Before the wars, he preached twice on Sunday, but afterwards he preached only once; conducting however a Thursday service, and other occasional services of worship in the week. On Thursday evening his parishioners were wont to come to his house, where one of them recapitulated the last discourse; and all were encouraged to ask religious questions. The "exercise" ended with prayer, in which the people sometimes engaged. On Saturday evening he held a meeting to improve the "opportunities" of the former Sabbath, and to prepare for the next day. Days of humiliation frequently occurred. Twice a week he and his assistant took fourteen families between them for private catechising and conference. He spent an hour with each household, no other persons being present; and thus he occupied the afternoons of Monday and Tuesday—his assistant spending the morning of these days in the same employment. His correspondence shews what efforts he privately employed to recover men from a course of sin.
Long epistles of reproof, remonstrance, and appeal still exist, and we well remember once lighting on a large and closely-written letter among the Baxter MSS., dated "this Saturday night, at eleven o'clock, with an aching head and heart, and weeping eyes." We venture to supply an extract from a letter in that collection, addressed to his parishioners:—"The remembrance of the years of mercy which God vouchsafed me among you is pleasant to me; yea, it is the pleasantest part of all my life in the review. I do with pleasure think of Dudley, where I first preached occasionally, because of the great congregation of a willing, poor people that used there to crowd for instruction; and I do with pleasure remember the liberty which I had at Bridgenorth, by means of the great privileges of the place in times of prelatical violence. I do with much thankfulness remember the safety, quietness, and mercies of many sorts which I and some of you enjoyed at Coventry, while the nation round about was in war, and the merciful preservations which we had in those unpleasing times. But the thought of my comforts among you is sweeter to me than all, because my successes were nowhere so great. It comforteth me to think from what a state of riotous profaneness and ignorance your Town is changed, and how commonly now the fear of God prevaileth, and how few, if any, there be now that oppose it; and that you can reproach the prayerless and contemners of godliness with the charge of singularity, as such were wont to do the godly. It comforteth me to remember how many upright souls are already departed in peace, and safely arrived at the desired rest, having fought a good fight and finished their course, and now enjoy the crown of righteousness. It comforteth me to remember how willingly you received the crown of righteousness. It comforteth me to remember how willingly you received the word of truth, how diligently the ablest of you were my helpers, how peaceably you all lived, without any schism, or any separated meeting, or any erroneous sect—unless two or three infidels and three or four drunkards might be called sectaries; and how all the attempts of Anabaptists and Quakers, &c., never, to my knowledge, prevailed to the perverting of any among you, though we gave them leave publicly to dispute for their cause. It rejoiceth me to think how, by your concord, and freedom from heresy and schism, living in love and unity, your example confuteth those that would now persuade the ignorant that there was nothing but schism and confusion in those times, and how much your leading example did to further piety and agreement in the towns and country round about, especially your common submission to catechising and personal conference and instruction, when almost all the town came willingly to my house, and the parish received Mr. Sergeant to theirs; and that in all things you were specially exemplary in humility, and none of you ever evaded the ministry, or went beyond the duties of your place; as also how willingly many hundreds of you submitted to Church discipline, and in what comfortable order we did live. But it yet more comforteth me to remember what society I there had with humble, loving, peaceable, painful, faithful ministers of Christ; how lovingly and comfortably we met and conversed together; how readily, through the country, they consented first to the association and concord for the exercise of so much discipline as the Episcopal, Presbyterian, or Independents were agreed in; and afterwards all to join in personal conference with, and catechising or instructing of, all their people that consented. How free those ministers were from all heresy, schism, contention, and difference with one another, never engaging themselves to any faction or dividing party, but holding communion with all true Christians on the terms of primitive simplicity, purity, and love! And it comforteth me to hear of the patience and fidelity of those of them that still survive, and also of your own constancy, and that piety among you doth rather increase than decay."
Baxter at Kidderminster.
Before dismissing Richard Baxter, there are three things respecting him which may be properly noticed here: the first, as an example of the popularity of his preaching; the second, as an instance of his independence and honesty in relation to Cromwell; and the third, as indicative of his charity and wisdom in promoting the interests of Christian union.
When Baxter preached that alarming and heart-stirring discourse at St. Lawrence Jewry which is entitled "Making light of Christ," the crowd was so great, that Lord Broghill, and the Earl of Suffolk, who brought the preacher to church in his coach, were "fain to go home again, because they could not come within hearing," and the crowd shewed so little respect to persons, that the old Earl of Warwick had to sit in the lobby; and Baxter adds—"Mr. Vines (the incumbent) himself, was fain to get into the pulpit and sit behind me, and I stood between his legs." "The Sermon on Judgment," published in "Baxter's Works"—another characteristic specimen of his mode of exposition and appeal—was delivered at the request of Sir Christopher Pack, Lord Mayor of London, in the old Gothic cathedral of St. Paul;[187] and the preacher tells us he delivered it to the "greatest auditory he ever saw." We find him also in the pulpit of Westminster Abbey, addressing immense congregations.
Baxter once, and only once, preached before Cromwell, when he chose for his subject the divisions and distractions of Christendom. He shewed how mischievous a thing it was for politicians to encourage divisions for their own ends, and to fish in troubled waters, thus keeping the Church in a state of weakness, and pointed out, at the end of his discourse, the necessity and the means of union. The preacher heard that his plain speaking had displeased his audience; yet, to use his own expression, "they put up with it." But Cromwell sent for Baxter, and began a long and tedious speech respecting God's Providence in the change of governments, and how He had owned that change already, and what great things had been achieved in consequence of it both at home and abroad. Baxter, wearied out of all patience, at length observed, that he took our ancient monarchy to be a great blessing, and craved pardon, as he asked his Highness in what way England had forfeited that blessing. Awakened into passion by this home thrust, Cromwell replied, that it was no forfeiture at all, but a "Divine dispensation;" and then he "let fly" at the Parliament, especially at four or five members who were Baxter's particular friends. A few days afterwards, the Protector addressed to the impatient preacher another slow and tedious speech upon liberty of conscience; and the preacher returned to the Protector a paper containing his own views upon the same subject. Baxter's paper would be to Cromwell as tiresome as Cromwell's talk could be to Baxter. Yet the whole of this remarkable intercourse between two remarkable men shewed the courage of the one, and the magnanimity of the other, and the perfect sincerity of both.
Baxter's Popularity.
Baxter, at a later period, preached in Westminster Abbey, before the House of Commons, a sermon containing the following passage, which is as worthy of attention at the present day as when the impassioned Divine delivered it under the arched roof of that great national temple:—
"Men that differ about Bishops, ceremonies, and forms of prayer, may be all true Christians, and dear to one another and to Christ, if they be practically agreed in the life of godliness, and join in a holy, heavenly conversation. But if you agree in all your opinions and formalities, and yet were never sanctified by the truth, you do but agree to delude your souls, and neither of you will be saved for all your agreement."[188]