01.04. The Rest

The Rest THE sleep was broken, and the sleeper had opened her eyes upon a new region of feeling and of being. She saw danger— eternal danger in front, and she looked round for shelter. On the subject of religion her mind was a blank. Hence, though she had more to learn than many, she had less to unlearn. Self-righteousness (the great hindererof the soul when seeking rest) had less scope for its subtleties and snares. The only manifestation of the self-righteous feeling was in her preference of a small, dark or dimly lighted room. There she sat alone with her Bible, during the few days that elapsed ere she found peace. Its gloom suited her. For terror, anger, and sorrow had taken hold of her. Light was for the joyous;—did it not mock the sorrowful? And what had sunshine to do with the darkness that was within?

She had "terrors;" but she thought not of resting on them. She had read no books inculcating "terrors" as prerequisites to the sinner’s acceptance; and when they came upon her, she fled out of them to the hiding-place. She did not rest on them, nor look upon them as a title or certificate, on the strength of which she might approach the cross and claim forgiveness. As one beset with dangers, she seemed to sit down despairingly, not knowing which way to turn for help. But the Word of God, of which she had been so ignorant, and to which she had now betaken herself, was itself to be her guide. She was not permitted to remain long in darkness. The light soon arose.

"One day," says her friend, "when I was alone with her, she asked me to read the Scriptures to her. We began the fortythird of Isaiah, but did not get further than the first verse. On reading it she said that she was amazed at the love of God to sinners. She wept much over the concluding words, ’thou art mine;’ and added that she wished she could feel that they were spoken to her. But even though she could not, she felt that they drew her to God. What she seemed ’to feel was this, that the God who sent such a message to Israel must necessarily be a God of grace; and seeing such grace in him drew out her love in return. She sometimes got very impatient at her own distress, and used to express herself angrily. I remember on one occasion, a friend, seeing her uneasiness, offered to pray with her; she refused, saying she would pray by herself. She afterwards felt sorry for this. She gradually became more willing to tell me her feelings, and we read the Bible often together. At that time she preferred this to reading it alone, as she said she understood it better; not that there was any explanation given, but sometimes we expressed what we felt on reading certain passages, and this drew her attention more particularly to them. I, often being at a loss how to speak to her, urged her to see you; she was reluctant at first, fearing she might not be able to express herself so that you could understand her; however, she soon agreed. After you had spoken and prayed with her, her mind seemed clearer and much calmer. At this time she attended the prayer-meetings and Bible-class regularly, and never shewed any desire to return to the world. Only once after this she went to a dancing party, and said, when she left, she could never return to such a scene. She spoke to a friend of hers who was also there about these gaieties, and told her there was no satisfaction in them, and added—’Those friends of ours who will not come to them are happier than we are.’ This was the first time she had spoken for Christ, and she said that she felt happy at having an opportunity of doing so. This friend avoided being alone with her ever afterwards. ’ She had now got her eye upon the cross; and, in seeing it, peace flowed in upon her. The knowledge of what had been accomplished there took away her terror, and bade the storm be still. In the crucified One she saw the Substitute, and on Him she saw the wrath, which she dreaded, descending, that it might not descend on her. There was life from his death; there was healing from his stripes; there was joy from his sorrow."

But, ere long, this peace was ruffled. Some sifting was needed, and the tempter was allowed to disturb. On Wednesday the 21st of July she was at my class, as she had been several times before. At the close she waited behind the others, and put into my hands the following paper:—

"I have entirely lost the sweet feeling of peace and happiness that I had some days ago; I am now, not in a state of sorrow or grief because I feel myself to be a sinner, but in a state of great alarm, so that I can get no rest. The more I look into my heart, the more alarmed I get, for I see it is so much worse than I ever imagined. I see and feel that I cannot think a single good thought; in short, I perfectly feel how true that verse is, wherein the heart is described as deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Now, how can such a heart ever turn to Christ? I don’t understand it; ever since I believed I have had less peace every day. Now you told me that, if I believe, my sins are pardoned; how am I ever to think they are, if I feel the burden of them heavier than ever I did before? Last night I was in such agony, because I thought I had got hold of Christ, and Satan tried to pull me back; I tried to pray, but could not; I could not get myself to believe that God would hear me. It was fearful! My only consolation is in thinking of Christ; and, oh! if I could just know and feel that I was resting upon him, I should not mind these thoughts so much. What makes me so changeable? Why do I sometimes feel happy in thinking of him, and at other times nothing but despair? The Bible tells us so much about having a new heart, being born again; now, will my heart ever be changed? For I see it must be, before I can love Christ as I ought. I often feel both love and gratitude to Him, but it is a selfish love; there is no purity in my love; I don’t love Him for himself alone. If I were not so vile, I am sure I could love Him! I have a great desire and longing to know Him; I can’t tell what I mean rightly, but I want to know Him, his character, everything about Him, and then I don’t think I shall be able to help loving Him. Ought I to come to His table with these feelings? Oh! surely I should see Him there! I long to go, yet am fearful. I feel as if I could say much more, but I am afraid of trespassing on your time. I fear it is asking too much, to request you to have the great kindness to give me an answer in writing: but I am sure to forget what you say in speaking, and I wish much not to forget. I am very grateful to you for your past kindness to me." To this I replied next day. She has preserved my reply among her papers; and as it may be useful, I give it here:— "Your loss of peace comes from your looking away from Christ. It was the glimpse you got of Him that gave you peace, and now Satan has turned your eye to something else, so that you could not but lose it. Perhaps you have been tempted to think that something more is needed to maintain that peace, than the mere sight of Christ and his Cross. Perhaps you are thinking that, inaddition tothis, there must be the sight of something good in yourself— some improvement, some feeling, some holiness—before you can expect to retain your joy. Now, from beginning to end of a Christian’s life, it is the sight of the Cross, and of that alone, that gives rest to his soul. It is what he sees in Christ, not what he sees in himself, that keeps his soul in perfect peace.

