228. CCXXIX.—To MR. HUGH MACKAIL of Irvine
CCXXIX.—To MR. HUGH MACKAIL of Irvine (THE LAW—THIS WORLD UNDER CHRIST’S CONTROL FOR THE BELIEVER.) MY VERY DEAR BROTHER,—Ye know that men may take their sweet fill of the sour Law, in Grace’s ground, and betwixt the Mediator’s breasts. And this is the sinner’s safest way; for there is a bed for wearied sinners to rest them in, in the New Covenant, though no bed of Christ’s making to sleep in. The Law shall never be my doomster, by Christ’s grace. If I get no more good of it (I shall find a sore enough doom in the Gospel to humble, and to cast me down), it is, I grant, a good rough friend to follow a traitor to the bar, and to back him till he come to Christ. We may blame ourselves, who cause the Law to crave well-paid debt, to scare us away from Jesus, and dispute about a righteousness of our own, a world in the moon, a chimera, and a night-dream that pride is father and mother to. There cannot be a more humble soul than a believer; it is no pride for a drowning man to catch hold of a rock.
I rejoice that the wheels of this confused world are rolled, and cogged, and driven according as our Lord willeth. Out of whatever airth the wind blow, it will blow us on our Lord. No wind can blow our sails overboard; because Christ’s skill, and honour of His wisdom, are empawned and laid down at the stake for the sea-passengers, that He shall put them safe off His hand on the shore, in His Father’s known bounds, our native home ground. My dear brother, scaur not at the cross of Christ. It is not seen yet what Christ will do for you, when it cometh to the worst: He will keep His grace till ye be at a strait, and then bring forth the decreed birth for your salvation (Zephaniah 2:2). Ye are an arrow of His own making; let Him shoot you against a wall of brass, your point shall keep whole. I cannot, for multitude of letters and distraction of friends, prepare what I would for the times: I have not one hour of spare time, suppose the day were forty hours long.
Remember me in prayer. Grace be with you.
Yours, in his sweet Lord Jesus,
S. R.
ABERDEEN, Sept. 5, 1637.