Chapter IV (2)

“But they were not satisfied, and they said, ‘No, no, we cannot
return; He is born, He is here!’

“‘There has been a great mistake made,’ said the Rabbi; ‘there have
been some who have said that He is born, but it is not so.’

“‘But who has said it?’ they inquired.

“And then he told them of another priestly man, who lived near to the
river hard by; and to him they went, and inquired for the young
Child.

“‘Yes, yes,’ he said, when they pointed him to the Star, ‘yes,
through the tender mercies of our God, the Dayspring from on high
hath visited us; to give light to them that sit in darkness and the
shadow of death; to guide our steps into the way of peace.’

“And so he guided them to the manger, and the Star rested and stood
over the place where the young Child was, while they offered their
gifts of gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.”

Sometimes the preacher, in another version which we have seen, appears to have varied the last guide, and to have brought the wise men, by a singular, and perfectly inadmissible anachronism, to the man in the camel’s hair by the river’s brink, who said, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world!”

But one of the most effective of these sustained allegories, was founded on the text which speaks of the evil “spirit walking through dry places, seeking rest, and finding none.” We believe we were first indebted for it, to the old dame who entertained us nearly forty years since in the Caerphilly Cottage.

SATAN WALKING IN DRY PLACES.

The preacher appears to have been desirous of teaching the beautiful truth, that a mind preoccupied, and inhabited by Divine thoughts, cannot entertain an evil visitor, but is compelled to betake himself to flight, by the strong expulsive power of Divine affections. He commenced, by describing Satan as a vast and wicked, although invisible spirit,—somehow, as Milton might have described him; and the preacher was not unacquainted with the grand imagery of the “Paradise Lost,” in which the poet describes the Evil One, when he tempts, with wandering feet, the dark, unbottomed, infinite abyss, and, through the palpable obscure, seeks to find out his uncouth way. Christmas described him, as spreading his airy flight on indefatigable wings, determined to insinuate himself, through the avenues of sense, to some poor soul, and lure it to destruction. And, with this end, flying through the air, and seeking for a dwelling-place, he found himself moving over one of those wide Welsh moors, the preacher so well knew, and had so often travelled; and his fiery, although invisible glance, espied a young lad, in the bloom of his days, and the strength of his powers, sitting on the box of his cart, driving on his way to the quarries for slate or lime.

`“‘There he is,’ said Satan; ‘his veins are full of blood, his bones
are full of marrow. I will cast my sparks into his bosom, and set
all his passions on fire; I will lead him on, and he shall rob his
master, and lose his place, and find another, and rob again, and do
worse; and he shall go on from worse to worse, and then his soul
shall sink, never to rise again, into the lake of fire.’ But just
then, as he was about to dart a fiery temptation into the heart of
the youth, the evil one heard him sing,

“‘Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah,
Pilgrim through this barren land;
I am weak, but Thou art mighty,
Hold me by Thy powerful hand;
Strong deliverer,
Be Thou still my Strength and Shield.’

‘Oh, but this is a dry place,’ said the fiery dragon as he fled away.

“But I saw him pass on,” said the preacher, “hovering, like a hawk or
a vulture, in the air, and casting about for a suitable place where
he might nestle his black wings; when, at the edge of the moor, he
came to a lovely valley; the hills rose round it, it was a beautiful,
still, meadow-like spot, watered by a lovely stream; and there,
beneath the eaves of a little cottage, he saw a girl, some eighteen
years of age, a flower among the flowers: she was knitting, or sewing
at the cottage door. Said Satan, ‘She will do for me; I will whisper
the evil thought in her heart, and she shall turn it over, and over
again, until she learns to love it; and then the evil thought shall
be an evil deed; and then she shall be obliged to leave her village,
and go to the great town, and she shall live a life of evil, all
astray from the paths of my Almighty Enemy. Oh, I will make her
mine, and then, by-and-bye, I will cast her over the precipices, and
she shall sink, sink into the furnace of divine wrath.’ And so he
hastened to approach, and dart into the mind of the maiden; but while
he was approaching, all the hills and crags seemed to break out into
singing, as her sweet voice rose, high and clear, chanting out the
words,

“‘Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high.
Other refuge have I none,
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee;
Leave, ah, leave me not alone,
Still support, and comfort me.’

‘This is a very dry place, too,’ said the dragon, as he fled away.

“And so he passed from the valley among the hills, but with hot rage.
‘I will have a place to dwell in!’ he said; ‘I will somehow leap over
the fences, and the hedges, of the purpose, and covenant, and grace
of God. I do not seem to have succeeded with the young, I will try
the old;’ for passing down the village street, he saw an old woman;
she, too, was sitting at the door of her cot, and spinning on her
little wheel. ‘Ah!’ said Satan, ‘it will be good to lay hold of her
grey hairs, and make her taste of the lake that burneth with fire and
brimstone.’ And he descended on the eaves of the cot; but as he
approached near, he heard the trembling, quavering voice of the aged
woman murmuring to herself lowly, ‘For the mountains shall depart,
and the hills be removed, but My kindness shall not depart from thee,
neither shall the covenant of My peace be removed, saith the Lord,
that hath mercy on thee.’ And the words hurt the evil one, as well
as disappointed him; they wounded him as he fled away, saying,
‘Another dry place!’

