A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.
One morning, while at breakfast at Fairmount, I was surprised by a note from Mr. John Ryder, requesting the favour of a call from me, at Aston, before I returned home. The reader will remember Mr. Ryder[37] as a suitor of Miss Denham, and the affecting farewell of the latter to him on her death-bed.
"There is a mystery in this," said Mr. Stevens, "which I cannot account for. I have not seen Mr. Ryder for many months. Miss Denham's death was a dreadful blow to him, and since then he has never recovered his wonted spirits, but become quite a recluse, neither paying nor receiving any visits."
"Who can tell?" I remarked; "her death may issue in his spiritual life. I will send a reply, saying that I will call on him to-morrow evening."
"He is a noble character," said Mrs. Stevens; "and a young man of great intelligence and most amiable disposition. I trust his affliction has led him to direct his attention to the only true source of consolation. Indeed, I have some grounds for hoping that this is the case, as I understand he has been very regular in his attendance at church for some time past."
On going to Aston the following evening to call on Mr. Ryder, I unexpectedly met him, and we walked together to his house. After thanking me for my promptness in thus responding to his request, he proceeded to disclose to me, without much reserve, the deep perplexity and strongly excited state of his mind on the question of personal religion; asking me, at the same time, for my advice, and how he should act to obtain relief from his perplexities and depression of spirit.
He frankly confessed that prior to the death of Miss Denham, for whom he had long cherished a most ardent attachment, he had imbibed some vague sceptical opinions against religion. Her dying farewell, however, both astonished and confounded him, particularly the last words which she addressed to him:—"We now part, but I hope not for ever. Death, which is now removing me, may soon call for you; and then I hope you will find that consolation in the death of a despised Saviour, which it has pleased God, very unexpectedly and undeservedly, to give to me." "I never," he remarked, "heard her say anything like this before. She was now entering the dark unknown world; but it appears that she derived consolation from the death of Jesus Christ. How is this? said I, as I withdrew from the chamber of death; and how can it be? I have said thousands of times since. However, what I saw and heard on that awfully appalling occasion left an indelible conviction on my mind, that there is a something in religion suited to humanity at the most momentous period of its history. But what is that something? I said to myself. Is it a hidden mystery which the great teacher death alone can explain; or is it possible to get the mystery explained before death comes? This is the emphatic question I wish you to solve, as my happiness both in this world and the next depends on its solution."
In token of his sincerity, he told me that he had altogether withdrawn from the gay world; regularly attended his parish church, and had taken the sacrament several times. He now read the Bible, and other devotional books, in preference to novels and periodicals; and went through a regular form of private prayer, both morning and evening. He closed by saying:—"But, like a man surrounded by a thick mist when crossing some wild moor, I know not whether I am going right or wrong—I can obtain no satisfaction."
I was about to reply to this communication, when our arrival at Aston, and the appearance of Miss Ryder, to whom I was introduced by her brother, put a stop to further conversation on the subject for the present. We now entered the house, and while tea was preparing, Mr. Ryder proposed that we should take a turn round the garden. In passing along, my eye caught sight of a beautiful figure of Ceres, resting on a pedestal. I remarked, that it was by a very slow and painstaking process that things of real excellence were brought to perfection.
"Yes," replied Mr. Ryder; "a few months ago that beautiful figure was a rough, shapeless stone. I have often thought, when standing and admiring it, what an eye and what a taste its sculptor must possess! But after all, it wants life to give the full expression of beauty."
"It stands as an emblematical figure."
"Yes, Sir; of the productive power of nature."
"And, Sir, of something else."
"Of what?"
"Of the man who has the form of godliness, but who has never felt its regenerating and life-giving power."
He paused, looked grave, but spoke not. After the lapse of a few moments he moved on in silence, as though my words had excited a new train of thought in his mind. At length he said:—"I do not clearly understand what you mean by the expression—the regenerating and life—giving power of godliness."
"I mean the regenerating power of the Divine Spirit, creating anew the human soul, and infusing into it spiritual life. 'You,' says the apostle, when addressing the members of the church at Ephesus, 'hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins' (Eph. ii. 1)."
"But is man, at any period of his moral history, living in a state of death? Such a supposition appears to me to be paradoxical."
"Before the regenerating power of the Divine Spirit acts on the soul of man, he lives in a state of death, in two senses. We say, for example, of the culprit who is condemned to die, that he is a dead man. His life is not his own; it is forfeited to the claims of justice. And thus, while living in an unrenewed and unpardoned state, we are legally dead; our life is forfeited to the claims of Divine justice; and we are exposed to the penalty of the violated law of God."
"And what is that penalty?"
