The Biography of Robert Murray M'Cheyne Part 5

"_June 12_, Sabbath.--To-day a sinner preached Jesus, the same Jesus who has done all things for him and that so lately! A day of much help, of some earnest looking-up of the heart to that alone quickening power, of much temptation to flattery and pride. Oh for breathing gales of spiritual life! Evening--Somewhat helped to lay Jesus before little children in his beauty and excellency. Much fatigue, yet some peace. Surely a day in thy courts is better than a thousand."

"_June 15._--Day of visiting (rather a happy one) in Carron-sh.o.r.e.

Large meeting in the evening. Felt very happy after it, though mourning for _bitter speaking of the gospel_. Surely it is a gentle message, and should be spoken with angelic tenderness, especially by such a needy sinner."

Of this bitterness in preaching, he had little indeed in after days; yet so sensible was he of its being quite natural to all of us, that oftentimes he made it the subject of conversation, and used to grieve over himself if he had spoken with anything less than solemn compa.s.sion. I remember on one occasion, when we met, he asked what my last Sabbath's subject had been. It had been, "The wicked shall be turned into h.e.l.l." On hearing this awful test, he asked, "Were you able to preach it _with tenderness_?" Certain it is that the tone of reproach and upbraiding is widely different from the voice of solemn warning. It is not saying hard things that pierces the consciences of our people; it is the voice of divine love heard amid the thunder. The sharpest point of the two-edged sword is not _death_, but _life_; and against self-righteous souls this latter ought to be more used than the former. For such souls can hear us tell of the open gates of h.e.l.l and the unquenchable fire far more unconcernedly than of the gates of heaven wide open for their immediate return. When we preach that the glad tidings _were intended to impart immediate a.s.surance of eternal life to every sinner that believes them_, we strike deeper upon the proud enmity of the world to G.o.d, then when we show the eternal curse and the second death.

"_June 19_, Sabbath.--Wet morning. Preached at Dunipace to a small audience, on Parable of the Tares. I thank G.o.d for that blessed parable.--In both discourses I can look back on many hateful thoughts of pride, and self-admiration, and love of praise, stealing the heart out of the service."

"_June 22._--Carron-sh.o.r.e. My last. Some tears; yet I fear some like the messenger, not the message; and I fear I am so vain as to love that love. Lord, let it not be so. Perish _my_ honor, but let _thine_ be exalted forever."

"_June 26._--True Sabbath-day. Golden sky. Full church, and more liveliness than sometimes. Shall I call the liveliness of this day a gale of the Spirit, or was all natural? I know that all was not of grace; the self-admiration, the vanity, the desire of honor, the bitterness--these were all breaths of earth or h.e.l.l. But was there no grace? Lord, Thou knowest. I dare not wrong Thee by saying--No!

Larbert Sabbath school with the same liveliness and joy. Domestic work with the same. Praised be G.o.d! Oh that the savor of it may last through the week! By this may I test if it be all of nature, or much of grace. Alas! how I tremble for my Monday mornings--those seasons of lifelessness. Lord, bless the seeds sown this day in the hearts of my friends, by the hand of my friends, and all over the world--hasten the harvest!"

"July 3.--After a week of working and hurried preparation, a Sabbath of mingled peace and pain. Called, morning before preaching, to see Mrs. E., dying. Preached on the Jailor--discomposedly--with some glimpses of the genuine truth as it is in Jesus. Felt there was much mingling of experience. At times the congregation was lightened up from their dull flatness, and then they sunk again into lethargy. O Lord, make me hang on Thee to open their hearts, Thou opener of Lydia's heart. I fear Thou wilt not bless my preaching, until I am brought thus to hang on Thee. Oh keep not back a blessing for my sin!

Afternoon--On the Highway of the Redeemed, with more ease and comfort.