“Ah, poor Devil!” exclaimed the preacher, “and he usually so very
successful! but he was quite unsuccessful that day. And, now, it was
night, and he was scudding about, like a bird of prey, upon his black
wings, and pouring forth his screams of rage. But he passed through
another little Welsh village, the white cottages gleaming out in the
white moonlight on the sloping hillside. And there was a cottage,
and in the upper room there was a faint light trembling, and ‘Oh,’
said the Devil to himself, ‘Devil, thou hast been a very foolish
Devil to-day, and there, in that room, where the lamplight is, old
Williams is slowly, surely wasting away. Over eighty, or I am
mistaken; not much mind left; and he has borne the burden and heat of
the day, as they call it. Thanks to me, he has had a hard time of
it; he has had very few mercies to be thankful for; he has not found
serving God, I think, a very profitable business. Come, cheer up,
Devil, it will be a grand thing if thou canst get him to doubt a bit,
and then to despair a bit, and then to curse God, and die; that will
make up for this day’s losses.’

“Then he entered the room; there was the old man lying on the poor
bed, and his long, thin, wasted hands and fingers lying on the
coverlid; his eyes closed, the long silvery hair falling over the
pillow. Now, Satan, make haste, or it will be too late; the hour is
coming, there is even a stir in every room in the house: they seem to
know that the old man is passing. But as Satan himself moved before
the bed, to dart into the mind of the old man, the patriarch rose in
bed, stretched forth his hands, and pinned his enemy to the wall, as
he exclaimed, ‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy
staff they comfort me; Thou preparest a table before me, in _the
presence of mine enemy_; Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup
runneth over; goodness and mercy, all the days of my life, dwell in
the house of my God for ever.’ Oh, _that_ was a fearfully dry place!
The old man sank back, it was all over; those words beat Satan down
to the bottom of his own bottomless pit, glad to escape from such
confusion and shame, and exclaiming, ‘I will return to the place from
whence I came, for this is too dry for me.’”

This will, no doubt, be thought, by many, to be strange preaching; many would even affect to despise it,—perhaps would even regard it as a high compliment were we to say, they would feel exceedingly puzzled even if, by way of a change, they were called upon to use it. It appears, however, to have been a style exceedingly fascinating to the Welsh mind of that day; it told, it stirred up suggestions, awakened thoughts, and reclaimed and converted character; and we need not, therefore, stay to attempt any vindication of it.

We have inserted these very characteristic illustrations here, because they appear to have belonged to the Anglesea period. Such, then, was the teaching, the preaching, the truth, which, while it was his own truth, and sustained his own mind, gave to him such power, at once, amongst the Churches to which he immediately administered, and made him the object of such attraction, when visiting distant neighbourhoods.

It might have been thought—it has usually been the case, in the instances of other men—that such excursions as those we have described, would have interfered with the great success of his work in the ministry as a preacher, and with his efficiency as a pastor. That they did not, substantially, is clear from many evidences. There can be no doubt that his sermons were no off-hand productions; there was a careful, rigid, and patiently conscientious weighing of their material. All those which we possess, abundantly show this; and he entered with all his heart, and mind, and strength into the work of preaching; but he never had an easy sphere; and yet, would his sermons have been greater had he been placed where the circle of his labour would have been narrower, and the means of his support more ready, and sufficient, and ample? Most likely not; but he weighed the entire work of the ministry in a manner which seems to us, sometimes, more like the sound thoughtfulness, and consideration of the theological Principal of a college, than a popular, or itinerant preacher. As an illustration of this, we may insert the following, very lengthy, but admirable letter to a young minister, written, we believe, some time nearer the close of his career than that we have just depicted:—

“DEAR BROTHER,—1. Consider, in the first place, the great
importance, to a preacher, of a blameless life. You must, like
Timothy, ‘flee youthful lusts,’ as you would escape from beasts of
prey; for there are kinds of beasts, living in the wilderness of
man’s corruption, that will charm, by means of their beauteous
colours, those that walk among their haunts; there is no safety but
by keeping from them, and adhering to such as live by faith, and
watch, and pray. It will be well for you, while you travel through
the coppice of youth, to keep from all appearance of evil. May you
have grace to pass through the coppice of forbidden trees, without
cutting your name into the bark of one of them, or you may be
upbraided, at critical times, by those who may wish to prove that you
are not better than themselves; even the _iota_, inserted by your
hand, may be produced after many years.

“2. I remember the words of Luther, that _reading_, _prayer_, and
_temptation_ are necessary to strengthen, and to purify the talents
of a minister. Read, to extend your general knowledge, especially as
to the plan of redemption, according to the Scriptures, in all its
parts, from the election to the glorification; that you may, like a
spiritual watchmaker, know all the relative cog-wheels, and be able
to open them in the pulpit, and to connect them all by faith, hope,
and charity, that they may occupy their own places, and exhibit their
true results on the dial-plate; thus proving yourself a workman that
needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth. Be
not like that thrasher, who presumptuously took his watch to pieces
in the barn, and could not put it together again, but was obliged to
carry it home in his handkerchief. The messengers of God, described
in the book of Revelations, are full of eyes behind, and before. You
must use prayer to fetch strength out of Christ, like the homer to
carry home the manna in, or the water-pot of the woman of Samaria.
Without the prayer of faith, the preacher will have ‘nothing to draw
with,’ from the well that is deep,—even _the deep things of God_.
Temptation is requisite, to prove the nature of the metal of the
preacher’s character, and doctrine,—‘approved of God.’ The piece of
gold, in every true minister’s ministry, must be tried in some
furnace, prepared by Divine Providence. He must, therefore, do the
work of an evangelist, fulfil his ministry, endure hardness, and
affliction, and thus prove himself a good soldier of Jesus Christ.

