending, would become quite an era to you in spiritual prosperity, both as a church and as a private individual—an epocha upon which you would ever look back with the most unqualified delight.
You seem prepared, my good friend, to receive from me somewhat of an Arminian trimming for the heretical alteration which you have ventured to propose as connected with our “Living and Perpetual Advowson Plan.” It happens, however, that I feel no such disposition at present; not that I am less anxious than before for the maintenance of sound doctrine within the walls of our churches, but because I have a good hope that in your case a caution upon these points is almost unnecessary. I trust that, notwithstanding the force of certain prejudices imbibed in the early part of your Christian life, the leaven of real unadulterated truth has been introduced into your mind, and that a time will come in which it will predominate to the leavening of the whole lump. I should be glad to find that this was the case even now; for, though the circumstances in which you are placed at present forbid the introduction of any extensive evil, yet still, I fear that some degree of evil will almost unavoidably find an entrance. For every portion of error has its corresponding portion of evil. Truth, simple, unmixed truth, is that which sanctifies, and truth alone. But as to endeavouring to lead you through all the mazes of controversy and debate to this desirable end, I have not the least intention, nor even desire. I had rather leave you in the hands of God, by prayer, begging that He, the God of Truth and the Father of Lights would, in his mercy, condescend to instruct you himself, and, guided by him, you will then be led into all truth. As to the alteration you propose, we are perfectly of your mind, that the word “Arminian” had better be omitted, and as such intend to drop it. For, though we should naturally be led to make choice of individuals the most accordant with our own views, yet neither liberality nor candour would teach us to exclude others. Besides, all the good purposes arising from the insertion of the term may certainly be answered without. It will be well known in whose hands the conduct of the affair is vested; this of itself will show the bias of our mind, and this is all we wish. Exclusion upon the general scale is certainly no part of our intention; we are thankful, therefore, for your friendly hint.
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We all unite in kindest love to you and yours, and I remain,
Your truly affectionate Friend and Brother,
G. Mortimer.