"JOYFUL ENCOUNTER WITH DIVINE GRACE"
"..testifying that this is the true grace of God wherein ye stand"
(1st.Peter 5/10)
"Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved;
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed" (John Newton)
OUR EVANGELICAL EXPERIENCE.
Our incomparable and inimitable apostle Paul came face to face
with the One whom he considered to be his most inveterate
enemy. The policy of Abraham Lincoln, that the best way of
overcoming your enemies was to make them your friends, is
evidently the policy of divine predestination, for Paul was
intended to be a pattern unto all Christians from his day to ours.
One short word with five letters beautifully expresses this divine
compassion, and that is the word "Grace." This experience
outside the gates of Damascus turned him fully a hundred and
eighty degrees, making him face willingly a direction he
previously thought impossible. Twice in the Acts of the Apostles
Paul relates this encounter, but inasmuch as he was an apostle,
and therefore was bound to be a witness of the resurrection of
Christ, it does not follow that every Christian is intended to
proclaim their own conversion in a public manner. But if ever a
word has been associated with a single individual in the course of
history it is the word "grace" with the Apostle Paul.
Nevertheless, down the centuries a vast number have considered
that their own story has been well worth the telling, and it has to
be confessed that many have been moving, exciting, riveting, and
entertaining. Autobiographies are usually better than biographies
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because they normally tell the tale within the pale of reality and
modesty, but with biographies, written by friends, admirers,
devotees, who subconsciously wish to reflect the glory of their
subject, you have distortion and exaggeration, some more, some
less. One cannot but be thrilled with that great book known as
the "Confessions" of Augustine of Hippo, for there you discover
incidents related with such brevity, that the great man irritates
you again and again because you demand more detail. But
instinctively you know that had they been expanded the effect
would no doubt be lost. It is the same with that other famous
work by John Bunyan, "Grace Abounding," which ranks highly
among those Christian classics which have made an indelible
impression upon the minds of multitudes. Mr. Spurgeon used to
call him "Honest John." And so he was very aptly called, for the
freedom from conforming to type, the literary innocence, the
veritable artlessness, is plain for all to see. Would to God that the
number of books belonging to this class were written in this way,
for one receives the impression that the lives they record are so
saintly they aught to be "canonised" after some Protestant
manner, or so successful that they deserve to rank with the
Apostles, to sit on a throne beside theirs, and to become one of
those foundation stones belonging to the heavenly Jerusalem!
The ordinary Christian or preacher despairs when they become
confronted with such colossal figures, and young men should
avoid them like the plague, for if they do not despair, they have
the tendency to imitate, and I do not know which is the greatest
danger.
When it comes to public testimonies, however, we cannot evade
the obvious dangers which are to be seen in them. One is
tempted to declare the custom unwarrantable on the basis of
history, for as far as I can remember public "testimonies" only
began with the "Evangelical Awakening" of the eighteenth
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century. Whatever the nature of them in bygone days, in this
century the most of them are lamentable to say the least.
Emphasis falls, not on the Saviour, but on the sinner. Experiences
are told which seem to glorify the sinner by shocking details of
their past lives, and a sense of embarrassment is distinctly felt by
some who are more sensitive to these things than others. Again
the stress upon feelings at the expense of faith in Christ and Holy
Scripture make you suspect the motives of those who, no matter
how sincere they seem to be, appear to be terribly mistaken. I
have no objection to hearing someone speaking about their Lord
if only the attention was focused upon Him and not themselves. A
testimony given in meekness and modesty is acceptable, but
when you hear those who are desperate to make the
congregation see how happy they are, and how the Christian life
can be so exciting, it makes you wonder if they have met up with
the Keystone Cops, and not the Lord of Glory! A terrible
subjectivism has taken hold of evangelicalism. An indwelling
Christ is certainly valid, but our evangelical brethren have
forgotten that faith and justification is through the Christ who is
outside, in heaven, and upon His throne.