“3. Avail yourself, in the morning of your days, of every
opportunity to acquire knowledge useful for the ministry. Let it be
your constant aim, to turn every stream and rivulet of knowledge in
the right direction, to facilitate the work of the ministry, for the
good of souls, and the glory of God; as the bee, in all her
excursions amongst the flowers of the gardens, and the hedges,
gathers honey to enrich the hive, as the common treasury of the
industrious race. Always have a book to read, instead of indulging
in vain conversations. Strive to learn English, as you cannot have
academical training. Learn your own mother-tongue well. Learn to
write a good hand by frequent practice. Avoid vain conversation,
instead of growth in knowledge. Remember this, that you cannot
commit some loved sin in private, and perform the work of the
ministry, in public, with facility and acceptance. For a preacher to
fall into sin, be it a secret one, and to live in it, is as fatal,
ultimately, as the cutting of Samson’s hair. Be strong in the grace
that is in Christ Jesus against all corruption.

“4. With regard to the composition of your sermons: first, let the
matter be evangelical. The doctrine of the Gospel is a mould from
heaven, and not changed. It puts its own impress and shape on the
professor that is melted into it, so that his justification,
sanctification, and all his salvation, flow from the merits of
Christ; and all through God’s grace, and not of ourselves. The
gospel, as a glass, should be kept clean and clear in the pulpit,
that the hearers may see the glory of Christ, and be changed to the
same image. Every duty is to be urged by evangelical motives. ‘Let
us have grace,’ etc.

“Hereby we can serve God in all the duties of the kingdom of heaven.
The whole is summed up in living by faith, which worketh by love, to
him that died for us, and rose again for our justification.
Secondly, let your divisions be natural to the text. Take care that
your interpretation accord with the contexts. Two or three general
heads; avoid many. Four or five remarks you may make on each head;
see that they are fairly in the truth of the text. Thirdly, I am not
inclined to make inferences, or applications, from the whole. When
the preacher has expended his strength, or ingenuity, in endeavouring
to impress, and apply the truth to the minds of his hearers,
application seems to me to be doing again what has been effected
already. The blacksmith does not put the horse-shoe in the fire,
after he has nailed it to the hoof; and the cook does not spread the
cloth again, when dinner is over. Fourthly, beware of long sermons,
as well as long prayers. When there is but one preacher, he should
not preach for more than an hour; when there are two, both should not
be more than an hour and a half, that the worship may close within
two hours; whenever this time is passed, coolness and fatigue ensue.
To put three ministers to preach (in one meeting) is a modern
corruption, and likely to make some progress in Wales; while the
English, generally, have but one sermon in one service. They excel
us herein; for we do not read that, on the day of Pentecost, Peter,
James, and John, preached after each other; but Peter, ‘_one_ of the
twelve,’ delivered that successful sermon. When we lose sight of the
Scriptures, and common sense, we are driven to extremes, though it be
with the kindly purpose of respecting strange ministers, by putting
them to preach.

“5. Attend, also, my young brother, to your outward appearance in
the pulpit. Beware of a proud, haughty appearance, with wandering
eyes, and unfeeling countenance, so that the people utterly fail to
see the man of God in you. We must, in order hereunto, have
something like unto Moses, when he had been on the mount with God,
that will indicate seriousness, love to souls, a spirit of prayer,
zeal for Christ, and longing for the salvation of men; like unto
those who have felt the fear of perdition ourselves, and the infinite
value of salvation by God’s grace; and that we wrestle with God in
order to be useful to souls. These things must be imprinted on our
appearance and deportment, having transformed us, in some measure, to
a heavenly form and habit. Our outward conversation should be
consistent herewith, or men will despise us as hypocrites, without
the fear of God.

“6. Avoid, my dear brother, all foolish bodily gestures.

“7. We now come to the part of the subject upon which you are most
anxious to have my thoughts: that refers _to the delivery of your
sermons_. It is difficult to put general rules of rhetoric into
execution. After reading all that has been said by Blair, Williams,
Fuller, and the Archbishop of Cambray (Fenelon), who have spoken at
length of Cicero and Demosthenes, it is easy, by endeavouring to
follow them, to lose the spirit of the work, and thus, by seeking the
form, to forfeit the life. Preach the gospel of the grace of God
intelligibly, affectionately, and without shame—all the contents of
the great box, from predestination to glorification. It was the
closing, and concealing, of this box that occasioned the opening of
the venomous Mohammedan box, as well as that of Popery, together with
all the vain legality that is to be found among Protestants,
established and dissenting. It may be said, that they seek
justification; but it is by the deeds of the law. The locking up,
and the losing, of the doctrine of grace, through the merits of
Christ, utterly destroyed the Jewish Church; for it was in the chest,
which they locked up by their false interpolations of Scripture, that
the ‘things which belong to their peace’ were contained; ‘but now,’
says the Redeemer, ‘they are concealed from their eyes;’ shut up
under unbelief. ‘The things that pertain to their peace’ belong also
to our peace, as Gentiles. The Deity of Christ, etc.; Redemption,
etc. Excuse this digression, for the river of God’s throne moved me
along.

