From Death into Life Part 1

From Death into Life.

by William Haslam.

INTRODUCTION

This volume is not so much a history of my own life, as of the Lord's dealings with me; setting forth how He wrought in and by me during the s.p.a.ce of twenty years. It will be observed that this is not, as biographies generally are, an account of life on to death; but rather the other way--a narrative of transition from death into life, and that in more senses than one.

I had been given over by three physicians to die, but it pleased the Lord, in answer to prayer, to raise me up again. My restored health and strength I thankfully devoted to a religious and earnest life. In the height and seeming prosperity of this, the Lord awakened me to see that I was dead in trespa.s.ses and sins; still far from Him; resting on my own works; and going about to establish my own righteousness, instead of submitting to the righteousness of G.o.d. Then He quickened me by the Holy Ghost, and raised me up into a new and spiritual life.

In this volume the reader will meet with the respective results of (what I have called) the Religious, as distinguished from the Spiritual, life.

The former produced only outward and ecclesiastical effects, while the latter brought forth fruit in the salvation of souls, to the praise and glory of G.o.d.

One object in writing this book is to warn and instruct earnest-minded souls, who are, as I was once, strangers to the experience of salvation, seeking rest where I am sure they can never find it, and labouring to do good to others when they have not yet received that good themselves.

They are vainly "building from the top;" trying to live before they are born; to become holy before they have become justified; and to lead others to conversion before they have been converted themselves.

A second object is--to draw the attention of every earnest, seeking, or anxious soul, to consider the Lord's marvellous goodness in first bearing with me in my religious wanderings, and then using me for His glory in the salvation of hundreds.

Another desire I have is--to cheer the hearts of believers who are working for G.o.d, by relating to them what He has done through me, and can do again, by the simple preaching of the Gospel. Here the reader will meet with narratives of the Lord's work in individual cases, in congregations, and in parishes--wonderful things which are worthy of record.

I have not shunned to tell of the mistakes I fell into after my conversion, hoping that others may take heed and profit by them; and then I shall not have written in vain.

CHAPTER 1

The Broken Nest, 1841.

At the time in which this history begins, I had, in the providence of G.o.d, a very happy nest; and as far as temporal prospects were concerned, I was provided for to my liking, and, though not rich, was content. I had taken my degree; was about to be ordained; and, what is more, was engaged to be married; in order, as I thought, to settle down as an efficient country parson.

With this bright future before me, I went on very happily; when, one evening, after a hard and tiring day, just as I was sitting down to rest, a letter was put into my hand which had been following me for several days. "Most urgent" was written on the outside. It told me of the alarming illness of the lady to whom I was engaged, and went on to say that if I wished to see her alive I must set off with all haste. It took me a very short time to pack my bag and get my travelling coats and rugs together, so that I was all ready to start by the night mail. At eight o'clock punctually I left London for the journey of two hundred and eighty miles. All that night I sat outside the coach; all the next day; and part of the following night. I shall never forget the misery of mind and body that I experienced, for I was tired before starting; and the fatigue of sitting up all night, together with the intense cold of the small hours of the morning, were almost beyond endurance. With the morning, however, came a warm and bright sunshine, which in some degree helped to cheer me; but my bodily suffering was so great that I could never have held up had it not been for the mental eagerness with which I longed to get forward. It was quite consonant with my feelings when the horses were put into full gallop, especially when they were tearing down one hill to get an impetus to mount another.

At length, the long, long journey was over; and about thirty hours after starting, I found myself staggering along to the well-known house. As I approached the door was softly opened by a relative who for several days had been anxiously watching my arrival. She at once conducted me upstairs, to what I expected was a sick chamber, when, to my horror, the first thing I saw was the lid of a coffin standing up against the wall, and in the middle of the room was the coffin, with candles burning on either side.

I nearly fell to the ground with this tremendous shock and surprise.

There was the dear face, but it seemed absorbed in itself, and to have lost all regard for me. It no longer turned to welcome me, nor was the hand stretched out, as theretofore, to meet mine. All was still; there was no smile--no voice--no welcome-nothing but the silence of death to greet me.

The sight of that coffin, with its quiet inmate, did not awaken sorrow so much as surprise; and with that, something like anger and rebellion.

I was weak and exhausted in body, but strong in wilful insubordination.

Murmuring and complaining, I spoke unadvisedly with my lips.

A gentle voice upbraided me, adding, that I had far better kneel down in submission to G.o.d, and say "Thy will be done!" This, however, was not so easy, for the demon of rebellion had seized me, and kept me for three hours in a tempest of anger, filling my mind with hard thoughts against G.o.d. I walked about the room in the most perturbed state of mind, so much so, that I grieved my friends, who came repeatedly to ask me to kneel down and say, "Thy will be done!" "Kneel down--just kneel down!"