Felt the truth sometimes boiling up from my heart into my words. Some glimpses of tenderness, yet much less of that spirit than the last two Sabbaths. Again saw the dying woman. Oh when will I plead, with my tears and inward yearnings, over sinners! Oh, compa.s.sionate Lord, give me to know what manner of spirit I am of! give me thy gentle Spirit, that neither strives nor cries. Much weariness, want of prayerfulness, and want of cleaving to Christ." Tuesday the 5th being the anniversary of his licence to preach the gospel, he writes: "Eventful week; one year I have preached _Jesus_, have I? or myself? I have often preached myself also, but Jesus I have preached."

About this time he again felt the hand of affliction, though it did not continue long. Yet it was plain to him now that personal trouble was to be one of the ingredients of that experience which helped to give a peculiar tone to his ministry.

"_July 8._--Since Tuesday have been laid up with illness. Set by once more for a season to feel my unprofitableness and cure my pride. When shall this self-choosing temper be healed? 'Lord, I will preach, run, visit, wrestle,' said I. 'No, thou shalt lie in thy bed and suffer,'

said the Lord. To-day missed some fine opportunities of speaking a word for Christ. The Lord saw I would have spoken as much for my own honor as his, and therefore shut my mouth. _I see a man cannot be a faithful minister, until he preaches Christ for Christ's sake_--until he gives up striving to attract people to himself, and seeks only to attract them to Christ. Lord, give me this! To-night some glimpses of humbling, and therefore some wrestling in social prayer. But my prayers are scarcely to be called prayer." Then, in the evening: "This day my brother has been five years absent from the body and present with the Lord, and knows more and loves more than all earthly saints together. Till the day break and the shadows flee away, turn, my Beloved!"

"_July 10._--I fear I am growing more earthly in some things. To-day I felt a difficulty in bringing in spiritual conversation immediately after preaching, when my bosom should be burning. Excused myself from dining out from other than the grand reason; though checked and corrected myself. Evening--Insensibly slid into worldly conversation.

Let these things be corrected in me, O Lord, by the heart being more filled with love to Jesus, and more ejaculatory prayer."

"_July 17_, Sabbath.--Oh that I may remember my own word this day: that the hour of communion is the hour for the foxes--the little foxes--to spoil the wine. Two things that defile this day in looking back, are love of praise running through all, and consenting to listen to worldly talk at all. Oh that these may keep me humble and be my burden, leading me to the cross. Then, Satan, thou wilt be outwitted!"

"_July 19._--Died, this day, W. M'Cheyne, my cousin-german, Relief minister, Kelso. Oh how I repent of our vain controversies on Establishments when we last met, and that we spoke so little of Jesus!

Oh that we had spoken more one to another! Lord, teach me to be always speaking as dying to dying."

"_July 24._--Dunipace Communion--Heard Mr. Purves of Jedburgh preach, 'Therefore with joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of salvation.' The only way to come to ordinances, and to draw from the well, is to come with the matter of acceptance settled, believing G.o.d's anger to be turned away. Truly a precious view of the freeness of the gospel very refreshing. My soul needs to be roused much to apprehend this truth."

Above (_July 3_) he spoke of "mingling experience with the genuine truth as it is in Jesus." It is to this that he refers again in the last paragraph. His deep acquaintance with the human heart and pa.s.sions often lead him to dwell at greater length, not only on those topics whereby the sinner might be brought to discover his guilt, but also on marks that would evidence a change, that on "the glad tidings." And yet he ever felt that these blessed tidings, addressed to souls in the very gall of bitterness, were the true theme of the minister of Christ; and never did he preach other than a full salvation ready for the chief of sinners. From the very first, also, he carefully avoided the error of those who rather speculate or doctrinize about the gospel, than preach the gospel itself. Is not the true idea of preaching that of one, like Ahimaaz, coming with all-important tidings, and intent on making these tidings known?

Occupied with the facts he has to tell, he has no heart to speculate on mere abstractions; nay, he is apt to forget what language he employs, excepting so far as the very grandeur of the tidings gives a glow of eloquence to his words. The glorious fact, "_By this man is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins_," is the burden of every sermon. The crier is sent to the openings of the gate by his Lord, to herald forth this one infinitely important truth through the whole creation under heaven.

