Your truly affectionate Friend,
G. Mortimer.
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Madeley, Salop. Aug. 5, 1816.
My dear Armstrong,
* * * * *
Your two or three last letters, but more particularly the last of all, seem written under a degree of depression which I am greatly concerned to observe. While engaged in doing a great work, while filling an important post, and that with no small measure of patient perseverance, you suffer yourself to suppose that you are doing almost nothing. While your friends which you have left behind you are admiring the zeal and the love which have enabled you to tear yourself from the comforts of civilized and refined society, and thus to forget, as it were, your own people and your father’s house, while they are thankful for the grace of God within you, you are so discouragingly comparing yourself with a Schwartz and a Van der Kemp, as to request of your unworthy friend that he would pray for you, lest, after all, you should prove a castaway. Now, my dear Armstrong, what must I say to such feelings and requests? Must I sympathise with my dear desponding friend? I do so from my heart; but I must also chide with him: you overlook the tender mercies of God towards you; you keep your eye not on the bright side, but on that which is dark, gloomy, and foreboding; and thus faith and confidence in your loving and omnipotent Redeemer seem dormant and inactive principles. But what is the language of the Saviour under such circumstances of discouragement? It is that which he addressed to Martha at the grave of Lazarus: “Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldst believe, thou shouldst see the glory of God?” It is that also which he used towards the afflicted father, who with tears requested that, if he could do anything, he would have compassion on him, and help him: “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.” Believe then, my dear friend, through all your difficulties and discouragements, and your temporary darkness will be succeeded by glorious and abiding light. The clouds which for a season overspread your horizon will be dispelled, and your glistening eye will be cheered with a bright and resplendent day. Perhaps, however, you may tell me, that faith is the gift of God, and that we must wait till this hinging blessing be bestowed. But are not all the gifts of God to be obtained upon the simple condition of asking? and were you to ask for this gift, or for its increase, would the blessed God deny it? I have often found it exceedingly useful to my own mind, after having fallen upon my knees to pray to that God who has promised to give to us all that we ask in faith,—I have found it profitable to ask previously, that the Lord would give me faith to believe, that the petitions which I should present before his throne of grace, would be answered by him, and, as a consequence, my faith has been strengthened far beyond its usual exercise. And with regard to discouraging circumstances, my constant prayer has been that my faith might not fail. Since I came into this parish, I have had difficulties to encounter, such as some of my dearest friends and fellow-labourers have confessed that they should not have dared to meet, and I must acknowledge, that, at times, I have sighed, and wept, and groaned, being burdened; and have had many a thought of leaving my arduous post to some more intrepid and persevering spirit. But something seemed continually to be whispering to my dejected mind, “only believe,” “let not your faith fail you,” and I blessed God that through all I was enabled, in some sort, to believe, though not without many a tremulous assertion, and equally trembling prayer, “Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief.” And it is with unfeigned gratitude towards the blessed God, that I feel it my duty to add, that all my storms have, for the present at least, completely blown over, and that success has been vouchsafed to my poor mean insignificant labours, such as my most sanguine expectations could in no wise have imagined. Should I not say, then, to my dear friend, as an experimental result “from believing verily to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living,”—“O tarry thou the Lord’s leisure, be strong, and he shall comfort thine heart;” “Wait, I say, on the Lord”? But here I feel, as usual, that I must check myself. I forget to whom I am writing, and likewise what I am inditing: I forget that I am addressing one who has that anointing from above which teacheth all things, and that I am not composing a sermon, but scribbling a letter.
I know not whether you were acquainted with S—, of our college, and B—, of Trinity. The former I used occasionally to meet, and was accustomed to consider him as one of the very holiest men at college. Since my last letter, however, he, B—, and two others, have left the Church, because they could not read the ten commandments, and are now preaching all the heights and depths of eternal election, eternal justification, and eternal sanctification: they have likewise begun to ordain others, and R— K—, the member for L—, has vacated his seat, and received ordination from them. The moderate Calvinists are endeavouring to stop the growing evil, but I am sorry to say, that among many it is sadly spreading. It has had one good effect, however; it has made many of the high men, as they are termed, much more guarded and circumspect. * * * *
Mary and my brother unite with me in very kindest love to yourself, and most respectful and affectionate remembrances to Mrs. A., and I may likewise add, in very best wishes and earnest prayers for your dear children.
I remain your very sincere Friend,
George Mortimer.