From Death into Life by William Haslam

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"Yes," he said, "that is just what Dr. Pusey means--Faith, as shown in
Baptism."

"Then," I said, "according to that, in your Baptism you were justified
by Faith; and as a consequence you have peace with God, and have access
into grace, and rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. You will see
that St. Paul connects this experience with what he calls Justification
by Faith. Evidently he did not expect so much from Baptism as you do, or
for a certainty he would have baptized every one he could reach; but,
instead of this, he thanked God that he had only baptized a few persons
whom he named (1 Cor. 1: 14-17). He had gone about for three years,
teaching the Ephesian Christians, even with tears, and he called them to
witness, not that he had administered the sacraments, and done priestly
work among them, but that he had ceased not to teach, and to preach,
'repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ'" (Acts
20:21).

My two High Church friends were not convinced, though they could not
answer me. It was a question in their minds who was right, Dr. Pusey, or
this "Fanatical Revivalist."

"Come," I said, "there is your man-servant outside in the garden; he was
converted two weeks ago; and though he cannot read, I feel sure he knows
more about this than the author of that learned sermon. Let us call him
in and read a few pages."

We did, and told him to sit down while we read a little while.

The rector began, and, as he went on, Sam's face lit up with joy, until
the rector came to the sacramental passages; than any one could see
Sam's interest was gone. He became very restless, and at last
interrupting, said, respectfully, "If you please, sir, is there much
more of that?"

"Why, Sam," said his master, "don't you like it?"

"No, sir," he said; "that man ain't converted at all!"

"Well, that is strange," said the rector; "I saw his interest went off
just at the very point where you took exception to the sermon. You and
Sam under stand something that I do not know." Thus our sermon-reading
concluded, and, besides this, my witness had given his testimony.

I had stayed already two hours longer than I intended, and was tired of
talking. The rector asked me to remain, and dine with him, and promised
that he would send me to church in the evening in time for the service.
I agreed to this; so he kindly took me upstairs to wash and rest. Coming
into the room with me, he shut the door, and said in confidence,

"I know you are right; my mother taught me all this when I was young!"

"Then," I said, "we had better kneel down and pray about it."

We did so. In his prayer he entreated very earnestly that the scales
might fall from his eyes, and that these truths which he loved when he
was young might be brought to him again.

He was only praying for truth, and not for pardon and salvation; so I
pointed this out to him.

"Yes--yes," he said; "Lord, save me! Lord, save me! Pardon me!"

I believe he found peace before he came down; but it is more difficult
to pronounce in the case of educated, than in that of uneducated people.
In the latter, the transition from darkness to light and life is often
very manifest; whereas in the case of the educated, the effect is not so
clear.

However, he came down to dinner, and it was not long before he roused
the anger and contempt of his wife and curate, by saying, "I am
converted." They tried hard to laugh him out of it, and asked him which
of the chapels he would join? They suggested he had better be a
Bryanite; Mr. Haslam is king of the Bryanires; and so on!

I was happy to hear all this, and could not help telling them so: first,
because the rector was counted worthy of such taunts; and, secondly,
because their natural enmity was raised. I said that I hoped they would
both be converted also, and that very soon.

When I was leaving for my service, the rector, in bidding me good-bye,
said, that he "was sorry he could not go with me; but would I come and
preach in his pulpit on Sunday?" I promised that I would.

On the way, Sam, who was driving me to church, became much excited, and
seemed beside himself for joy. Putting up his arms all of a sudden, with
reins and whip in either hand, in the act of praising God, he frightened
the horse, so that it ran away at full speed.

"Oh, never mind---never mind!" he said, "don't be frightened! No doubt
the old devil 'ud like to upset both on us; but I am sure the dear Lord
will take care of us, don't fear."

Certainly there was need, for the horse went headlong down a long narrow
hill, and if anything else had been on the road, we must have come into
disastrous collision. We were, however, carried safely down, and reached
the church in good time.

Sam's joy, I need scarcely say, was all about the master's conversion,
and the fact that I was to preach in their church on Sunday--two
circumstances he did not fail to announce to every one he met.

He put up his horse, and stayed for the service. In the after-meeting,
when he prayed, he sent up his prayer with a thanksgiving for these two
things, which set the congregation praising God also.