“We were upon the best mode of delivering sermons for edification.
It is not easy to reduce the rules of prudence into practice. I have
seen some men, of the highest powers, who understood Greek better
than their mother-tongue, attempting to preach according to rule, and
to them the pulpit was like unto Gilboa; they neither affected
themselves, nor their hearers. The difficulty was, the bringing of
their regulations into natural practice. I saw one of those men, the
most eminent for learning and genius, who found the right way, under
the influence of a mighty fervency that descended upon him in the
pulpit, so that his voice became utterly different from what it used
to be, and his tongue at liberty, as though something was cut that
had hitherto restrained his tongue, and affections, from natural
exercise.

“Here you have the sum, and substance, and mystery of all rules:—1.
Let the preacher influence himself; let him reach his own heart, if
he would reach the hearts of others; if he would have others feel, he
must feel himself. Dry shouting (or vociferation) will not do this.
The shout of a man who does not himself feel the effect of what he
says, hardens, instead of softening; locks, instead of opening the
heart. 2. The elevation, and fire of the voice must accord with the
fervency of the matter in the heart. A person said to me once, ‘Mr.
Evans, you have not studied Dr. Blair’s Rhetoric.’ That man, with
his rules, was always as dry as Gilboa. ‘Why do you say so,’ replied
I, ‘when you just now saw hundreds weeping under the sermon? That
could not be, had I not first of all been influenced myself, which,
you know, is the substance, and mystery, of all rules for speaking.’
Wherever there is effect, there is life; and rules, without life,
have no power. Now, brother, follow the natural course of affection,
and voice. Raise not the voice while the heart is dry; but let the
heart and affections shout first; let it commence within. Take this
comparison:—Go to the blacksmith’s shop; he first puts the piece of
iron in the fire, and there is no sound of striking the anvil; he
collects together the coals for heat; then he tells the boy, ‘Blow!’
while he masterfully manages the shovel, adjusting the coals, and
asking sundry questions. He calmly looks at the fire heating the
iron, and does not yet take hold of the hammer, nor order his
assistants to use the sledge; but at length, seeing that the iron has
attained the proper malleability, he takes it out, covered with
sparkling fire, puts it on the anvil, handles the hammer, and orders
his workman to take the larger one, and fashions it according to his
pleasure; and so on, all day long. Here, observe, he does not beat
the iron in order to make it hot, for without first heating it, the
beating process is in vain. Equally vain is the hammer of
vociferation, unless the matter is brought home with warmth into our
hearts. We have often sought to produce effect, and to influence our
hearers, much as though the smith merely put the iron in fire, and
barely warmed it; it is contrary to the nature of things to use the
hammer while the material is not duly tempered. Thus I have
frequently, brother, found myself in preaching. You have, above, the
mystery of all effective speaking, in Parliament, at the bar, and in
the pulpit; remembering the difference in the subjects, and the
sources of heat. In the pulpit, we speak of the deep things of God;
and we are to pray for, and to expect warmth from the Divine Spirit.
You complain that you cannot get your voice into a manageable key,
and yet to speak with liveliness and power. Many, with a bad voice,
well-governed, have become powerful speakers; while others, with a
good voice, have, in consequence of not mastering a natural key, and
not being able to move themselves, been most ineffective speakers. I
would direct you to fix your voice at its natural pitch, which you
may easily do; you may then, with facility, raise and lower it
according to the subject in hand. If you commence in too high a key,
you cannot keep it up long. First, you cannot modulate it as the
occasion may require; and you fall into an unpliable, tedious
monotony, and all natural cadence, and emphasis is lost. Without
attuning the voice into the natural key, effective oratory is
impossible. Secondly, remember, not to speak in your throat, or
nostrils. If the former, you must soon become hoarse, and harsh
loudness follows; the glory and vivacity are then departed, and
instead of facility and cheerfulness, you have the roarings of
death—the breath failing, with forced screams, and harsh whisperings.
Thirdly, raise your voice to the roof of your mouth; do not close
your teeth against it, neither imprison it in the nostrils, but open
your mouth naturally, and keep your voice within your lips, where it
will find room enough to play its high, and its low intonations, to
discourse its flats, and sharps, to utter its joys, and sorrows.
When you thus have your voice under control, instead of you being
under its control, dragging you about in all disorder, you will find
it your servant, running upon your errands, up and down, all through
the camp, alternating in energy, and pliability, to the end of the
sermon; and not becoming cold and weak, scarcely bearing you through,
like Bucephalus, Alexander the Great’s horse, which, mortally
wounded, just brought his master out of the battle, and then expired.
Fourthly, remember, not to press too much upon your breath, when you
have attained the natural use of it, by using very long sentences,
without pausing at proper places, which (pauses) will add to the
effect, as well as preserve the voice; so that you will be, like the
smith, ready to strike the duly-tempered metal, prepared to give the
suitable emphasis at the end of the paragraph. Let the matter raise
the voice, do not attempt by the voice to elevate the subject.
Fifthly, use words easily understood, that the people’s affections
may not cool, while the mind is sent to a dictionary, to understand
your terms. The great work, the exploit of a minister, is to win the
heart to believe in Christ, and to love Him. Sixthly, bear in mind,
also, the necessity of keeping the voice free, without (affected)
restraint; give every syllable, and every letter, its full and proper
sound. (It is one of the peculiarities and excellences of the Welsh
language, and proves its Eastern origin.) No letter has to complain
that it is (condemned to be) mute, and neglected, and has no
utterance. In English, many letters have this complaint; but in
Welsh, every letter, even as the knights at the round table of King
Arthur, has, without preference, its own appropriate and complete
sound. Seventhly, remember, also, to enunciate clearly the last
syllable in every Welsh word; that will cause your most distant
hearer to understand you; while, without this, much of what you say
must be inevitably lost. Eighthly, in order to all this, carefully
attend to the manner of the best, and ablest preachers, and imitate,
not their weaknesses, but their excellences. You will observe, that
some heavenly ornament, and power from on high, are visible in many
ministers when under the Divine irradiation, which you cannot
approach to by merely imitating their artistic excellence, without
resembling them in the spiritual taste, fervency, and zeal which
Christ and his Spirit ‘work in them.’ This will cause, not only your
being like unto them in gracefulness of action, and propriety of
elocution, but will also induce prayer for the anointing from the
Holy One, which worketh mightily in the inward man. This is the
mystery of all effective preaching. We must be endowed with power
from on high: here is the grand inward secret. Without this, we
(often) perceive that it is impossible, with all academic advantages,
to make good preachers of young men from any college, in the Church
of England, or among the dissenters, in the English or the Welsh
language. A young preacher must have the mystery of being
‘constrained’ by ‘the love of Christ’; ‘the gift of God’ must be
kindled in him; and He alone, by the Spirit, can sustain that gift by
the Holy Spirit. ‘Who is sufficient for these things?’ May the Lord
give you, brother, a good understanding in all things; and preserve
in you the heavenly gift by the Holy Ghost! may it be rekindled where
it is, and contributed where it is not! Without it, we can do
nothing for the glory of God, or the good of souls.