MY EARLIEST IMPRESSIONS.
The first thing that I can ever remember was my mother taking
down from the shelf a big black book which she began to pour
over for what seems hours every evening. The book itself was
very much reduced in size as time went by until it suddenly
dawned upon me that it was not such a massive tome as I had
imagined. My childish eyes had magnified the volume. From this
point onwards a strong respect for the Bible was born within me,
for which I give God eternal gratitude.
My father worked on the railway and frequently on night shifts.
Those nights were very precious to me for it meant I had the
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inestimable privilege of sleeping in the same bed as mother and
she was always warm and cosy. However, one big mystery hung
like a cloud over me almost every time I waited for her to get into
bed. Whereas the prayer that she taught me to say was short and
sweet,
"GENTLE JESUS MEEK AND MILD, LOOK UPON A LITTLE CHILD,
PITY MY SIMPLICITY, SUFFER ME TO COME TO THEE".,
it appeared to me as though my mothers prayers were never
going to stop. How I waited and waited, and how impatient I
used to get! I remember those feelings so well. But I had not the
slightest notion at the time that I was witnessing genuine prayer
in action. Not that prayer is valid by reason of length, but because
waiting upon God with reverence and godly fear needs a certain
measure of time to experience the communion which must always
accompany true prayer. To the believer these times are very
precious, and something is always wrong when the desire for
communion has been lost. At this point backsliding always begins,
and with this waiting restoration is regained. But what could I
know about a kingdom in which the citizens long for the King,
while I remained a stranger, an alien belonging to this present
world?
Day school must have exercised a certain influence, especially the
junior department. Morning prayers and scripture lessons
probably had some effect upon me in my subconscious, though
the hymns I found a bore, so much so that hymns which we sing
to this day in church and which we sung in school, usually extract
a sigh from my spirit, doubtless being a kind of hangover from
those tedious mornings in assemblies. Yet I can remember so
clearly one particular teacher who endeavoured earnestly to teach
us some of the Psalms. Psalm 8: 23: 107: 121:, were among
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those that left their mark upon me, and who can tell the amount
of good which they produced within me by the grace of God?
Sunday School brought me face to face with that which I secretly
knew was repellent to me, namely, another kind of existence that
I inwardly dreaded - the Christian life with all that such a life
demanded. With most Sunday School scholars, I found it an
intolerable burden, especially we boys. In infancy it was a way of
life and unquestioned, and unless my memory fails me, being in
the primary school was rather pleasant, perhaps because I was
often praised by the superintendent. But later, when all the fuss
and excitement of going into the juniors was over, an awful
boredom entered like iron into my heart, and Sundays was an
unbearable chore. What made it so more than anything else was
watching my friends, who lived in the same road as myself,
enjoying themselves playing football or cricket in perfect freedom,
for make no mistake, my bondage seemed perfect bondage to
me. There was I, walking to church with my two elder sisters,
dressed in Sunday best which I loathed, while my friends looked
with pity upon me, glad that my chains were not their chains.
Many a row ensued at the dinner table between my mother and
father because he took my part, and defended my own attitude
with vigour, until one day he was cut down to size instantly by a
blistering verbal attack which silenced him forever on the matter.
Gathering all her maternal instinct and spiritual convictions
together, she raised her voice and thundered, "You will stop me
raising my children in the way I know best over my dead body."
Bless her heart, she relented concerning my Sunday suits, and
allowed me to change into my old clothes after Sunday School,
and even let me play with the boys for a little while before
bedtime. Oh! how often they commiserated with me, and how
much of an oddity I felt among them! Remember this, all who
read this little story - mother knew best whatever Sigmund Freud
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has said on the subject of repression.