Study the Cross. Do not suppose you know all about it well enough, and only need to feel it. This is a delusion which darkens many. Search the Scriptures, to know more of Christ, and of what He has done."

"You say that the more you look into your heart, the more alarmed you get. I don’t wonder at this. Did you ever expect anything else? Did you expect to see something else there than sin? It is indeed worse, infinitely worse, than you have ever yet conceived. No tongue can tell, nor heart conceive, its wickedness. Hence the absurdity of looking into it for comfort. Would you look into a dungeon for light? Would you go near an iceberg to get heat? You are to look into yourself, not for good, but for evil; not for holiness, but for sin; not for life, but for death, in order that you may bring all your wants, and sins, and complaints to Christ. Study yourself, in order to become more and more dissatisfied with your own heart. Study Christ, in order to become more and more satisfied with Him."

"You complain of unbelief—burden of sin being heavier—

Satan pulling you away from Christ, &c, Well,— go to God with your complaints. Tell Him all that you have told me,—and with the same confidence, or rather with a thousand times more confidence; for He is infinitely more worthy of it and more willing to hear you, even you. ’Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.’ You say, ’my only consolation is in thinking of Christ.’ Could you have better consolation? I am glad to think that it is so, and I trust that your present perplexities will drive you away from every other refuge and every other source of comfort, and make you look to Jesus— to Jesus alone. Tell Him that you long to know him more; that you see that in Him is contained everything you need for time and eternity; ask him to unfold his treasures to you. You need not fear a repulse. He loves to hear you, and to answer you. Trusthim. Unbosom your whole soul to him. Tell him every feeling of your heart. He cancomfort you, and he will. Only do not distrust Him. Nothing grieves Him more than this. And this is the only thing that will ultimately keep you from peace. You cannot love Jesus as He ought to be loved, till He teach you; and even then, while on earth, there will remain much of impurity and selfishness in your love. But do not despond on that account—confess your selfishness to Him ; He will forgive it all. And, besides, remember that love to Him is not necessarily wrong, because selfish. It is wrong indeed not to love Him for his own loveliness,—but it is not wrong to love Him for having loved us. The want of gratitude would be as sinful as the want of love to him for himself. ’We love him because he first loved us.’ Head the whole of the first epistle of John."

"If you are looking simply to Jesus as your Saviour, your life, your all, you ought to go to the table. That is the true test of discipleship."

"Hold on! It is for heaven! You have a rich inheritance before you; and, oh! is it not worth a little pain and labour to ’win Christ, and be found in Him?’"
The peace which she had found was too real to be destroyed. It had been shaken, but it was re-established. It came directly from "Him who is our peace," and from His cross, where peace was made. He changed not. His cross remained the same. It still spoke peace to the sinner. And there, where M____ had found peace at first, there also, and in the same way, she found it again. How it was occasionally broken, and then recovered, the remaining chapters, and specially those which contain extracts from her letters and diaries, will fully shew.

Knowing little of Scripture, the speed and simplicity with which she found her way to the cross is amazing. But the Spirit led her on. She had thrown herself upon the Divine Word, and God honoured His Word. It seemed as if now God himself had put the Bible into her hand, and she seized it as her treasure. From that never-to-be-forgotten week, it was with her continually. Nothing would part her from it. It became her light, her joy, her companion, along the narrow way. The following extract from her first to a friend in Kelso, after her return home, will shew the state of her mind:

" P____, August 4, 1841...What endless gratitude do I owe to God for what He has done for me! Oh that He would teach me to love Him as He ought to be loved! What a cold, what a dead heart mine must be, that does not continually beat with love and gratitude for such unmerited love! I would not exchange one hour of communion with Him, for the whole world and all the treasures it contains. I seem to myself to have a new existence; nothing gives me now the least pleasure that formerly was all my happiness ; everything that does not speak of God seems so dry and uninteresting; every book seems dull after that mine of pure treasure, His own Book. How bitterly I now regret my sinful neglect of the Book that is now so precious to me![5] But I do not wonder that I have so often thought it dry, for I did not understand it; the very same words have now a meaning, a beauty that I never saw in them before. Oh, the wonderful love of God to such a sinner!"