He seems invariably to have applied for his personal benefit what he gave out to his people. We have already noticed how he used to feed on the word, not in order to prepare himself for his people, but for personal edification. To do so was a fundamental rule with him; and all pastors will feel that, if they are to prosper in their own souls, they must so use the word,--sternly refusing to admit the idea of feeding others, until satiated themselves. And for similar ends it is needful that we let the truth we hear preached sink down into our own souls. We, as well as our people, must drink in the falling shower.

Mr. M'Cheyne did so. It is common to find him speaking thus: "_July 31_, Sabbath.--Afternoon, on Judas betraying Christ; much more tenderness than ever I felt before. Oh that I might abide in the bosom of Him who washed Judas' feet, and dipped his hand in the same dish with him, and warned him, and grieved over him--that I might catch the infection of his love, of his tenderness, so wonderful, so unfathomable."

Coming home on a Sabbath evening (Aug. 7th) from Torwood Sabbath school, a person met him who suggested an opportunity of usefulness.

There were two families of gypsies encamped at Torwood, within his reach. He was weary with a long day's labor; but instantly, as was his custom on such a call, set off to find them. By the side of their wood-fire, he opened out the parable of the Lost Sheep, and pressed it on their souls in simple terms. He then knelt down in prayer for them, and left them somewhat impressed, and very grateful.

At this time a youthful parishioner, for whose soul he felt much anxiety, left his father's roof. Ever watchful for souls, he seized this opportunity of laying before him more fully the things belonging to his peace.

"Larbert, _August 8, 1836_

"MY DEAR G.----. You will be surprised to hear from me. I have often wished to be better acquainted with you; but in these sad parishes we cannot manage to know and be intimate with every one we would desire. And now you have left your father's roof and our charge; still my desires go after you, as well as the kind thoughts of many others; and since I cannot now speak to you, I take this way of expressing my thoughts to you. I do not know in what light you look upon me, whether as a grave and morose minister, or as one who might be a companion and friend; but really, it is so short a while since I was just like you, when I enjoyed the games which you now enjoy, and read the books which you now read, that I never can think of myself as anything more than a boy. This is one great reason why I write to you. The same youthful blood flows in my veins that flows in yours, the same fancies and buoyant pa.s.sions dance in my bosom as in yours; so that when I would persuade you to come with me to the same Saviour, and to walk the rest of your life 'led by the Spirit of G.o.d,' I am not persuading you to anything beyond your years. I am not like a grey-headed grandfather,--then you might answer all I say by telling me that you are a boy. No; I am almost as much a boy as you are; as fond of happiness and of life as you are; as fond of scampering over the hills, and seeing all that is to be seen, as you are.

"Another thing that persuades me to write you, my dear boy, is, that I have felt in my own experience the want of having a friend to direct and counsel me. I had a kind brother as you have, who taught me many things. He gave me a Bible, and persuaded me to read it; he tried to train me as a gardener trains the apple-tree upon the wall; but all in vain. I thought myself far wiser than he, and would always take my own way; and many a time, I well remember, I have seen him reading his Bible, or shutting his closet door to pray, when I have been dressing to go to some frolic, or some dance of folly. Well, this dear friend and brother died; and though his death made a greater impression upon me than ever his life had done, still I found the misery of being _friendless_. I do not mean that I had no relations and worldly friends, for I had many; but I had no friend _who cared for my soul_. I had none to direct me to the Saviour--none to awaken my slumbering conscience--none to tell me about the blood of Jesus washing away all sin--none to tell me of the Spirit who is so willing to change the heart, and give the victory over pa.s.sions. I had no minister to take me by the hand, and say, 'Come with me, and we will do thee good.' Yes, I had one friend and minister, but that was Jesus himself, and He led me in a way that makes me give Him, and Him only, all the praise. Now, though Jesus may do this again, yet the more common way with Him is to use earthly guides. Now, if I could supply the place of such a guide to you, I should be happy. To be a finger-post is all that I want to be--pointing out the way. This is what I so much wanted myself; this is what you need not want, unless you wish.