“Affectionately,
“CHRISTMAS EVANS.”

Sometimes Mr. Evans occupied such slight leisure as he could command, by a contribution to the _Seren Gomer_, an extensively-circulating magazine of the Principality. Several of these papers are interesting; we select one, illustrating the bent of the writer’s mind; it was published January 1821,—“An inquiry into the meaning of the singular language of the Apostle, his wish

“TO BE ACCURSED FROM CHRIST.

“‘For I could wish that I were accursed (anathema) from Christ for my
brethren,’ etc. (Rom. ix. 3). Many things, most incredible to me,
have been said in exposition of this passage; and principally, I
think, from not observing that the word ‘anathema’ is used in two
senses,—the one good, and the other bad. Barclay analyses into four
acceptations; and, according to the first, it signifies that which is
devoted, or set apart, to God, in a good sense. According to
Parkhurst, it signifies, in Luke xxi. 5, a consecrated gift, set
apart for the temple of God, and to His service alone. The word
translated gifts is _anathemasi_. In the second book of Maccabees,
ix. 8, the word denotes a consecrated gift. The word in the LXX.,
according to Parkhurst, is synonymous with the Hebrew word CHEREM,
and signifies, generally, that which is entirely separated from its
former condition, and use. If so, why should we not understand Paul,
in the text, as expressing his ardent desire that he should be
separated, _a devoted thing_, for the conversion of his brethren
according to the flesh? Having gone thus far in explanation, we
offer the following interpretation: ‘For I could wish that I were
_anathema_, or a gift, in my labours as an apostle, and a preacher of
the Gospel, from Christ, for the spiritual benefit of my brethren
according to the flesh, principally, instead of being an apostle to
the Gentiles, as I am appointed; theirs is the adoption, etc.; and I
could also wish that I, also, as an apostle, were an especial gift of
Christ for their distinctive service.’ If this be correct, there is
no necessity for changing the tense of the verb from the present to
the perfect, and reading, ‘I could wish,’ as ‘I have wished;’ while
it saves us from putting in the Apostle’s mouth a wish entirely
opposed to the ‘new creation,’ to the plan of Divine grace, and to
the glory of God; for it is certain that it is quite in opposition to
all this, for a man to desire to live in sin, and to be accursed for
ever,—and that cannot for a moment be predicated of the Apostle of
the Gentiles. I humbly ask some learned correspondent, whether there
is anything in the original text with which this exposition will not
harmonize.

“CHRISTMAS EVANS.”

This letter led to some unsympathetic criticism, and reply. Christmas Evans wrote a vindication of his former views, which may be not uninteresting to our readers, as illustrating a phase of his intellectual character. It appeared in the _Seren Gomer_ for 1822:—

“MR. GOMER,—If you please, publish the following, in defence of my
former letter on Romans ix. 3, and in reply to your correspondent,
_Pen Tafar_.

“It is admitted, on all hands, that the words in the question express
the highest degree of love to the Jews. Let us, now, put the
different expositions before the reader, and then let him judge which
of them contains the greatest harmony and fitness; _i.e._, first, to
express love to the Jews; second, the best adapted to bring about
their salvation; third, the most consistent with supreme love to
Christ; and fourth, within the confines of sinlessness.