Thus the revival, which began on one side of the river, passed over to
the other, and brought out people from another town, and also villages
beyond. There was a great awakening in that part of the country. The
curate found peace on the Sunday, and many more; but not the rector's
wife. She continued her opposition most vigorously.

The wisdom of the serpent is seen in capturing the wife first; but still
I am sure in this case that the serpent's wisdom was outwisdomed, for
her persecution made her husband pray and work all the more earnestly.

People in these days did not regard "missions" so complacently as they
do now. The very idea of preaching night after night, not for some
Missionary Society, or for collections, but simply for the conversion of
souls and the salvation of sinners, seemed to cast a slur upon ordinary
preachers, as if they did not aim at such a thing; and upon people
generally, as if we meant to imply that they needed it. Most certainly
they did.

I believe ordinary preachers in the churches of that neighbourhood did
not expect conversions; and most of the people were unconverted. I could
not help telling them so, which only roused their wrath so much the
more.

From this place I returned home; for my prolonged absence, I found, was
likely to bring me into trouble. Other clergymen might go away for
months, travelling or salmon fishing; but if I was absent for a few
weeks, I was supposed to be neglecting my parish. On my return, I had
much to tell, and did not expect to be invited out again in a hurry; for
very few clergymen would willingly desire to be drawn into such a
whirlwind of storm and trouble, as my visits usually involved.

CHAPTER 23

A Mission in Staffordshire, 1854.

THE work at Baldhu, which had been going on almost incessantly for three
years, was now beginning to flag; that is to say, there was not that
ardent and eager attendance at the services and meetings, to which we
had been accustomed in the revival time. We had had occasional lulls
like this before, but they did not last more than a few weeks; and then
the "swallows" returned, and the bright hot summer of work came again
with its loud songs and pleasant fruits. This dullness was continuing
longer than usual; the crowded congregations were falling off; strangers
did not come from a distance; the people at home were not so lively.
However, the classes were continued, as also the services at the church,
and the number of communicants did not decrease. Still any one could see
that the revival was over. It was rather discouraging to me, and a cause
of triumph to some outsiders; but we were occasionally cheered by work
amongst visitors, and with sick-bed cases.

The majority of the people were complacently waiting for another tide of
revival; this was their custom, but it sat very uneasily upon me. I did
not like it, nor agree to it; but at that time I knew not what else to
do, but wait as others did. I said that we looked like vessels which had
come so far up the river with the tide; and now that it had turned we
were stranded and fast in the mud. Sometimes I changed the figure to
one not so ignoble, and likened ourselves to the stately vessels
anchored in Falmouth harbour, which were there because the wind was
contrary. We were wind-bound too, and dependent on circumstances; but my
idea of true religion was that we ought not to be like this. I rather
took for our type the great steamers which are propelled by powerful
engines, and come in and go out, and proceed on their voyage without
regard to wind or tide. We ought to be constrained I said, from within
by the love of God and thus be enabled to show the power of grace by
riding over all obstacles and triumphing in the midst of
discouragements. "He giveth songs in the night." Any bird can sing in
the sunshine.

The self-restraint and self-control I had exercised in my churchy days,
and which I supposed was derived from sacraments, I found wanting in my
new work. We required something with authority, such as church and
priest supply. I could not, however, conscientiously go back to that
legal system, nor did I think there was any need, for I was sure there
was something somewhere, to be had, which should and would supply our
want, if I could but discover it. It appeared to me that my people,
without this, were subject to impulse, and consequently in bondage to
their feelings.

In this time of lull I found that the steadfastness of some was shaken;
but I had known others, who had gone further back than these, return at
a revival time with new vigour. In this way, some of the Cornish people
professed to be converted scores of times. While ruminating on these
things and praying over them, I was surprised by receiving a letter
pressing me very much to come at once and preach in a parish in
Staffordshire, near Birmingham. Mr. Aitken had been on a mission in the
north, and on his return had stopped a night at this place, and preached
one of his alarming and awakening sermons. The effect was so great that
the people, together with their clergyman (a curate in sole charge) were
in much trouble and anxiety about their souls; there was a gloom hanging
over them, as if they had been sentenced to some dreadful doom, and did
not know what to do, or how to avert it.