"Condemnation, including in its infliction the forfeiture of the favour of God; mental disquietude, remorse, and dread of death, exclusion from a state of happiness, on passing into the eternal world; and banishment to hell, in despair, for ever. For it is written—'Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them' (Gal. iii. 10)."
He again moved on in silence; and then suddenly stopping, and resting his eye for a few moments on the ground, he replied, under great excitement:—"This, Sir, is a fearful condition of existence. It is appalling. It chills my blood to think of it. Then my present restlessness and disquietude of soul are the lighter inflictions of this tremendous penalty—the premonitions of the coming storm of God's righteous displeasure."
"Yes, Sir; and they are given in mercy and in love."
"You surprise me. What! does mercy ever employ such terrific forerunners to announce her coming? If so, for what purpose?"
"To rouse man, while living in a state of false security, to an apprehension of his guilt, and consequent danger. They are, in fact, warning voices, warning man to flee from the wrath to come, to repent of his sins, and to make him feel the absolute necessity of a Divine interposition to rescue him from the peril of his condition, that he may 'seek the Lord while he may be found, and call upon him while he is near' (Isa. lv. 6)."
We now entered a tastefully constructed grotto, covered with ivy, situated at the upper extremity of the garden. Here we had an enchanting prospect of the surrounding country, and stood gazing on it for a while in silence, when Mr. Ryder remarked—"This, Sir, is a beautiful world."
"Yes, Sir," I replied; "and it would have been a happy world, if sin had not entered and defiled it, and thus marred our happiness. The beasts of the field and the birds of the air appear to have escaped its withering influence. They are happy. It is only man, the noblest specimen of the Divine workmanship, who is groaning and pining away in mournful sadness, under its polluting and destroying power."
"To me, Sir, it appears surprising that the Deity should have permitted sin to enter this province of his vast dominions, and allow it to become the active agent of so much crime and misery, when he could so easily have prevented it, if he had chosen."
"I am not surprised by your remarks, for unquestionably the dispensation under which we are living is awfully mysterious; but still, notwithstanding the impenetrable darkness which envelopes certain parts of the Divine procedure, other parts are plain and intelligible, obviously conducive to our present and final happiness. Hence, if we act wisely, we shall turn our attention from what we cannot know, to what we may know-from concealed reasons and causes, to revealed facts. Instead, then, of perplexing ourselves about the origin of evil, we shall sit at the feet of Jesus, and he will tell us what God has done to repair the injury of the fall—'For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life' (John iii. 16). This, Sir, is plain, and this is intelligible; and we are assured by the Son of God himself, that if we believe in him we shall not perish, but have everlasting life."
"Your remarks, Sir, interest me. They illumine the darkness in which my own thoughts have been long revolving in shapeless con fusion. I begin to perceive that my salvation is possible. You referred just now to another sense in which man is dead, in addition to the forfeiture of his life, by his violations of the law of God; will you explain what that other state of death is?"
Our conversation was here interrupted by a summons to tea. Mr. Ryder was now profoundly silent on the questions which had engrossed our attention, leaving an impression on my mind that his sister had no sympathy with his spiritual anxieties and depression. She was about twenty-five years of age, of very pleasing manners, and an apparently amiable disposition—neither obtrusive nor reserved; sprightly, and somewhat of a facetious turn. When looking at and listening to her, the words which our Lord addressed to the accomplished young ruler of Judea involuntarily occurred to me—"One thing thou lackest." Her brother now proposed another stroll in the garden, which was prevented by the arrival of some visitors, and the rest of the evening passed away without any recurrence to our former topic of conversation. On taking leave, Mr. Ryder made me promise that I would soon repeat my visit, which I accordingly did in the course of the ensuing week.
On this occasion I again met Mr. Ryder, as before, taking an evening stroll, and we walked to Aston together. On passing an old dilapidated mansion, we saw its proprietor standing in the porch, a nondescript both in appearance and character. "That, Sir," said Mr. Ryder, "is the most singular man I ever knew; he is very wealthy, and leads a very selfish and sensual life; he loves nothing but himself, his dogs, and his gun. He has sympathy for a dog when in pain, but none for a human being. His dogs are fed sumptuously, and taken the greatest care of, but he has never been known to give anything in charity to his own species. He shuns all intercourse with his fellow-men, and is, in fact, a perfect misanthrope—a being without a heart. Not long ago, his father, who lives in extreme poverty in the adjoining county, came to see him, but he peremptorily ordered him away without giving him bit or drop."