“1. Many learned men set forth the Apostle as having formed this
desire when he was an enemy to Christ. This they maintain by tracing
the word _anathema_ throughout the Greek Scriptures, and the Hebrew
word _cherem_, of which it is the synonym. _Anathema_, they say,
always signifies ‘without an exception,’ a separation, or devotement
of a beast, a city, or something else, to irredeemable destruction
(Lev. xxvii. 29). The devoted thing was not to be redeemed, but
certainly to be put to death (Gal. i. 9). ‘_Let him be accursed_,’
says Paul of the angel that would preach another gospel. ‘If any man
love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be _anathema maranatha_,’
‘accursed when the Lord cometh.’ But who _can_ believe that this is
the meaning of the word in the passage before us? I say, with Dr.
Gill, ‘This never can be the signification.’ What probability is
there that Paul would swear, calling Jesus Christ to witness, to his
ancient enmity against Him? This was notorious enough throughout the
whole country. No asseveration was necessary to prove _Paul’s
persecuting spirit_.

“Again, how could that which he formerly had been, prove, he now
having denied himself, his old persecuting spirit, and, being deeply
ashamed on the account, prove his present love to the Jews? How did
his former love to Satan prove his present love to the Jews?

“2. Others say that it is Paul’s wish as a Christian, whatever
_anathema_ means. I believe it is his desire as a Christian;
otherwise I see not how it could be an instance of his love to his
brethren according to the flesh. Several authors maintain that Paul
was willing, _for the sake of saving his nation_, _to part with his
interest in Christ_, _and to perish for ever_. Peter Williams and
Matthew Henry give this interpretation. But, seriously, how can a
person persuade himself to believe this? Would not the Apostle, in
this case, love his nation more than Christ, and be accordingly
unworthy of Christ? This is opposed to a principle of our nature,
which never can desire its own destruction; to the principle of
grace, which loves Christ above all things on earth, and in heaven.
Such a desire would make Paul a devil.

“3. Others suppose that Paul here speaks inconsiderately, in a kind
of ecstasy, carried away by a stream of affection to his people. Who
can believe this without giving up Paul’s inspiration, even when he
solemnly appeals to Christ?

“4. Another notion is, that the Apostle was willing, and desirous to
be excommunicated from the Church of Christ upon earth, and to be
deprived of its ordinances. How can this, again, be considered as
consistent with love to Christ, and His Church? What tendency could
his leaving the Church have to induce the Jews to enter it? This is
contrary to the whole course of the Divine command, and promises: God
will give His people an everlasting home, and place in His house.

“5. Some say, it is an _hyperbole_. To confirm this, Exod. xxxii.
32 is quoted as a case in point: ‘_Blot me_, _I pray thee_, _out of
Thy book_, _which Thou hast written_.’ This is not the book of
eternal life, but the book of the dispensation, in which Moses was
leader, and mediator. ‘_I would_,’ he says, ‘_give up my office_.’
God rejected the request: ‘Lead the people unto the place of which I
have spoken to thee.’ It was not for Israel, nor a condition of
forgiveness to them, but for himself, that Moses said, ‘Blot my name
out of Thy book.’ All this gives but little assistance to understand
the Apostle. The two spiritual men do not stand on the same ground.
Moses seeks the obliteration of his name, unless Israel was pardoned.
Paul seeks a work, and an office, in order to the forgiveness of his
nation.

“6. Further, it is supposed to be proper to modify—_to soften_—the
meaning of the word _anathema_, as signifying, sometimes, anything
devoted to God, and that never could, afterwards, be appropriated to
any other service; and here, to understand it in that softened sense,
signifying that Paul was willing for the Redeemer to make him a
devoted thing—a martyr for the truth, for the good of the Jewish
nation. This is substantially the opinion of Thomas Charles, and Dr.
Gill. Christmas Evans’s theory is erected on this ground—the
modified sense of the word; thus, ‘I could wish myself entirely set
apart, by Christ, to the service of my people, for their spiritual
good; I should have been glad, had I my choice, to have been an
Apostle, separated to them alone, and not to the Gentiles, with my
dwelling, and labours, amongst them, and to die a martyr for the
truth, even the most horrible death that could be devised, if Christ
had appointed me hereto.’ If ‘P. T.’ says this is a new
interpretation of Christmas Evans’s, the answer is, No, but a
legitimate extension of a former one; for he did not intend, nor did
his words import, the separation of martyrdom, or the most
anathematised sufferings, from Paul for his kinsmen according to the
flesh.

“7. Is it not plain, and does not ‘P. T.’ see, that this view is
superior to the former five, and that it takes in, and is an
improving addition to the latter of the five, as to its fitness to
express the Apostle’s great love to his people, without destroying
his love to Christ, as well as to bring about the salvation of the
Jews by proper means? How could the death of the Apostle contribute
to the conversion of the Jews, unless he died _as an apostate of the
circumcision_?”