It is a good thing to wound, but it should be with the object of making
whole; it is a blessed thing to show sinners their lost condition, but
only for the purpose of getting them to lay hold of the great salvation
which is provided for such.

In his perplexity the curate went to see the Bishop (Lonsdale) of
Lichfield. When his lordship had ascertained the cause of the trouble,
he took up a pamphlet which was lying on the table, and said, "If you
cannot get Mr. Aitken back, send for this gentleman, and pay his
expenses." "This gentleman," meant the author of the pamphlet, which his
lordship held in his hand, namely, myself; "his name and address are
here." said the Bishop; "take the book and read it carefully; he seems
to have both knowledge and experience in such matters."

I was written to forthwith, and the letter urged me to "come at once."
In compliance, I started off that night, and reaching the place on
Saturday afternoon, opened a mission the same evening without further
notice. On Sunday I preached three times, and went to the school-room
for the after-meeting. There we had a scene which, for noise and
confusion was quite Cornish. Men and women cried aloud for mercy, while
some believers who were there shouted for joy. The curate in charge was
completely bewildered, but felt he could do nothing; and seeing, as he
remarked, that I appeared to understand it and know what I was about, he
thought he had better remain still, till the noisy meeting was over.
That same night, before he retired, he gave his heart to God.

The work went on in this place with the force as of an explosion; just
as if hungry desires had been pent up a long time, and now they had vent
and opportunity to be satisfied. The church was crowded: every day, even
in the week; and we were kept in the schoolroom night after night till
twelve and one o'clock.

The town was a dark, smoky, sulphury place, and the air filled with
exhalations and iron filings from the various works. It was a dreadful
atmosphere, and everything was black and dirty; the red fires from the
furnaces around glared all night long and presented an awful appearance.
To come from the pure air and beautiful scenery of Cornwall into such a
place as this, was most trying and uncomfortable; but the reward was
great. The work was deeply interesting, and scores of men and women of
all classes, besides five clergymen, professed to be converted that
week.

The devil did not leave us alone; he was very angry, and raised up a
great opposition. The rector of the old church, who used to be most
benevolent and smiling, suddenly changed, and made it his business to
call on the curate in charge of the church, to tell him that he was
quite sure that his friend the vicar (who was away at the time in ill
health) would never have sanctioned this excitement. The curate said
that the Bishop had bid him invite Mr. Haslam, and that he had done so,
not knowing anything further about me or my work. The rector went off to
write to the Bishop forthwith, and in the meantime ordered bills to be
posted all over the town, warning people against "the Cornish fanaticism
at St. James's," which, of course, had the effect of drawing out a
greater concourse of people.

What with excessive work and bad air, by Friday evening I was quite
exhausted. I came out of the pulpit to the vestry, and remembering that
Cornish miners, in order to recover themselves after climbing ladders,
often found it necessary to lie down flat on the ground, I thought I
would try the same plan for a few moments while the people were going
out to the schoolroom. I did so; and while I was in this position a
clergyman came in and asked me if I was ill. "No," I said, "I am only
resting for a short time."

"Very well," he said, "rest on; but listen to me. The Bishop has sent me
here to see and hear you, and this is my report to his lordship."
Opening out a paper he held in his hand, he read: "St. James's crammed
to excess with a most orderly and devotional congregation; their
attention to the sermon marked and riveted; sermon from St. Luke xv,
verse 2, 'This Man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.' The
exposition of chapter most vivid and instructive; never heard better, or
so good; the application fervent and pointed; altogether, most edifying
service."

"There, that is my report, so you need not be afraid of anything you
hear. I will tell the Bishop all about it. Thank you very much for what
I have heard. God bless you. Good-night!"

"Oh," I said, springing up from the ground, "do not go yet! the best
part is to come. You have only seen me let down the nets; come now and
see them pulled up." "What is that?" he said, "Where am I to come?" "To
the schoolroom," I replied, divesting myself of my gown and bands, and
putting on my coat with all haste. "Come with me!"

He seemed a little afraid, and asked many questions. When we reached the
place we could scarcely get in, and the noise certainly was tremendous.

"What is all this confusion about?" he asked. "I think I had better not
go in to-night."