"This man," I replied, "loving nothing but himself, his dog, and his gun, not even his own father, is happily a very rare case, but it is one which is both illustrative and suggestive. He is a living emblem of the unregenerate man; who is a selfish being, loving nothing but what ministers to his own sensual gratifications. He has no heart to revere and love his heavenly Father, and is consequently unfit for heaven, and unfit to live amongst, and associate with the pure and happy spirits who dwell there. If he were taken to heaven in his present moral and spiritual condition, he would appear as strange a being amongst them, as this man does amongst you—shunning all, for want of congeniality of taste and disposition; and shunned by all as odious and repulsive; his expulsion would be an act of necessity, both in relation to himself and to others. Hence it is obvious from the nature of the case, as well as from the Word of God, that before an unregenerate man is meet for heaven, the sentence of condemnation which is recorded against him must, by an act of free grace, be repealed, and then all his sins are forgiven. In addition to this, he must be renewed in the spirit of his mind, and a spiritual life must be breathed into him by the power of the Divine Spirit."
"I have, Sir, I think, a clear apprehension of what you mean by an act of grace in repealing the sentence of condemnation recorded against us for the sins we commit; but you say, that in addition to this we need the infusion into our mind of a new life, which you call a spiritual life. But if we are pardoned by an act of free grace, will not this secure to us an admission into heaven, without that additional operation to which you refer, and of which I can form no clear conception?"
"The exercise of free grace in pardoning a sinner is merely exempting him from a liability to punishment in this world, and in the world to come; but if he remain unrenewed, he will be the same in his moral principles, in his predilections, and antipathies, after he is pardoned, as he was while under a sentence of condemnation. He will feel no filial reverence for God; the love of Christ will not glow in his soul; he will possess no aptitude to hold fellowship with the pure spirits of the celestial world; nor can he live and move amongst them with dignity and ease, as one of their order."
"I perceive, Sir, the drift of your meaning; but yet it is enveloped in mysticism. One moment I seem to have it; but it is gone ere I can lay hold of it; it flits before me, and vanishes. However, there is one question which I shall feel obliged by you replying to: By what process can I originate, or get originated, this new spiritual life into my soul; and how must I set about it?"
"You cannot, Sir, originate it. As you cannot pardon yourself, neither can you renew yourself."
This remark fell with terrible force on his spirit, and cast a deep gloom on his countenance. He looked fearfully anxious, like a man who, on gaining an eminence apparently beyond the reach of the tide, sees his connection with the shore cut off by the unexpected rising of the waters.
"I am, then, in a hopeless condition! It appears, Sir, from your statement, that I came into existence in a state of spiritual death, and consequent condemnation, without possessing any self-quickening power. This, if true, forces upon me the conviction that I must look upon myself as a poor unfortunate being, involved in a tremendous calamity, which I could not avoid, and from which I cannot extricate myself. Why, Sir, I am in a state of hopeless and irrecoverable misery."
"No, Sir, neither irrecoverable nor hopeless; for God, who is rich in mercy to pardon, is also rich in mercy to renew and quicken you into newness of life."
"But will He do it?"
"Yes, if you are willing to have it done."
"Willing! Sir; I am anxious to be saved, and saved on any terms, and by any process. I am willing to submit to any privations, any self-humiliation, any physical or mental tortures, to obtain the hope of salvation."
"One of the principles of God's wise and gracious administration is embodied in the following absolute promise made to his ancient people, accompanied by its contingent condition:—'A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and do them. Thus saith the Lord God; I will yet for this be enquired of by the house of Israel, to do it for them; I will increase them with men like a flock' (Ezek. xxxvi. 26, 27, 37). A new spirit and a new heart is what you need, and now want; this God alone can give, and for this you must pray with great earnestness."
We now arrived at Aston, where, after having tea, we sauntered out as before into the garden, and entered the grotto to admire the view. Here Mr. Ryder resumed the thread of our conversation by saying:—"Permit me to ask you a question, which I feel to be important. When the Divine Spirit breathes this spiritual life into the soul of a man who has been living in a state of spiritual death, is he conscious of the change produced?"
"In some rare instances, I believe that a man does feel the action of the renewing and life-giving power of the Divine Spirit, at the very instant of time he is passing from death to life, though he may not then know by whom the spiritual operation is performed."
"But, Sir, as it is only rarely that such a sudden transition from death to life takes place, by what signs are we to determine its actual occurrence, when it is the result of a more lengthened process?"