It appears to have been towards the close of the Anglesea period, that he was thrown into a panic of fear, by a threat of a legal prosecution, on account of some chapel debts, for which, of course, he was regarded as responsible. “They talk,” he said, “of casting me into a court of law, where I have never been, and I hope I shall never go; but I will cast them, first, into the court of Jesus Christ.” We have seen that he was in the habit of putting on paper his prayers, and communions with God. It was a time of severe trial to him. He says, “I knew there was no ground of action, but, still, I was much disturbed, being, at the time, sixty years of age, and having, very recently, buried my wife.” He continues, “I received the letter at a monthly meeting, at one of the contests with spiritual wickedness in high places. On my return home, I had fellowship with God, during the whole journey of ten miles, and, arriving at my own house, I went upstairs to my own chamber, and poured forth my heart before the Redeemer, who has in His hands all authority, and power.” And the following seem to be the pathetic words in which he indulged:—

“O blessed Lord! in Thy merit I confide, and trust to be heard.
Lord, some of my brethren have run wild; and forgetting their duty,
and obligations to their father in the Gospel, they threaten me with
the law of the land. Weaken, I beseech Thee, their designs in this,
as Thou didst wither the arm of Jeroboam; and soften them, as Thou
didst soften the mind of Esau, and disarmed him of his warlike temper
against Thy servant Jacob, after the wrestling at Penuel. So disarm
them, for I do not know the length of Satan’s chain in this case, and
in this unbrotherly attack. But Thou canst shorten the chain as
short as it may please Thee. Lord, I anticipate them in point of
law. They think of casting Thine unworthy servant into the little
courts here below; but I cast my cause into the High Court, in which
Thou, gracious Jesus, art the High Chancellor. Receive Thou the
cause of Thine unworthy servant, and send him a writ, or a notice,
immediately—sending into their conscience, and summoning them to
consider what they are doing. Oh, frighten them with a summons from
Thy court, until they come, and bow in contrition at Thy feet; and
take from their hands every revengeful weapon, and make them deliver
up every gun of scandal, and every sword of bitter words, and every
spear of slanderous expressions, and surrender them all at Thy cross.
Forgive them all their faults, and clothe them with white robes, and
give them oil for their heads, and the organ, and the harp of ten
strings, to sing, for the trampling of Satan under our feet by the
God of peace.

“I went up once,” he says, “and was about ten minutes in prayer; I
felt some confidence that Jesus heard. I went up again with a tender
heart; I could not refrain from weeping with the joy of hope that the
Lord was drawing near to me. After the seventh struggle I came down,
fully believing that the Redeemer had taken my cause into His hands,
and that He would arrange, and manage for me. My countenance was
cheerful, as I came down the last time, like Naaman, having washed
himself seven times in the Jordan; or Bunyan’s Pilgrim, having cast
his burden at the foot of the cross, into the grave of Jesus. I well
remember the place—the little house adjoining the meeting-house, at
Cildwrn, where I then resided—in which this struggle took place; I
can call it Penuel. No weapon intended against me prospered, and I
had peace, at once, to my mind, and in my (temporal) condition. I
have frequently prayed for those who would injure me, that they might
be blessed, even as I have been blessed. I know not what would have
become of me, had it not been for these furnaces in which I have been
tried, and in which the spirit of prayer has been excited, and
exercised in me.”

It is scarcely necessary to add, that the threat was never executed, nor did poor Christmas, apparently, hear anything further of the matter; but we have seen how great was the trouble, and agitation it caused him, while the fear was upon him. It is very affecting to find that this great, this saintly, and earnest minister, had upon his heart, and mind, the burden of all the chapel-debts connected with his denomination in Anglesea, while he was minister there.

It might have been thought that the ministerial course of Christmas Evans would close in Anglesea, where he had laboured so long, and so effectually. He was, now, about sixty years of age, but there was little light just now, in the evening-time of his life; indeed, clouds of trouble were thickening around him. It often seems that trouble, in the ministerial life, comes exactly at that moment when the life is least able to stand, with strength, against it; and, certainly, in the life of Christmas Evans, sorrows gathered, and multiplied at the close.

Chief among these must be mentioned, beyond any doubt, the death of the beloved companion of all the Anglesea life, his good wife, Catherine; she left him in 1823. She was eminently, and admirably fitted to be the wife of such a man as Christmas. Somewhat younger than her husband, she supplied many attributes of character, to him most helpful; she was not an enthusiast, but she was a Christian, with real, deep, and devout convictions. We have no lengthy accounts of her; but little side-lights, a kind of casemented window, reveal a character at once affectionate, beautiful, and strong.

We have seen that their home was the region of self-denial, and her husband long remembered, and used to tell, how “if there happened to be on our table one thing better than the other, she would, modestly, but cheerfully and earnestly, resist all importunity to partake of it until she ascertained that there was enough for both.” What a little candle such a sentence as this is, but what a light it sheds over the whole room! She did not pretend to be her husband; he filled his larger sphere, and she, in all her manifold, gentle ways, sought to give him rest. Surely she adds another name to the long catalogue of good wives. She reminds us of Lavater’s wife, and some little incidents in that Cildwrn cottage call up memories from the manse of St. Peter’s Church, and the shadows of the old Lindenhof of Zurich, where probably life did not put on a gayer apparel, or present more lavish and luxurious possibilities, than in the poor parsonage of Anglesea.

It is incredible, almost, to read what the good Catherine did, poor—to our thinking, miserable—as was the income of her husband. Her hand was most generous; how she did it, what committee of ways and means she called together, in her thoughtful mind, we do not know,—only, that she, constantly, found some food to give to poor children, and needy people; unblessed by children of her own, she employed her fingers in making clothes for the poor members, and families, of the Church. There was always help for the poor hungry labourer passing her cottage; the house was always open for the itinerant minister travelling on his way to some “publication,” and she was always ready to minister to his necessities with her own kind hands. Her husband often thought that the glance she gave upon a text shed light upon it. She never had robust health, but she accompanied her husband on several of his longer journeys through the greater part of Wales,—ah, and some of them in the winter, through storms of rain, and snow, and hail, along dangerous roads too, across difficult ferries; and she was uniformly cheerful! What an invaluable creature, what a blessed companion! A keener observer of character, probably, from what we can gather, than her husband; a sharper eye, in general, to detect the subterfuges of selfishness and conceit.