My memories of Sunday School are vague and scanty. There were
times when we did enjoy ourselves, especially on our annual
outings, called "Treats". Our teachers, both men and women,
were always kind to us even when we must have given them
rough times by our behaviour. One dear woman, though she
prepared no lesson, brought to the class the popular paper called
"The Christian Herald." From this paper she read us a serial story
about a black boy who always thought that his heart was as black
as his skin, and who despaired of ever having a white one until
he heard that the power of our Redeemers blood availed for this
purpose. Such a story was calculated to stir within us great pity
for this poor lad, and it was a great relief to each of us that he
obtained what he wanted more than anything else in the world.
But I have often wondered what would happen to the editor and
novelist if they dared publish such "racist" ideas, and propagated
them among church people in our day! Probably burn their homes
down, bring them before the courts, incarcerate them for life, or
banish them to a deserted Pacific island!
One incident I must not overlook, which to me is crucial in
describing the way evangelicalism had allowed the gospel to fall
into the hands of men. By this I do not mean bad men, godless
men, or even unregenerate men, but well-meaning, sincere, and
real Christian men, whose lives are exemplary and beyond
reproach. For many, many, decades, going back two centuries,
the gospel of the grace of God was seen to be a deposit from God
to His people, but in such a way that God had now relinquished
all control over it's preaching and progress. From time to time
God raised up great and good men to protest before the
denominations that this was a heresy which would bring ultimate
disaster. But few listened. Instead of deploring their ability, their
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knowledge, and their departure from the gospel of the grace of
God, the churches became more smug, complacent, and
arrogant, until it came to pass that they thought it lay in their
power to make Christians. To this day the general concept is that
God has done His part, now Christians must do theirs, so that by
their prayers, preaching, labours, and testimonies, they can
control and convert the mind and hearts of non-Christians and
persuade them to believe. But not only is "Grace" annulled, even
the Holy Spirit is seen to have a very limited role in this work.
Much more could be said, but let this suffice for now. The general
shift of emphasis has been (over the period above mentioned)
from God's grace to man's efforts. Thus the honour due to God
alone has gradually been taken out of the hands of God, flaunted
by proud churches, and now Protestantism can justly be charged
with barefaced robbery.
I was in the junior Bible Class when I was about twelve. Our
teacher was an elderly man, and it must be said without the
slightest reservation, that he was a good, godly, and gracious
man, without fault, who loved his boys and sought their salvation
as though it was his own. But the following is one of the methods
adopted by evangelical churches to make Christians by their own
ingenuity, and our Bible Class teacher was no different to
thousands of other teachers and preachers. To this day there
would be multitudes who would defend the dear man because
they are unable to see anything wrong in this action.
After one lesson the beaming smile that we had all been
accustomed to, was even more radiant than usual, and we were
told that it was now time for us to become Christians. We felt
very uneasy. We shifted in our seats. We were troubled and
abashed. It was evident even to me that while I fixed my gaze
upon the floor on account of guilt, the others were as reluctant as
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I was to meet his request - though it came over as a command.
With no prudence, or sympathy for our feelings, he began to
distribute cards to each of us in the class. To my horror I saw that
it was a promise to become a Christian and to be absolutely loyal
for the rest of my life ! To add to my confusion and shame the
good man said that we must sign them. Some did so on the spot,
not because they wanted to, but because they would not hurt the
dear friend for whom we had such great respect and affection.
My heart began to rebel. My thoughts were, "This is unfair. We
have had no warning. ( If he had given his secret the previous
week I for one would have stayed away ) I will play for time and
escape somehow. I am not ready. What will my mates say?". How
I did escape I do not remember, and what happened to the card I
cannot recall, but in the middle of the next week, my mother told
me that she and the teacher were disappointed with me. I was
mortified. I had no defence. I was bereft of all comfort. To hurt
my teacher was too much to cope with, but to hurt my own
mother who loved me was more than I could bear. I sank into
complete despair and thought there was no other ungrateful
wretch walking upon the face of the earth so thankless as I was.
Yet the good man, I'm sorry to say, blundered. He had simply
fallen into the trap of thinking that human beings are capable of
making such a decision without divine power because everything
depended upon our unfettered will. Follow my tale a little longer,
and you will understand why that tiny word "Grace" is so
important in the New Testament.