"I believe the infusion of spiritual life in the soul of man is always an instantaneous act, though a long time may and often does elapse before he actually knows that he is quickened into newness of life. And in all cases the signs by which we may decide as to its actual occurrence, are very similar to those by which we determine the reality of our physical existence. For example, I am conscious that I am alive, because I breathe, feel, see, and hear, which I could not do if I were not alive. By a similar criterion we arrive at a satisfactory belief of the reality of our spiritual life. I am made alive from the dead; and as a proof of it, I can utter the voice of prayer and of praise. I feel sin to be a loathsome burden, offensive to my taste; I can see the glory of Christ displayed in his life, in his sufferings, and in his death. I can hear the voice of the Lord speaking to me in his promises, to comfort and strengthen me; and in his precepts, commanding my subjection and resignation to his sovereign will; I can walk in the way of his commandments, and feel obedience to be a source of gratitude and delight. I often hunger and thirst after a more perfect conformity to his righteousness; and now my meditations on God are sweet and delightful; and I can say—'Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee' (Psal. lxxiii. 25). These are the unmistakeable signs of spiritual life."
"You certainly, Sir, have supplied me with ample materials for thinking and reflection, and made an opening for my more easy understanding of the Bible. But there is one question of a more direct personal nature, which I wish to propose, and it is this—What am I to do? I am restless and unhappy. I want relief. Where, and how, can I obtain it? What positive thing am I to do, or suffer, to obtain it? That is the great question with me now. I perceive that the ulterior design of the Christian scheme of revelation is to restore man to the moral state from which he is fallen; but I have now to do with the present time, and the present state of my mind. What am I to do, or suffer, to gain peace of mind, and get that new spiritual life, of which you have been speaking?"
"I am happy, Sir, that it is in my power to give a specific, and I trust a satisfactory reply to your question. You are awakened out of your long dormant state of moral insensibility, to see and to feel your real character and condition in relation to God and eternity. This is the primary cause of your mental disquietude and restlessness. You have sought for relief in the outward forms of religion, and in the services and sacraments of the Church; but you have not succeeded in obtaining it. These expedients have proved to you the mirage of hope, not the well-spring of relief. Happily, there is a relieving power yet in reserve, which will not deceive or disappoint you—'For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost' (Luke xix. 10). As Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, he will not refuse to save any sinner who makes his appeal to his compassion and his power. Indeed, he assures us—'All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out' (John vi. 37)."
He now arose, evidently much impressed, and walked slowly out of the grotto, pacing to and fro along the gravel walk. After some time I moved off in an opposite direction; but at length we again met.
"I hope, Sir," he said, "you will excuse my uncourteous act in leaving you; but I wished, by a little calm reflection, to settle in my mind the important statement which you have given me, before the vivid impressions which it produced went off. I trust I shall long remember this interview; and I hope the day may come when you will hail me as a fellow-disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ."
I then prayed with him, and shortly after took my departure. I did not see his sister on this occasion, as she was from home, but I left a copy of Dr. Doddridge's Sermons on Regeneration, with a note begging her acceptance of it, and a request that she would read it carefully.
Several months after this visit, when I had returned home to my ordinary duties, I received the subjoined letter from Mr. Ryder, which I read with emotions of gratitude and praise to Him who works all things after the counsel of his own will:—
"Aston, 25th February, 18—.
"Rev. and dear Sir,—The conversation which passed between us, when I had the pleasure of a visit from you some months since, supplied the clue which I had long been searching for, to a right understanding of the Word of God on the great practical questions relating to my present happiness and final salvation. I know that my knowledge is still very superficial, but I trust I now understand the hidden mystery; what it is to pass from death to life; and from a state of guilt and condemnation to pardon and acceptance. I have taken the one decisive step, and cast myself at the feet of the Saviour, pleading his own promise, and he has given me rest. I have now obtained—what I long sought for in vain—peace of mind, and a good hope of final happiness; because I have been diverted from the refuge of lies, in which I too long trusted, to the true source of consolation.
"You will not be surprised to hear, that the ministry of the Rev. Mr. Cole became more and more distasteful, as I advanced in my knowledge of Christ and the mystery of redemption, till at length I reluctantly withdrew from his church, which I have attended from my childhood. I now attend the church of the Rev. Mr. Guion, an excellent preacher and pastor, whom I believe you know. And it is with no slight emotions of joyous delight, that I have it in my power to inform you, that my beloved sister has been brought to feel the renewing influence of religion on her heart. This blessed result has been brought about by reading the incomparable sermons of Dr. Doddridge, which you so kindly gave to her. Being favoured with the enlightened and soul-searching ministry of our excellent pastor, she soon obtained joy and peace in believing. While I was left to wander in darkness, or in twilight, through many an anxious month, at times nearly despairing of a successful issue, her translation from darkness into light was almost instantaneous. She is now my helper in the Lord; and the affection which always subsisted between us is now doubly strengthened by the ties of Christian love and sympathy.
"I hope that ere long you will again be in this part of the country; and I need not say how glad my sister and I should be to see you.—With every sentiment of respect, in which Anna joins, believe me, yours very sincerely,
J. Ryder."