At length I did so, and while some one was praying, my tears began to flow, and I said the words, "Thy will be done!" Immediately the spell was broken and I was enabled to say from my heart, again and again, "Thy will be done!" After this I was conscious of a marvellous change in mind; rebellion was gone, and resignation had come in its place. More than that, the dear face in the coffin seemed to lie smiling in peace, so calm and so lovely, that I felt I would not recall the spirit that was fled, even if it bad been possible. There was wrought in me something more than submission, even a lifting-up of my will to the will of G.o.d; and withal, such a love towards Him that I wondered at myself.

G.o.d had been, as it were, a stranger to me before. Now I felt as though I knew and loved Him, and could kiss His hand, though my tears flowed freely.

The funeral took place the same morning: it was a time of great emotion; sorrow and joy met, and flowed together. I thought of the dear one I had lost, but yet more of the G.o.d of love I had found; and to remember that she was with Him was an additional comfort to me. The funeral service was soothing and elevating beyond expression; and yet, when it was all over, such a sense of desolation came upon me, that I felt utterly forlorn and truly sad.

My nest was now completely stirred up; but instead of bemoaning its broken state, I could see the eagle fluttering over her young ones (Deut. 32:1). I was conscious that G.o.d was looking on, and that He had not forsaken me in this great wreck.

The strain and excitement I had undergone naturally brought on an illness. I was seized with inflammation of the lungs, and was dangerously ill. From this, and other complications which supervened, the doctor p.r.o.nounced that I could not recover, and bade me prepare for eternity.

Judges and doctors, when they pa.s.s sentence of death, seem to regard religion as necessary preparation for it. Too common, also, is this idea, even among those who do not belong to these respected professions.

My own opinion was much the same at that time.

Having received this solemn warning, I took down the Prayer-book, and religiously read over the office for the Visitation of the Sick. I became so interested in this exercise, that I determined to read it three times a day. The prayer for a sick child especially commended itself to my mind, so that, by changing a few words, I made it applicable to my own case, and used it not only three, but even seven, times a day. In substance, it pet.i.tioned that I might be taken to heaven if I died; or that, if it should please G.o.d to restore my health, He would let me live to His glory. I did not at that time expect my days would be prolonged, nor had I any wish to live, for the world was now perfectly blank and desolate to me. I felt as if I could never be happy again; to be with G.o.d would be far better!

I little dreamed that if I had died in that unpardoned and Christless state, I should have been lost forever; for I was profoundly ignorant of the necessity of change of heart--perfectly unconscious that I must be born again of the Spirit. This vital truth had never come to my mind; I felt a love for G.o.d, and in my ignorance I wished to die.

One morning the thought came to me, as I was sitting all alone by the fire, "What have I been praying for?--that the Lord would take me to heaven if I died; or, if I lived, that He would let me live to His glory?"

Why, this is heaven both ways!--heaven in heaven, or heaven on earth--whichever way it pleases G.o.d to answer my prayer. Somehow I felt certain that He would answer it. I was exceedingly happy, and could not help thanking Him. From that day I began to feel better, and became impressed with the idea that I was to live, and not die. The doctor smiled at me when I told him so, for he did not believe it. He, and two other physicians, had told me that my lungs were diseased; indeed, six months afterwards, all three sounded me, and declared that one lung was inoperative, and the other much affected.

Yet, notwithstanding the doctor's discouraging announcement--for he told me, also, that "it was one of the fatal signs of consumption for the patient to feel or think he was getting better"--I had a certain conviction that I was to recover. As soon as the medical man had gone, I put on my coat and hat and went out for a walk. I trembled much from weakness, and found it necessary to move very slowly and stop often; but under the shelter of a wall, courting the warmth of the bright-shining sun, I managed to make my way to the churchyard.

While I was sitting there alone, the great bell struck out unexpectedly, and caused me to shake all over; for I was in a very weak condition. It was the s.e.xton tolling to announce the departure of the soul of some villager from the world. Having done this, he came out with his boards and tools to dig the grave. He did not observe me sitting by; so he at once commenced, and went on diligently with his work. The ground had so often been broken before that it did not take him long to accomplish his task; he gradually got deeper and deeper into the ground, till he disappeared altogether from my sight. I crept to the edge of the narrow pit in which he was, and looking into it, I could not help thinking of those words of Kirke White--

"Cold grave, methinks, 'twere sweet to rest Within thy calm and hallowed breast!"

I had no fear of death, but rather felt that I should welcome it even more than restoration to health.

I have even now a most vivid remembrance of this, and place it on record to show how delusive' are our feelings: because I did not feel any danger, I took it for granted that there really was none. That day, however, was an eventful one in my life; for, in the gladness of my heart, I gave myself to G.o.d, to live for Him. I had given my will before, and now I gave my life, and was happy in the deed. I did not know at that time that faith does not consist in believing that I have given myself, even if I meant it ever so sincerely; but in believing that G.o.d has taken or accepted me.