In order that the record might stand on a true foundation, let me
make it perfectly clear that I was no victim of suppression. My
parents, especially my father, gave me ample liberty, and on
reflection too much at times. Some of the companions I had were
no angels and anyone wrapped in cotton wool would never have
stood the pressure of scrapes and pranks we used to get up to.
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Nor were they the kind of things which make people say "Boy's
will be boy's!" Not a few of my contemporaries with whom I
mixed fell into the hands of the police, and only the memory of
my own mother became an adequate restraint to enable me to
abandon those youths when I knew they were going too far.
Eternity alone will disclose to my view the debt I owe to my
mothers prayers.
Still, we were ever climbing tall buildings, raiding orchards,
tormenting watchmen, fighting gangs, sneaking into cinemas,
invading derelict houses, and later squabbling over girls. To be
fair, most of the time we were taken up with innocent pursuits,
such as Kites, Markets, Hop Scotch, Leap Frog, Paper Chases, and
a hundred and one pastimes which were common to young
people. There was no viciousness or vandalism on the scale that
there is in these days, but what there was seemed to be
outrageous to the older generation, and we were continually
being told that they did not know what was coming of society.
Certainly it was a mild form of lawlessness compared with today,
but then a future generation will say the same about our present
one, and you may be sure they will not distort the picture,
because it is evident that the world is becoming more and more a
dangerous place in which to live. Do we not portray that
anarchistic, violent, coarse, brutal, and immoral, society, that we
see so graphically in Genesis chapter six?
I wish to relate an incident which for some unknown reason has
been prominent in my memory. I never read my Bible. In spite of
being in the presence of Bibles at home, in school, and at church,
I can never remember reading one by way of duty, curiosity, or
pleasure. But in l943 I contracted Scarlet Fever and remained in
bed for a week or so. I was bored to death. In those days I used
to read the "Adventure," "Hotspur," "Rover," and "Wizard," but I
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must have read them through, and wished that I was with the
lads whose voices and a bouncing ball told me that they were
playing football. How I envied them! Behind my bed there was a
large chest, and on that chest I espied a Bible. With nothing more
to do I stretched with my hand through the bed rail and managed
to grasp it with some difficulty. Though poorly, I began to read
the Gospel of Luke. I read through it without a break. Now why I
should remember this as though it was yesterday I have no idea,
for as far as I can guess this feat made not the slightest
impression upon me whatsoever. The Lord's time had not yet
come.
MY ABSORBING PASSION.
Something must be said about the one thing which took hold of
my soul with a vice-like grip from which I never hoped to escape
or ever wanted to. Very seldom does a young person who plays a
sport well remain indifferent to it. With some it is only a flirtation,
with others a deep love-affair, but with others a marriage with no
possibility of divorce. Unfortunately, as with the affairs of the
heart, a cruel bondage to sport is seldom perceived until too late.
It has the treble advantage of promising fame and fortune and
having the pleasure of competition at the same time, and for that
reason it stirs the imagination to such a degree, that it can be
seriously compared to a potent drug which demands stronger and
stronger doses. For me it was the breath of life, the summit of
glory, and the one hope for years to come.
My flirtation quickly became a love-affair, and my love-affair
swiftly tumbled me into marriage, but my marriage concealed
from me my total bondage. All the world will rend the heavens
with laughter at this preposterous notion, but the world has yet to
see the moral and spiritual bankruptcy which come to those who
achieve success - and those who do not! My obsession was
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football, not "Rugby" but "Soccer." I developed fast from the age
of ten. In my school I played for three sides of differing ages, and
my last two years saw me playing for my city, selected captain
the second year, winning cups and trophies, playing abroad,
having excellent press coverage, and finally being signed on by
Liverpool Football Club after being assured that my future would
be great and glorious. Heady stuff for a fifteen year old! But what
a let down! A number of schoolboy stars had joined the club for
the purpose of forming a nucleus of professionals when we had
come out of our teenage years. If ever there is anything in this
whole wide world calculated to destroy faith in human nature it is
men of repute and prestige seeking to guide and direct the minds
of young people. How many promises were broken! How many
devious tricks were played among those who were supposed to
be paragons of public integrity! We were promised professional
coaching - that was forgotten. We were promised the chance of
playing in big stadiums against first division youth sides - that
was forgotten. We were promised tournaments abroad - that was
forgotten. Soon we ourselves were forgotten when the spawn of
young players became innumerable tadpoles.