"Tell me, dear G., would you work less pleasantly through the day--would you walk the streets with a more doleful step--would you eat your meat with less gladness of heart--would you sleep less tranquilly at night--if you had _the forgiveness of sins_, that is, if all your wicked thoughts and deeds--lies, thefts, and Sabbath-breakings--were all blotted out of G.o.d's book of remembrance? Would this make you less happy, do you think? You dare not say it would. But would the forgiveness of sins not make you more happy than you are? Perhaps you will tell me that you are very happy as you are. I quite believe you. I know that I was very happy when I was unforgiven. I know that I had great pleasure in many sins--in Sabbath-breaking, for instance. Many a delightful walk I have had,--speaking my own words, thinking my own thoughts, and seeking my own pleasure on G.o.d's holy day. I fancy few boys were ever happier in an unconverted state than I was. No sorrow clouded my brow--no tears filled my eyes, unless over some nice story-book; so that I know that you say quite true, when you say that you are happy as you are. But ah! is not this just the saddest thing of all, that you should be happy whilst you are a child of wrath,--that you should smile, and eat, and drink, and be merry, and sleep sound, when this very night you may be in _h.e.l.l_? Happy while unforgiven!--a terrible happiness. It is like the Hindoo widow who sits upon the funeral pile with her dead husband, and sings songs of joy when they are setting fire to the wood with which she is to be burned. Yes, you may be quite happy in this way, till you die, my boy; but when you look back from h.e.l.l, you will say, it was a miserable kind of happiness. Now, do you think it would not give you more happiness to be forgiven,--to be able to put on Jesus, and say, 'G.o.d's anger is turned away?' Would not you be happier at work, and happier in the house, and happier in your bed? I can a.s.sure you from all that ever I have felt of it, the pleasures of being forgiven are as superior to the pleasures of an unforgiven man, as heaven is higher than h.e.l.l. The peace of being forgiven reminds me of the calm, blue sky, which no earthly clamors can disturb. It lightens all labor, sweetens every morsel of bread, and makes a sick-bed all soft and downy; yea, it takes away the scowl of death. Now, forgiveness may be yours _now_. It is not given to those who are good. It is not given to any because they are less wicked than others. It is given _only_ to those who, feeling that their sins have brought a curse on them which they cannot lift off, 'look unto Jesus,' as bearing all away.

"Now, my dear boy, I have no wish to weary you. If you are anything like what I was, you will have yawned many a time already over this letter. However, if the Lord deal graciously with you, and touch your young heart, as I pray He may, with a desire to be forgiven, and to be made a child of G.o.d, perhaps you will not take ill what I have written to you in much haste.

As this is the first time you have been away from home, perhaps you have not learned to write letters yet; but if you have, I would like to hear from you, how you come on--what convictions you feel, if you feel any--what difficulties, what parts of the Bible puzzle you, and then I would do my best to unravel them.

You read your Bible regularly, of course; but do try and understand it, and still more, to _feel it_. Read more parts than one at a time. For example, if you are reading Genesis, read a psalm also; or, if you are reading Matthew, read a small bit of an epistle also. _Turn the Bible into prayer._ Thus, if you were reading the 1st Psalm, spread the Bible on the chair before you, and kneel, and pray, 'O Lord, give me the blessedness of the man,' etc. 'Let me not stand in the counsel of the unG.o.dly,' etc. This is the best way of knowing the meaning of the Bible, and of learning to pray. In prayer confess your sins by name--going over those of the past day, one by one.

Pray for your friends by name--father, mother, etc. etc. If you love them, surely you will pray for their souls. I know well that there are prayers constantly ascending for you from your own house; and will you not pray for them back again? Do this regularly. If you pray sincerely for others, it will make you pray for yourself.

"But I must be done. Good-bye, dear G. Remember me to your brother kindly, and believe me your sincere friend,

"R.M.M."