One mighty trial she had before she died; she had, in some way, been deeply wounded, grievously injured, and hurt, and she found it hard to forgive; she agonized, and prayed, and struggled; and before she was called to eternity, she was able to feel that she had forgiven, and buried the memory of the injuries in the love and compassion of the Redeemer. Her husband had to give her up, and at a time, perhaps, when he needed her most. The illness was long, but great strength was given to her, and at last the release came. There was mourning in the Cildwrn cottage. The last night of her life she repeated a beautiful, and comfortable Welsh hymn, and then, ejaculating three times, “Lord Jesus, have mercy upon me!” she breathed forth her quiet, affectionate, and hopeful spirit, into her Saviour’s hands, and left her husband all alone, to bear the burden of her departure, and other griefs, and troubles which were crowding upon him.

Other troubles,—for, in what way we need not attempt too curiously to inquire,—the pastorate gave to the poor old pastor little, or no peace. There were strong Diotrephesian troubles agitating the great preacher’s life. The Churches, too, which Christmas Evans had raised, and to which, by his earnest eloquence, and active, organizing mind, he had given existence, grew restive, and self-willed beneath his guidance, refusing his advice with reference to ministers he suggested, and inviting others, whose appointment he thought unwise.

Poor Christmas! Did he ever ask himself, in these moments, when he thought of his lost Catherine, and felt the waves of trouble rising up, and beating all round him,—did he ever ask himself whether the game was worth the candle? whether he was a mere plaything in life, whom that arch old player, Death, had outplayed, and defeated? Did it ever seem to him that it was all a vanity, ending in vexation of spirit? The life most beloved had burnt out, the building he had spent long years to erect, seemed only to be furnished for discomfort, and distraction.

Did he begin to think that the wine of life was only turning into acrid vinegar, by-and-by to end with the long sleeping-draught? Of life’s good things, in the worldling’s sense of good, he had tasted few; most clearly he had never desired them. He had never the opportunity, nor had he ever desired to be like a Nebuchadnezzar, roaming the world like a beast, and pasturing at a dinner-table, as upon a sort of meadow-land of the stomach, sinking the soul to the cattle of the field; but he might have expected that his Church, and Churches, would be a joy, a rest, a pleasant meadow-land to him. The body was certainly crumbling to decay: would the ideas also prove like frescoes, which could be washed out by tears, or removed, and leave the soul only a desolate habitation, waiting for its doom of dust?

We do not suppose that, amidst his depressing griefs, these desolating beliefs, or unbeliefs, had any mastery over him. What did the men who tormented him know of those mighty springs of comfort, which came from those covenants he had made with God, amidst the lonely solitudes of his journeyings among the wild Welsh hills? He had not built his home, or his hopes, on the faithfulness of men, or the vitality of Churches; the roots of his faith, as they had struck downward, were now to bear fruit upward.

There was a fine healthfulness in his spirit. There is nothing in his life to lead one to think that he had ever been much intoxicated by the fame which had attended him; he appears to have been always beneath the control of the great truths in which he believed, and it was not the seductive charms of popularity for which he cared, but the power of those truths to bring light, conviction, and rest, to human souls. All his sermons look that way; all that we know of his preaching, and experience, turns in that direction.

Rose-leaves are said to act as an emetic, and have much the same effect on the constitution as senna-leaves. It is so with those sweet things which fame offers to the imagination; the conserves of its fragrance, by-and-by, become sickening. So, the robust nature of our fine old friend had to rise over grief, and disappointment, and unfriendliness, and diaconal dictation and impertinence. Only one thing he remembered. He appears to have been sustained, even as Edward Irving was, in his conviction that the truth of his message, the lamp of the ministry which he carried, gave to him a right, and a prerogative which he was not to relinquish; he had proved himself, he had proved the Spirit of God to be in him of a truth. He was not a wrangler, not disposed to maintain debates as to his rights; nor was he disposed to yield to caprice, faction, and turbulence; and so, he began to think of retiring, old as he was, from the field, the fragrance of which had proclaimed that the Lord had blessed him there.

Christmas Evans, as he draws near to the close of his work in Anglesea, only illustrates what many a far greater, and many a lesser man than he, have alike illustrated. There is a fine word among the many fine words of that great, although eccentric teacher, John Ruskin:—“It is one of the appointed conditions of the labour of man, that in proportion to the time between the seed-sowing and the harvest, is the fulness of the fruit; and that generally, therefore, the further off we place our aim, and the less we desire to be the witnesses of what we have laboured for, the more wide and rich will be the measure of our success.” This was, no doubt, the consolation of Christmas; but as we look upon him, a friendly voice reminds us, that, as he leaves Anglesea, he realizes very much of Robert Browning’s soliloquy of the martyred patriot:—

“Thus I entered, and thus I go!
In triumphs people have dropped down dead.
Paid by the world,—what dost thou owe
Me? God might question; now, instead,
’Tis God shall repay! I am safer so.”