Soon the luscious glamour of the game began to fade. To me the
professional system was a degenerate form of what the game of
football ought to be, and this you only learn by practical
experience. Unnumbered thousands looking on from the outside
never behold the ugliness of conspiracy, or the general suspicions
from person to person, or the blatant jealousies which rage
between the stars. True, the most would not care even if they
could, yet even so, now and again the public are presented
through the media with some breathtaking tales which reveal
tokens of corruption. I never got into the professional ranks, but I
heard and saw enough to convince me, that my own mother's
reservations over my ambitions were all too true. I became
disillusioned and left. Within one week Everton Football Club
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wrote to me and asked for my signature, but I declined. My heart
by this time had turned away from the game, and had turned
towards Another.
MY GREAT ENCOUNTER.
I had noticed that our church had increased with young people. I
noticed this because I had stopped going to Sunday School two
years previously, and as a compensation to my mother promised
to go to morning service. Now I had no idea what it was that
brought these young folk to the church because they did not
appear to be under any obligation as I considered myself to be. I
knew that a couple of men, recently demobbed out of the army,
had undertaken to organise a team of young people, which
should meet together for meetings and conduct services in other
churches. However, by a natural instinct, I refused to be drawn
into this group. I secretly entertained suspicions of them, for
what they were doing did not seem to be natural for young
people.
In the month of April, l949, a series of meetings were announced
for the following month. They were to last for five days from
Monday to Friday. A number of Christian young people belonging
to another church were responsible for the services, and the
emphasis was upon youth. In spite of frequent invitations from all
and sundry I would not venture, doubtless because I was afraid.
But bourn under by pressure I went on the last evening and
found myself actually listening to the sermon given by the Pastor
of the church where those young people attended. To my
astonishment I discovered that I had understood what he was
trying to say to the people.
Another method adopted by evangelical churches to make people
Christians was by what is known as the "Invitation System". After
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the sermon, and while the congregation is under the influence of
the preacher, an invitation call is given to people who are willing
to become Christians. It has been brought to a fine art in our day
by Dr. Billy Graham the American evangelist. It began about the
middle of the last century, and made popular by another
American evangelist, Charles Finney. At that time it was a mild
and seemingly innocent diversion, but in spite of warnings by
good men, time has proved that at bottom the purpose has been
to try and do what only God can do - regenerate the soul.
Forgetting the doctrine that only God's grace can achieve such a
miracle, it was thought that people needed some encouragement,
and a little pressure would not detract from the glory of God. But,
alas, these "new measures," as they were called, became so
popular that when people think in terms of revival they think of
"Campaigns." To say that people have been saved by these
means is not saying very much when you consider the multitudes
who have been duped into receiving something which they, in
fact, did not receive, and I wish to say with righteous indignation,
the fault is mainly on the side of those who have imbibed these
unbiblical methods. In my time I have known many who have
become so bitter that no amount of inducement can make them
darken the doorstep of a church. In any case why should those
who have become Christians through these methods become a
justification of them? After all, God has a million and one ways of
gathering His children and bringing them to Himself. With no
hesitation on my part I look upon all these modern techniques as
belonging to latter day evangelical decadence, and to that period
which shall witness the almost total extinction of gospel truth.
This deserves a more expansive treatment, but let it suffice to
indicate the way in which God's grace has become devalued,
depreciated, derogated, and any other word which will do justice
to a state worthy of all lamentation.