It is the shepherd's duty (Ezek. 34:4), in visiting his flock, to discriminate; "strengthening the diseased, healing that which was sick, binding up that which was broken, bringing again that which was driven away, seeking that which was lost." This Mr. M'Cheyne tried to do. In an after-letter to Mr. Somerville of Anderston, in reference to the people of these parishes, whom he had had means of knowing, he wrote, "Take more heed to the saints than ever I did. Speak a word in season to S.M. S.H. will drink in simple truth, but tell him to be humble-minded. Cause L.H. to learn in silence; speak not of _religion_ to her, but speak to her case always. Teach A.M. to look simply at Jesus. J.A. warn and teach. Get worldliness from the B.'s, if you can.

Mrs. G. awake or keep awake. Speak faithfully to the B.'s. Tell me of M.C., if she is really a believer, and grows. A.K., has the light visited her? M.T. I have had some doubts of. M.G. lies sore upon my conscience; I did no good to that woman: she always managed to speak of _things about the truth_. Speak boldly. What matter in eternity the slight awkwardnesses of time!"

It was about this time that the managers and congregation of the new church, St. Peter's, Dundee, invited him to preach as one of the candidates; and, in the end of August, chose him to be their pastor, with one accord. He accepted the call under an awful sense of the work that lay before him. He would rather, he said, have made choice for himself of such a rural parish as Dunipace; but the Lord seemed to desire it otherwise. "His ways are in the sea." More than once, at a later period, he would say, "We might have thought that G.o.d would have sent a strong man to such a parish as mine, and not a feeble reed."

The first day he preached in St. Peter's as a candidate (August 14th) is thus recorded: "Forenoon--Mind not altogether in a preaching frame; on the Sower. Afternoon--With more encouragement and help of the Spirit; on the voice of the Beloved, in Cant. 2:8-17.[6] In the Evening--With all my heart; on _Ruth_. Lord, keep me humble."

Returning from St. Peter's the second time, he observed in his cla.s.s of girls at Dunipace more than usual anxiety. One of them seemed to be thoroughly awakened that evening. "Thanks be to Thee, Lord, for anything," he writes that evening; for as yet he had sown without seeing fruit. It seems to have been part of the Lord's dealing with him, thus to teach him to persevere in duty and in faith, even where there was no obvious success. The arrow that was yet to wound hundreds was then receiving its point; but it lay in the quiver for a time. The Lord seemed to be touching his own heart, and melting it by what he spoke to others, rather than touching or melting the hearts of those he spoke to. But from the day of his preaching in St. Peter's, tokens of success began. His first day there, especially the evening sermon on Ruth, was blessed to two souls in Dundee; and now he sees souls begin to melt under his last words in the parish where he thought he had hitherto spent his strength in vain.

[6] See this characteristic sermon in the Remains.

As he was now to leave this sphere, he sought out, with deep anxiety, a laborer who would help their overburdened pastor, in true love to the people's souls. He believed he had found such a laborer in Mr.

Somerville, his friend who had shared his every thought and feeling in former days, and who, with a sharp sickle in his hand, was now advancing toward the harvest field. "I see plainly," he wrote to Mr.

Bonar, "that my poor attempts at labor in your clear parish will soon be eclipsed. But if at length the iron front of unbelief give way, if the hard faces become furrowed with the tears of anxiety and of faith, under whatever ministry, you will rejoice, and I will rejoice, and the angels, and the Father and G.o.d of angels, will rejoice." It was in this spirit that he closed his short ten months of labor in this region.

His last sermons to the people of Larbert and Dunipace were on Hosea 14:1, "O Israel, return unto the Lord thy G.o.d;" and Jeremiah 8:20, "Harvest is past." In the evening he writes, "Lord, I feel bowed down because of the little I have done for them which Thou mightest have blessed! My bowels yearn over them, and all the more that I have done so little. Indeed, I might have done ten times as much as I have done.

I might have been in every house; I might have spoken always as a minister. Lord, canst Thou bless partial, unequal efforts?"