"Oh, come in, come in!" I said; "do not fear." But somehow he slipped
off in the dark, and I did not see him again. When I entered, almost the
first thing I noticed was the two curates of the parish church, taking
notes. However, I did not heed them, or ask to see what they had
written; for I would always rather have real work, though with a noise,
than orderly, respectable stillness, and spiritual death.

On Saturday I rested, but was very unwell all day, and did not know how
I should be able to work on Sunday. When the morning arrived, my
strength and voice were gone; it was impossible to preach. The people
met together and had a prayer meeting before the service, asking the
Lord to restore me. The curate was so much cheered, that he came to me
and said, "If you only get up and try, we feel sure you will be able to
preach." I got up, but had to go to bed again, for I was very ill.

Just before eleven o'clock a visitor arrived, a very queer-looking
little man, in a black suit of Quaker cut, and a college cap without a
tassel, with the corners of the square board rounded off. Standing by my
bed-side in this costume, he said that he was a convert of Mr. Aitken's,
and had come all the way from Birmingham to hear me. "Moreover," he
said, "I am a herbal doctor. Please let me feel your pulse."

He did so, and looking grave, sounded my lungs, put his ear to my chest
and then asked, "What is the matter with your left lung?"

I replied, "I don't know. Three doctors told me, more than fourteen
years ago, that it was all gone." "Well," he said, "you stay quietly in
bed till I come again at half-past eleven."

When he returned, he bade me get up and dress, and then gave me a cupful
of something very hot with cayenne, at the same time telling me that I
should be quite strong enough to preach by twelve o'clock.

So I was. I preached that morning, and again in the afternoon; after
that I went to bed till six o'clock, when I took another dose, and in
the strength of it preached a long, loud sermon to a crowded
congregation; after which I attended the after-meeting, and was there
till twelve o'clock at night. I then set off to the station, accompanied
by at least two hundred people, and left by the one o'clock train for
Birmingham, to the house of my new friend the herbal doctor. He nursed
me like a mother, and let me go on my way home to Cornwall the next day.

I never heard any more of the rector of the parish, or of the Bishop,
but was frequently cheered by letters saying that the work thus begun
was going on week after week in the same place. Some years after, when I
was passing, I stopped there for a few days, and gave them "a lift," as
they called it; and I then saw with half a glance that they had become
practised workers--that both clergymen and people were fitted to
missionize the whole country side.

One's great object in this mission work is not only to save souls, but
to encourage believers to do their part; that so the effect of a mission
may be continued and extended. God has a twofold blessing for us. He
says "I will bless thee and make thee a blessing;" and it is well to
remember that the benefits we receive are not so much to be kept for
self, as to be imparted and transmitted to others, even as they were
transmitted to us.

CHAPTER 24

Sanctification.

Then I returned from the far-off mission in Staffordshire, whether from
over fatigue or other causes, I was much depressed in mind as well as
body, and quite out of heart with the Church of England. It is true I
found the converted people in Staffordshire were not so leavened with
Dissent as in Cornwall, and that there was some attachment to the
Church; but still I could see that Churchmen there, as elsewhere,
distrusted spirituality, and preferred to work on their own
ecclesiastical or sacramental lines; they chose to draw water to quench
their thirst, rather than to ask, and receive (directly from Christ) the
living water.

If a bishop accidentally invited me, of if a clergyman cordially did so,
they were marked exceptions. I felt myself to be obnoxious to the
majority of my clerical brethren who professed to represent the Church;
but somehow, I was convinced that, as a converted clergyman, I
represented the Church of England more truly than they, and that the
principles of the Reformation were the principles I was working upon.
This was trial from outside, which, however trying to flesh and blood,
is by no means so bad as misgiving from within.

I was discouraged also about the work in which I had been engaged; for
there was evidently an imperfection about it. I observed that some
people over whom I rejoiced as converted, went back to their former
worldliness, which perplexed and troubled me more than I can describe. I
knew from my own experience that conversion was necessary to salvation
and a new life; but when people professed to be saved, and did not live
a new life, I was sure there was something wrong. My dear friend, Mr.
Aitken, said, "My brother, this work is the Lord's; you must go to Him
and ask what is wrong. Lie on your face before Him till He shows you His
will about the matter!"