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After the hymn that evening the "appeal" was made, and a few
young people went forward to be "counselled", to use the terms
which are in vogue in those circles. I stayed behind without
intending to stay too long. While in the company of my sister I
ventured to ask a question relating to those young people who
had given their own testimonies during the service. I wanted to
know how it was that they all seemed to consider it a triumph in
being able to give up what seemed to me to be legitimate
pleasures. My sister told me to ask our own pastor, who
happened to be close at hand, and knew I had queried something
to do with the service. He came from behind my back, taking me
by surprise, and at once I felt like a fly caught in the web of a
spider. He had always liked me since I was a young boy, and
since achieving some notoriety in Liverpool, had been a keen
supporter of my hopeful career. Howbeit, I felt trapped, and to
my horror he called for the visiting pastor to come over and talk
to me. At once my trap gave way to a prison!
Our pastor was quite small, and with him I had a measure of
ease, but the other pastor was almost twice his size and I felt
intimidated. I then had some idea what a hare or fox feels like
when trapped in some corner by bloodhounds. To be fair they
were the essence of kindness, but my resistance was high, and I
stoutly defended myself against their probing questions. They
persisted until finally I caved in, made a prayer of promise as
they directed, and though I hated hypocrisy like poison, I then
began to look upon myself as having become a Christian.
Moreover, from that time the rest of the church began to look
upon me as being a Christian, but I cannot recollect any
pronounced change, and until this day I have oscillated between
the possibility of my decision being of some validity before God or
none whatsoever. For the most part I have tended towards the
latter.
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This took place in May, l949, and still riding high on the crest of
my football wave, convinced that my skills would ensure for me a
name in the record books, that I would carry off every honour in
the game, and young lads would speak of me with bated breath.
I shudder when I reflect upon my conceit and wonder how the
human heart can display such audacity, and allow itself to be
governed by such preposterous self-importance. There were
those who flattered you into believing that you were as good as
you hoped you were, and there were those who offered salutary
advice on the brevity of such a hazardous career and the
necessity of having another "string to my bow" - a phrase used by
an affectionately disposed school teacher. My ears, though, were
closed to all this wisdom, because nothing mattered to me except
the game I loved, or rather, I should say, the game I was
enslaved to. Besides, it was altogether out of the question that I
should fail, for I was enclosed within an illusion of my own
making. Nothing suggested itself to me that the illusion would
break in that summer of l949. Yet that is exactly what happened.
Had there been some super-prophet sent for the purpose of
informing me that my six year intimate relationship with the great
god "Soccer" would suddenly come to an end in August, I would
have laughed in the way that Sarah laughed when she was told
that in spite of being eighty nine years of age, she would give
birth to a child the following year! My house of illusion crumbled
all around me on that Friday evening in the month of August.
Our house stood on a council estate in Liverpool. Whenever I find
myself in that area my car invariably drives me to that house in
which I was born. Over forty years ago we vacated those
premises and went to live elsewhere, but I can never resist the
temptation to drive down that familiar road, slow down when
passing number seven, and look up with acute nostalgia at the
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little room which had been the labour ward of my second birth.
Very often I have wondered where I had been on that Friday
night, but memory has always failed me. More often I have
visualised myself saying the prayer which my mother had taught
me since childhood, and which I repeated every night with such
tedious repetition. My "decision" the previous May had not
changed my mechanical mode of praying, but I had no qualms
even with it's brevity which I repeated in about thirty seconds
flat. I rose from my knees and went over to switch off the light
and I began to be troubled. Now in the dark, but still with my
fingers on the light switch, I debated within myself for the first
time in my life, the importance of prayer. It came to me that I had
never attempted to pray in my own words. A feeling of shame
came over me suddenly as I realised that my prayers were no
better than counting beads, turning wheels, or pushing written
petitions into sacred walls. Sixteen years of age and still saying
the same prayer - but with no understanding! A beautiful prayer
indeed, but said with deplorable thoughtlessness. I thought of the
countless times I had offered it to God since I could talk, yet with
no faith and no feeling. My memory could be at fault here, but I
fancy my mothers manner of praying struck me forcibly as being
most unlike mine, and so I decided to go back to my bedside and
pray a prayer without formality or abruptness. The big clock
belonging to the village church chimed eleven o'clock.
