I do not pretend to say this vision was any part of my salvation, but surely it was a token for good; and no heart can conceive the sacred joy I felt some time afterwards, in reading the history of the conversion of Constantine the Great, by a sight of the cross in the air; and the vision of a crucified Saviour, which was given to Colonel Gardiner; Mr. Connick’s and Mr. Hart’s experience; and the affecting views given those good men of the Lord Jesus, in his suffering circumstances. Isaiah saw the same; but Daniel, Ezekiel, and John saw the dear Saviour, as glorified. However, the Spirit leading us into all truth, and glorifying Christ, by shewing us his salvation, is the one thing needful.
Adieu. J. C.
LETTER IV.
“Seek ye me, and ye shall live, saith the Lord.”
To —
Various were my frames, changes, fears, doubts, and hopes, till I could ascertain my “Title clear to mansions in the skies.” Nothing, I thought, could possibly make me sensible of this, and the pardon of my sins, but some powerful voice from heaven, or some wonderful appearance of the Saviour to me, in a visible form. I have sat a long time together, looking up in the air for some glorious visions of Christ; then I thought the Lord would assure me of pardon; then I hoped he would take away the power of sin, and so effectually subdue it, that I should never sin any more. This was my hope and expectation; for this I prayed constantly and fervently—and having read of the various appearances of the Saviour to some good men, and that conversion was a change of nature, I had a pleasing hope that this would one day be my happy lot. When sin overcame me, then I despaired of such a favour, and when could pray well, and walk strictly holy, then my hopes were big:—in this way I went on for many months, even though I sat under the sound of the gospel. But who could have thought this was all delusion: I found it to be so after; and have often wondered I could be so blind, when I had not the least promise of any such revelations, or such a change of nature. Many, who have been deluded with wonderful visions, and others who have boosted of this change of nature, and have got almost perfect, have since turned out perfect devils. My soul was, however, very anxious to be saved; and continuing under the gospel, whenever I could hear it, my judgement got pretty clearly furnished. I was led to see the glorious doctrines of the Trinity; eternal election; the atonement; and imputed righteousness of the Saviour, the necessity of the Spirit’s work, and the doctrine of the final perseverance of the saints.—These precious truths gradually opened to my view; but the power of sin, attended with a sense of guilt; the sense of God’s anger; the fears of death; the solemnities of the last great day; and an awful eternity, often sunk my mind: my heart, at times, meditated terror, and experienced many real and imaginary horrors. When I looked at the holy law, it condemned me; and when it was opened to me, in its spirituality, I found that it reached to the thoughts and intents of the heart; then I died to all hope of salvation by that law; the Lord searched my heart, and shewed me some of the evils that were in it; I saw the justice of God in my condemnation, and was angry with God that I was ever created; and, as many others have, so I envied the pretty birds and the brute creation, because they had no souls, no day of judgment, nor any angry God to meet. If I read the New Testament, I was just as bad off, as that cut me to the heart; for there I read—“He that believeth not shall be damned; he that believeth not is condemned already;” and, as I had made a profession: the following text was dreadful to my mind—“If we sin wilfully, after we have received the knowledge of the truth, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sin.” These awful texts were like swords in my heart; and when I reflected that God was immutable, that he could not change, that he is one mind, and I could not turn him by all my prayers, cries, or intreaties; these things, and the power and guilt of sin, I still felt with a deep sense of my own weakness and inability to do any thing that was good. I say this complication of awful convictions fell, at times, very deeply upon my mind. I knew, indeed, that Christ was able to save me, but I had no idea of his willingness: it was not with me now, whether I would be saved or not; but whether Christ would save me? Here was no free-will in the business; I found it was not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, for I did both—but of God, which sheweth mercy. Here, all the wooing and beseeching to close with Christ, which we hear from the pulpit, I found to be folly and madness; as well as the doctrine of universal salvation and redemption; for I could not believe that the Saviour died for me—and yet, amidst all these sensations, I was often encouraged by the Word, and the good conversation of others, especially by such promises as these: “Those that seek me early shall find me;” “Your heart shall live that seek God;” “Seek and ye shall find;” “Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.”
I remember once opening upon a hymn, in Mr. Whitfield’s Collection, and found these two lines—
“It was for sinners Jesus died,
Then sure I heard he died for me.”
In a moment I felt a sensible ray of hope spring up in my heart, upon the ground of the atonement, and I think I have never lost that hope to this day: the Lord led me through all this soul travail, to see my need of a Mediator; one to stand in the gap; one that was able to lay his hands on both parties; God with God, and man with man; and I was at times highly favored with very precious views of Christ, in his offices and characters; yet I constantly feared I should die before I could see my interest in him, and before I could believe in him, though I believed in him all the while. Yet I could not see, at that time, the difference between faith and sense, or faith and the end of faith. I did not know there was any difference between faith, the assurance of faith, and the full assurance of faith.
One Sunday morning I heard Mr. Huntington, on Song, iii. 11. Oh, what a sweet morning it was to me! I had such a glorious view of the dear Saviour, that I would have given the universe for ability to call him mine. But this sweet view went off, the veil closed again, and sin was ever before me. At times I could open my mind freely, at the throne of grace; at other times I was so shut up that I thought it of no use; sometimes I was filled with desires, longings, hungerings, and thirstings after Christ; and then I was left in barrenness, carnal ease, and a dead calm, till sin was felt again, and my distress increased. This one thing I found awfully true—