02 Through Darkness to Light 1770

2 - THROUGH DARKNESS TO LIGHT 1770 FROM early childhood, through youth to manhood, Benjamin Randall had sustained the habit of daily Scripture reading and prayer. His external life had been in strict conformity to the standards of morals held and taught by his ancestral church-"The Standing Order." But soon after passing his majority he entered a religious experience, to him entirely new. In 1769-1770, George Whitefield made the last of his several evangelistic tours in this country. He arrived at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, on the twenty-third of September, 1770. But, personally, Mr. Randall was in neither mental nor spiritual condition to give him a cordial welcome. Not that he lacked interest in anything that might, in his opinion, make for public righteousness, but, as judged by the " Standing Order," the cause of religion had suffered somewhat in that vicinity by certain traveling preachers. Mr. Randall’s sympathy with the established church, and his natural love of order, roused his antagonism against all preachers except the settled Congregational clergy. The next day after the arrival of Whitefield, Randall, prompted largely by curiosity, followed the crowd into what was called the "Great Meeting-house," but with the resolution that the preaching of the evangelist should have no effect on him. Thus fortified, he heard Whitefield several times, the last being on Friday before the death of the great evangelist, which occurred on the following Sunday. A record found in Randall’s journal has this: "The next Sabbath, September thirtieth, our minister went to Portsmouth to preach in the Great Meeting-house, taking me with him." Then no bridge connected New Castle with the mainland, hence, the minister needed some one to row him over to Portsmouth that day for his meeting. Randall, being an expert on the water, and very companionable withal, was selected for that purpose. In view of what occurred later, this arrangement seemed providential. At noon that day, while Randall was conversing with a friend, a mounted herald approached, proclaiming as he rode: "Mr. Whitefield is dead! Died this morning at Newburyport, about six o’clock!" This announcement greatly shocked Mr. Randall. The sermons he had heard from the lips of Mr. Whitefield were passed in review. His mind was quickened, his conscience was aroused. He conceded the truth of those sermons and felt self-condemned that he had allowed prejudice to delay his appreciation so long.

Respecting the announcement of the herald, Randall says: As I heard this voice, an arrow from the Almighty pierced my heart. Mr. Whitefield was a man of God and I have spoken reproachfully of him. That voice is now silent in death. I would sacrifice anything if I could hear it again. But that cannot be. With what a loss have I met! On reaching home, I took my room to mourn in solitude over my condition. My former religion seemed altogether worthless. On October fifteenth, while musing on my condition, I fell into the following train of thought: "Once I was company for almost every one, but now for none. I took pleasure in the world, but now there remains nothing of that. All things appear insipid. I, who used to enjoy so much in prayer, now cannot offer one petition." Yet, on second thought, I know I did pray, though I did not enjoy prayer as formerly. While thus musing, Hebrews 9:26 came to my mind: " But now once in the end of the world hath he appeared to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself." I was in such deep meditation that the words passed without particular notice. They came up the second time, however; then I began to think. What can the passage mean? "But now once in the end of the world hath he appeared to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself."

While meditating upon the text my burden rolled off, leaving me calm and peaceful. As my faith grasped the meaning of the text I gave glory to God. And what a joy filled my soul! I could now see in Jesus Christ a blessed sacrifice for sin, to the full satisfaction of divine justice. How the character of Jesus shone in my soul! For a time I could do nothing but repeat the name of Jesus. Jesus! Jesus!! It seemed to me that if I had a thousand souls I could trust them all in his hands. I saw in him universal love, a universal atonement, a universal call to man, and felt confident that none could ever perish but those who refused to obey.

Then what love I felt for all mankind- longing that they too might share in the fulness which I saw so extensive and so free. What pity flowed into my soul for poor sinners, whom I saw to be in the gall of bitterness and the bonds of iniquity.