At the outset, I began with the former--a merely human faith--and its result was consequently imperfect. I was spiritually dead, and did not know it. Alas! What mult.i.tudes there are who are utterly unconscious of the fact of this spiritual death, though there are few things more plainly declared and revealed in the Word of G.o.d.

The full meaning of the word death is too often misunderstood and overlooked. There are three kinds referred to in the Word of G.o.d--spiritual, natural, and everlasting. The first is a separation of the soul from G.o.d; the second, that of the body from the soul; and the last, that of the unbelieving man, body and soul, from G.o.d forever.

It will be seen that there is one characteristic which is common to all three kinds--that is, separation; and that there is no idea of finality--death is not the end. When the Lord G.o.d created man, we suppose that He made him not merely in the form of a body, but a man with body and soul complete; and afterwards that He breathed into this living man the Spirit, and he became a living soul. As such, he communed with the eternal G.o.d, who is a Spirit. In this spiritual state he could walk and converse with G.o.d in the garden of Eden. When, however, he disobeyed the command which had been given to him, he incurred the tremendous penalty. The Lord G.o.d had said, "In the day that you eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, you shall surely die." He did eat, and he died there and then; that is, he forfeited that 'Spirit which had quickened his soul, and thus became a dead soul; though, as we know, he remained a living man for nine hundred years before his body returned to its dust.

By his one act of disobedience, Adam opened in an instant (as an earthquake opens a deep chasm) the great gulf, the impa.s.sable gulf of separation which is fixed between us and G.o.d. By nature, as the children of Adam, we are all on the side which is away from G.o.d; and we are become subject also to the sentence p.r.o.nounced against the life of the body. We know and understand that we are mortal, and that it is appointed unto men once to die; but we do not seem to be aware of the more important fact of the death of our souls. Satan, who said to our first parents, "Ye shall not surely die," employs himself now in deceiving men by saying, "Ye are not dead;" and mult.i.tudes believe him, and take it for granted that it is actually true. Thus they go on unconcerned about this awful and stupendous reality.

CHAPTER 2

Religious Life.

With returning health and strength, I did not think of going back into the world, but rather gave myself more fully to the purpose for which I supposed that my life had been restored. I felt a thankfulness and joy in my recovery, which confirmed me more and more in my determination to live to the glory of G.o.d.

When I was able to return to the South, I did so by easy stages till I got back to the neighbourhood of London; and there it was ordered that I should be shut up for the remainder of the winter.

During this season of retirement, I spent my time most happily in reading and prayer, and found great delight in this occupation. I was able to say, with the Psalmist, "I love the Lord, because He has heard my voice and my supplication;" and, like him, I could say, "I will call upon Him as long as I live; I will walk before Him in the land of the living; and I will take the cup of salvation and call upon the name of the Lord." That is, in secret or private life; in social intercourse with my fellow-men; and in the worship of the sanctuary, I will seek the glory of G.o.d. I used to have much pleasure every day in asking G.o.d to give me a deeper sense of His love, that I might unfeignedly thank Him, and show forth His praise with my life as well as my lips.

All this, be it observed, was because G.o.d had saved not my soul, but my life; for as yet I had not, like the Psalmist, felt any trouble about my soul. I knew nothing of what he describes as the "sorrows of death and the pains of h.e.l.l." I had not been awakened by the Spirit to know the danger and sorrow of being separated from G.o.d (which is spiritual death). I was perfectly unconscious that between G.o.d and myself there was the "impa.s.sable gulf" I have already referred to, and consequently I had not experienced such overwhelming anxiety as made the Psalmist cry out, "O Lord, I beseech Thee, deliver my soul." I knew nothing of the necessity of pa.s.sing from death to life, and therefore I could not say, "The Lord has delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling."

The only thing I knew was that G.o.d was good to me, and therefore I loved Him, and was thankful, not for the sake of getting His favour, but because I thought I had it. I turned over a new leaf, and 'therewith covered up the blotted page of my past life. On this new path I endeavoured to walk as earnestly in a religious way, as I had before lived in a worldly one.

This mistake into which I fell was natural enough and common as it is natural; but for all this it was very serious, and might have been fatal to me, as it has proved to mult.i.tudes. I did not see then, as I have since that turning over a new leaf to cover the past, is not by any means the same thing as turning back the old leaves, and getting them washed in the blood of the Lamb.

I have said before that I did not know any better; nor was I likely to see matters in a clearer light from the line of study in which I was chiefly occupied. I was absorbed for the time, not so much in the Bible as in the "Tracts for the Times"--a publication which was engaging much attention. These Oxford tracts suited me exactly, and fitted my tone of mind to a nicety. Their object was the restoration of the Church of England from a cold, formal condition, into something like reality--from a secular to a religious state; this also was my own present object for myself. I read these writings with avidity, and formed from them certain ecclesiastical proclivities which carried me on with renewed zeal.