This I did; for, shutting myself up in the church, I cried to the Lord
till I felt that an answer would come in due time. Soon after, I was led
to preach from the text, "Through this Man is preached unto you the
forgiveness of sins; and by Him all that believe are justified from all
things" (Acts 13:38, 39). This opened my eyes to see that the
proclamation was twofold-that through Christ Jesus, pardon was offered
to any and every sinner as such, and moreover, that by the same Christ
Jesus, every believer--that is, every one who had received the
forgiveness of his sins--was justified from all things.

Those who know how old familiar texts flash upon the mind with new
meaning, will understand my surprise. God was speaking to me in answer
to my inquiry. I had been preaching forgiveness and salvation through
the blood-shedding and death of Christ; and confining myself to this, as
if salvation were all. I now saw that I had not preached about
Justification to believers, as fully as I had dwelt on the subject of
pardon to sinners; indeed, that I had preached to believers the same
Gospel which I preached to them before they were converted; that is,
that Christ died for their sins, but not the "yea rather, that is risen
again." No wonder they did not stand, if their standing-place before God
their Father was not simply and plainly put before them. Believers
having been brought from death unto life, from the cross to the
resurrection-side of Christ's grave, should be led to the Throne of
Grace, where Christ sits at the right hand of God, making intercession
for them. Once enlightened on the subject, it was easy to see that this
truth was set forth all through the Bible.

For instance, when the prodigal son received pardon, immediately his
father called the servants and said unto them, "Bring forth the best
robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and shoes on his
feet." Here, besides pardon, is standing--union--strength; and over and
beyond these, the feast of rejoicing.

When the children of Israel were brought out of Egypt, it was not that
they should escape from bondage only, but that they should be led, and
even carried, by God through the wilderness. Moses illustrated this in a
simple yet comprehensive figure, when he wrote, "As an eagle stirreth up
her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh
them, beareth them on her wings: so the Lord alone did lead him, and
there was no strange god with him" (Deut. 32:11, 12).

The thousands who perished in the wilderness were persons of whom it may
be said that they professed to come up out of Egypt, and did so in act;
but God, who looks upon the heart, saw that they were still lingering in
that place; for when they were in trouble, they said, "Would God that we
had died in the land of Egypt! or would God we had died in the
wilderness! Let us make a captain, and let us return into Egypt" (Num.
14:2-4).

This is one secret of the "going back" which I have noticed. People came
out as converted, whose hearts were still entangled in the things of
this world, or in some besetments with which they were fettered. Those
who are really converted should come out, as Caleb and Joshua did. They
left Egypt behind them altogether, and finally, in their trials and
troubles in the wilderness, they looked for deliverance, not in going
back, but in going forward, assured that if lions were before, there
were dragons behind.

Another lesson which we may learn from these two, is, that they compared
difficulties and giants, not with themselves, but with the Lord. It was
true that they were not able to conquer their enemies or take their
cities, but, as they said, "the Lord is able to give us the victory." In
this I saw how Joshua trusted God, also how God wrought a great
deliverance.

I urged the people to consider that we were not created and redeemed to
be saved, but saved to glorify God in our lives; but I grieve to say,
this teaching did not meet with the acceptance I hoped for. I wondered
at their slowness of heart to believe in the "risen" Christ, and was
sure that this was reason enough for their instability; and I felt that
there would be nothing else while they continued to receive only a part
of the Gospel instead of the whole.

One thing leads to another. While I was thus making discoveries, my
attention was drawn to a hymn which spoke of "Jordan's stream," and
"death's cold flood," as if they were the same thing. Now, I had always
regarded Jordan as death; but the question in my mind was--What is all
that fighting and conquering in the land of Canaan, if Canaan represents
heaven? I observed, moreover, that the Israelites were on the defensive
in the wilderness, and on the aggressive on the other side of Jordan;
that they were led by the cloud on the one, and by a living Person on
the other; that they were daily sustained with manna, as children, on
the one side, and ate the old corn of the land, as men of Israel, on the
other, besides sowing and reaping for themselves. These striking' marks
of contrast excited much inquiry, and not obtaining, with sufficient
definiteness, the satisfaction I sought, I went to the Lord about this,
as before. I confessed my shortcomings, and the defectiveness of my
teaching, and pleaded earnestly, "Lord, what wouldst Thou have me to do?
What I know not, teach Thou me!"

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