My knees were bent ready to adopt that becoming posture which
is most suitable for worship, and my mind was musing with
thoughts of what I wanted to say to the Almighty, when all of a
sudden my little room became transformed! I was taken over by a
force which left me speechless. For a brief moment my heart was
struck with dread. Someone was there but no one could be seen,
yet my room somehow contained a strange light. I blinked,
thinking it was lightening, then street lighting, but I knew it was
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not so. Following the short, sharp, dreadful feeling, I was
overcome with unspeakable joy. I concluded quickly that it was
the Lord, or at least someone representing Him, and it was as
though I had become disembodied, for the room itself had lost
it's walls - or so it seemed. No word came from my lips. I just
remained were I was, startled, yet elevated to some kind of
heavenly condition. Even my thought seemed suspended, but I
do remember thinking that such an ecstasy simply could not last,
and I myself could never sustain the weight of spiritual joy which
left me almost without breath. Nevertheless, I had no wish to
move, or for this Presence to move away from me, for with all my
ignorance I was able to discern the vast, yes, infinite distance,
between this glory and the glory I had set my heart upon for the
past six years. Slowly the Presence faded, the room was
substantial and normal again, and I know that but for the
knowledge which was conveyed to me that my Visitor would not
remain, I would have been sad indeed. My mind began to
function again normally, and my thoughts were of my own state.
The One who came to me left something behind - a desire to be
with Him! An inward heavenly feeling told me that I was changed,
and that forever. Also the thought came to me with respect to the
time I had spent on my knees. I estimated that it was about five
minutes. As I rose from my knees the village clock chimed twelve
times, and I had been in the same position for one hour! I was
filled with amazement.
My sister had come upstairs at the time I stood upright, and my
first impulse was to share this phenomenal experience with her.
So I rushed to her door, knocked, and waited. She asked me what
it was I wanted to say to her. But only then did I realise the
incredible nature of what had happened to me, and I replied,
"Oh! never mind. It doesn’t matter." My change was
instantaneous and radical. Those who had been so pleased with
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my "decision" in May, now became rather suspicious, and those
who had been reserved now took me to their hearts. It took my
own mother some time to come to terms with my new energy
and enthusiasm. And as for my father, he just shook his head and
thought I was ( to use his own word ) "Balmy." My purpose in
recording these events is to show the nature of God's sovereign
grace, to leave something to my family, friends, and
congregations, that will not only be a token of my love, but will
be a bulwark against the unbiblical methods, measures, and
motives, which savour of man-made inventions.
Finally, let me say something concerning the doctrines of the
grace of God. Forgive the boasting, but I trust my boasting is in
the Lord. I had no need to read any books to teach me the
doctrines in "Reformed" circles. I knew what "Grace" was before I
ever heard the word. Possibly I was the first "Calvinist" to belong
to our humble Mission Hall, founded in l936. All the issues
belonging to "grace" have been unfolding for the last forty five
years, but the experimental nature of it, I have known from the
beginning. I knew then, and I know even more so now, that I
was thoroughly unworthy of it. I did not want it before it came. I
did not ask for it when it did come. It was unexpected, it was
instant, it was irresistible, and it was glorious, and the One who
gave it was full of it. Forgive the neuter pronoun in the third
person - the "It" is a Person, Christ Jesus the Lord, who is the
embodiment of all God's grace. He works when and where He
pleases, and no one can stay His hand or say unto Him, "What
doest thou?" He is the Lord of love as well of grace. Thanks be to
God.
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