He told me he doubted they were but indifferent Christians themselves; that they had but little knowledge of God or his ways, and therefore he could not expect that they had said much to their wives on that head yet; but that unless they would promise him to use their endeavours with their wives to persuade them to become Christians, and would as well as they could instruct them in the knowledge and belief of God that made them, and to worship Jesus Christ that redeemed them, he could not marry them; for he would have no hand in joining Christians with savages; nor was it consistent with the principles of the Christian religion, and was indeed expressly forbidden in God’s law.
They heard all this very attentively, and I delivered it very faithfully to them from his mouth, as near his own words as I could, only sometimes adding something of my own, to convince them how just it was, and how I was of his mind: and I always very faithfully distinguished between what I said from myself and what were the clergyman’s words. They told me it was very true what the gentleman had said, that they were but very indifferent Christians themselves, and that they had never talked to their wives about religion.—“Lord, Sir,” says Will Atkins, “how should we teach them religion? Why, we know nothing ourselves; and besides, Sir,” said he, “should we go to talk to them of God, and Jesus Christ, and heaven and hell, it would be to make them laugh at us, and ask us what we believe ourselves? and if we should tell them we believe all the things that we speak of to them, such as of good people going to heaven, and wicked people to the devil, they would ask us, where we intended to go ourselves who believe all this, and yet are such wicked fellows, as we indeed are: why, Sir,” said Will, “’tis enough to give them a surfeit of religion, at that hearing: folks must have some religion themselves before they pretend to teach other people.”—“Will Atkins,” said I to him, “though I am afraid what you say has too much truth in it, yet can you not tell your wife that she is in the wrong; that there is a God, and a religion better than her own; that her gods are idols; that they can neither hear nor speak; that there is a great Being that made all things, and that can destroy all that he has made; that he rewards the good, and punishes the bad; that we are to be judged by him, at last, for all we do here? You are not so ignorant but even nature itself will teach you that all this is true; and I am satisfied you know it all to be true, and believe it yourself.”
“That’s true, Sir,” said Atkins; “but with what face can I say any thing to my wife of all this, when she will tell me immediately it cannot be true?”
“Not true!” said I; “what do you mean by that?”—“Why, Sir,” said he, “she will tell me it cannot be true: that this God (I shall tell her of) can be just, or can punish or reward, since I am not punished and sent to the devil, that have been such a wicked creature as she knows I have been, even to her, and to every body else; and that I should be suffered to live, that have been always acting so contrary to what I must tell her is good, and to what I ought to have done.”
“Why truly, Atkins,” said I, “I am afraid thou speakest too much truth;” and with that I let the clergyman know what Atkins had said, for he was impatient to know. “O!” said the priest, “tell him there is one thing will make him the best minister in the world to his wife, and that is repentance; for none teach repentance like true penitents. He wants nothing but to repent, and then he will be so much the better qualified to instruct his wife; he will then be able to tell her, that there is not only a God, and that he is the just rewarder of good and evil; but that he is a merciful Being, and, with infinite goodness and long-suffering, forbears to punish those that offend; waiting to be gracious, and willing not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should return and live; that he often suffers wicked men to go on a long time, and even reserves damnation to the general day of retribution: that it is a clear evidence of God, and of a future state, that righteous men receive not their reward, or wicked men their punishment, till they come into another world; and this will lend him to teach his wife the doctrine of the resurrection, and of the last judgment: let him but repent for himself, he will be an excellent preacher of repentance to his wife.”
I repeated all this to Atkins, who looked very serious all the while, and who, we could easily perceive, was more than ordinarily affected with it: when being eager, and hardly suffering me to make an end—“I know all this, master,” says he, “and a great deal more; but I han’t the impudence to talk thus to my wife, when God and my own conscience knows, and my wife will be an undeniable evidence against me, that I have lived as if I never heard of God, or a future state, or any thing about it; and to talk of my repenting, alas! (and with that he fetched a deep sigh; and I could see that tears stood in his eyes,) ’tis past all that with me.”—“Past it, Atkins!” said I; “what dost thou mean by that?”—“I know well enough what I mean, Sir,” says he; “I mean ’tis too late; and that is too true.”
I told my clergyman word for word what he said. The poor zealous priest (I must call him so; for, be his opinion what it will, he had certainly a most singular affection for the good of other men’s souls; and it would be hard to think he had not the like for his own)—I say, this zealous, affectionate man could not refrain tears also: but recovering himself, he said to me, “Ask him but one question: Is he easy that it is too late, or is he troubled, and wishes it were not so?” I put the question fairly to Atkins; and he answered with a great deal of passion, “How could any man be easy in a condition that certainly must end in eternal destruction?” That he was far from being easy; but that, on the contrary, he believed it would one time or the other ruin him.
“What do you mean by that?” said I.—“Why,” he said, “he believed he should, one time or another, cut his own throat to put an end to the terror of it.”
The clergyman shook his head, with a great concern in his face, when I told him all this; but turning quick to me upon it, said, “If that be his case, you may assure him it is not too late; Christ will give him repentance. But pray,” says he, “explain this to him, that as no man is saved but by Christ, and the merit of his passion, procuring divine mercy for him, how can it be too late for any man to receive mercy? Does he think he is able to sin beyond the power or reach of divine mercy? Pray tell him, there may be a time when provoked mercy will no longer strive, and when God may refuse to hear; but that ’tis never too late for men to ask mercy; and we that are Christ’s servants are commanded to preach mercy at all times, in the name of Jesus Christ, to all those that sincerely repent: so that ’tis never too late to repent.”
I told Atkins all this, and he heard me with great earnestness; but it seemed as if he turned off the discourse to the rest; for he said to me he would go and have some talk with his wife: so he went out awhile, and we talked to the rest. I perceived they were all stupidly ignorant as to matters of religion; much as I was when I went rambling away from my father; and yet that there were none of them backward to hear what had been said; and all of them seriously promised that they would talk with their wives about it, and do their endeavour to persuade them to turn Christians.