Now the question may arise as to Randall’s piety previous to this awakening under the preaching of Whitefield. Let us see. The habit of daily Bible reading, daily prayer, regular attendance upon church services, and the faithful observance of all means of grace known to him, had been sustained from early childhood, through the years of youth, up to manhood. In the exuberance of youth he had indulged in a few social pastimes, but none not approved by his parents and family church. Up to Whitefield’s visit to Portsmouth, Randall’s deportment had been above reproach. Respecting his internal condition, he might have said with Paul: "I have lived in all good conscience before God unto this day." In the anguish of his soul, when struggling for clearer evidence of divine acceptance, he refers to the fact that formerly he " enjoyed so much in prayer." Now, only those who are in right relations to God, enjoy prayer. His mental antagonism to Mr. Whitefield was not occasioned by the doctrines that were preached, but by his prejudice against all traveling preachers. The experiences of Mr. Randall, though not common, are not unknown to history.

They place him in a class with some other religious leaders. Among representative cases, reference might be made to the decisive hours in the lives of Augustine, Luther, and John Wesley. Of these, the experiences of John Wesley were, in many respects, duplicated by those of Randall.

John Wesley was well born. The piety he learned and imbibed at his mother’s knee he carried through educational processes into sacred orders. But, it is more than probable that, with all his early excellences-and he had many-he placed undue emphasis upon good works as a condition of saving grace. One of his biographers, referring to this period, says: " He was narrowly introspective and exclusively bent on saving his own soul."

Wesley’s mission to Georgia, though not a total failure, was far from a brilliant success. The Georgian colonists did not take kindly to his methods, and the Indians he had hoped to convert wanted none of his religion. After a brief effort he returned to England, thoroughly disgusted-with himself. On his voyage home he wrote in his "Journal": "I, who went to America to convert others, was never converted myself. I am a child of wrath, an heir of hell." Wesley afterward retracted these extreme statements; but they show his mood on returning from his Georgian mission. But if a prophet had whispered in the ear of John Wesley, he might have said: "Be of good cheer! It is the divine order that suffering should be the price of usefulness. The Lord would show thee how great things thou must suffer for his name’s sake. Only be thou strong and very courageous. Thou shalt yet renew the religious life of thy beloved England. Thy disciples shall yet spread over the same America that witnessed thy humiliation. Thou shalt yet have the world for thy parish." For a while after Wesley reached England he preached a faith for which he confessed himself to be waiting. But after a few months he got the blessing he sought, and a paragraph quoted from his journal gives the manner of it: In the evening I went unwillingly to a society (of Moravians) in Aldersgate Street, London, where one was reading Luther’s preface to the Epistle to the Romans. About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart, through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust Christ, Christ alone, for my salvation; and an assurance was given me that he had taken away my sins-even mine-and saved me from the law of sin and death. Where there is evidence of former piety up to crises such as here described, the most recent psychology regards these sudden transitions from a lower to a higher, a perturbed to a restful, spiritual state, however ^caused, as incidents to mark the ingress of new truths and new motives otherwise inaccessible. This philosophy seems to have application to both Wesley and Randall. But our special interest centers in Randall. May we not account for this crisis in his religious experience in a way entirely consistent with a concession to his former piety and God’s gracious purposes concerning him? It seems evident that Randall had been pious from his childhood up to this crisis. But it seems quite as evident that his piety had been self-centered, and therefore of a low order. His dominant motive seems to have been to save his own soul and make sure of heaven. If he had died during those years he would doubtless have been saved, as were probably some of the "Pillar Saints" and other ascetics, who never knew till they got to heaven how they failed, because of their narrowness, of a more abundant entrance.

Benjamin Randall was a chosen vessel unto the Lord, to bear his name before the Gentiles and God’s Israel. But before he could receive his commission he must be lifted from a lower to a higher plane of Christian life. He must know, as he had never known before, the exceeding sinfulness of sin. He must realize as he had never realized before, its hatefulness in the sight of God. He must have a fuller realization, than he had ever had before, of the sweet peace that follows deliverance from sin, and the ecstatic joy of a heart filled with God’s abounding grace.

Some of the processes of this uplift were so agonizing that it is not strange that Randall was at times led to question the genuineness of his former piety. But short of these experiences, Randall could not have stood with God upon the mount. Short of these experiences he could not have had a vision of his future field of labor. Short of these experiences he could not have efficiently filled the interim between the mount of vision and the glory beyond.