I believe it was about this time that some of us first of all began our custom of praying specially for each other on Sat.u.r.day evening, with a reference to our engagements in the ministry next day. This concert for prayer we have never since seen cause to discontinue. It has from time to time been widened in its circle; and as yet his has been the only voice that has been silenced of all that thus began to go in on each other's behalf before the Lord. Mr. M'Cheyne never failed to remember this time of prayer: "Larbert and Dunipace are always on my heart, especially on the Sat.u.r.day evenings, when I pray for a glorious Sabbath!" On one occasion, in Dundee, he was asked if the acc.u.mulation of business in his parish never led him to neglect the season of prayer on a busy Sat.u.r.day. His reply was, that he was not aware that it ever did. "What would my people do if I were not to pray?"

So steady was he in Sabbath preparations, from the first day to the last time he was with them, that though at prayer-meetings, or similar occasions, he did not think it needful to have much laid up before coming to address his people; yet, anxious to give them on the Sabbath what had cost him somewhat, he never, without an urgent reason, went before them without much previous meditation and prayer. His principle on this subject was embodied in a remark he made to some of us who were conversing on the matter. Being asked his view of diligent preparation for the pulpit, he reminded us of Exodus 27:20: "_Beaten oil--beaten oil for the lamps of the sanctuary_" And yet his prayerfulness was greater still. Indeed, he could not neglect fellowship with G.o.d before entering the congregation. He needed to be bathed in the love of G.o.d. His ministry was so much a bringing out of views that had first sanctified his own soul, that the healthiness of his soul was absolutely needful to the vigor and power of his ministrations.

During these ten months the Lord had done much for him, but it was chiefly in the way of discipline for a future ministry. He had been taught a minister's heart; he had been tried in the furnace; he had tasted deep personal sorrow, little of which has been recorded; he had felt the fiery darts of temptation; he had been exercised in self-examination and in much prayer; he had proved how flinty is the rock, and had learned that in lifting the rod by which it was to be smitten, success lay in Him alone who enabled him to lift it up. And thus prepared of G.o.d for the peculiar work that awaited him, he had turned his face towards Dundee, and took up his abode in the spot where the Lord was so marvelously to visit him in his ministry.

CHAPTER III.

FIRST YEARS OF LABOR IN DUNDEE.

"_Ye know, from the first day that I came into Asia, after what manner I have been with you at all seasons, serving the Lord with all humility of mind, and with many tears and temptations_"--Acts 20:18, 19.

The day on which he was ordained pastor of a flock, was a day of much anxiety to his soul. He had journeyed by Perth to spend the night preceding under the roof of his kind friend Mr. Grierson, in the manse of Errol. Next morning, ere he left the manse, three pa.s.sages of Scripture occupied his mind. 1. "_Thou shall keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee; because he trusteth in Thee_."--Isaiah 26:3. This verse was seasonable; for, as he sat meditating on the solemn duties of the day, his heart trembled. 2. "_Give thyself wholly to these things"_--I Tim. 4:15. May that word (he prayed) sink deep into my heart. 3. "_Here am I, send me_"--Isaiah 6:8. "To go, or to stay,--to be here till death, or to visit foreign sh.o.r.es, whatsoever, wheresoever, whensoever Thou pleasest." He rose from his knees with the prayer, "Lord, may thy grace come with the laying on of the hands of the Presbytery."

He was ordained on November 24, 1836. The service was conducted by Mr.

Roxburgh of St. John's, through whose exertions the new church had been erected, and who ever afterwards cherished the most cordial friendship towards him. On the Sabbath following he was introduced to his flock by Mr. John Bonar of Larbert, with whom he had labored as a son in the gospel. Himself preached in the afternoon upon Isaiah 61:1-3, "_The Spirit of the Lord is upon me_" etc.; of which he writes, "May it be prophetic of the object of my coming here!" And truly it was so. That very sermon--the first preached by him as a pastor--was the means of awakening souls, as he afterwards learned; and ever onward the impressions left by his words seemed to spread and deepen among his people. To keep up the remembrance of this solemn day, he used in all the subsequent years of his ministry to preach from this same text on the anniversary of his ordination.[7] In the evening of that day, Mr. Bonar again preached on "_These times of refreshing._" "A n.o.ble sermon, showing the marks of such times. Ah!

when shall we have them here? Lord bless this word, to help their coming! Put thy blessing upon this day! Felt given over to G.o.d, as one bought with a price."