ABERDEEN, _Jan. 5, 1638_.
CCLXXXIV.--_To the Honourable, Reverend, and Well-beloved Professors of Christ and His truth in sincerity, in Ireland._
[At the date of this letter the Presbyterian Church of Ireland was in a very depressed condition. In 1634 Robert Blair, with some other ministers, were deposed for nonconformity; in the autumn of 1636 five more were dealt with in the same manner, for the same cause; and all of them were ultimately forced to leave the country. The Presbyterians in Ireland were thus left to a great extent destitute of the ministry of the Word, which had been so eminently blessed of God. This letter was intended to confirm them in their adherence to the cause for which their ministers and themselves were suffering.]
(_THE WAY TO HEAVEN OFTTIMES THROUGH PERSECUTION--CHRIST'S WORTH--MAKING SURE OUR PROFESSION--SELF-DENIAL--NO COMPROMISE--TESTS OF SINCERITY--HIS OWN DESIRE FOR CHRIST'S GLORY._)
DEARLY BELOVED IN OUR LORD, AND PARTAKERS OF THE HEAVENLY CALLING,--Grace, mercy, and peace be to you, and from God our Father, and from our Lord Jesus Christ.
I always, but most of all now in my bonds (most sweet bonds for Christ my Lord), rejoice to hear of your faith and love, and to hear that our King, our Well-beloved, our Bridegroom, without tiring, stayeth still to woo you as His wife; and that persecutions, and mockings of sinners, have not chased away the Wooer from the house. I persuade you in the Lord, that the men of God, now scattered and driven from you, put you upon the right scent and pursuit of Christ: and, my salvation on it (if ten heavens were mine), if this way, this way that I now suffer for, this way that the world nicknameth and reproacheth, and no other way, be not the King's gate to heaven! And I shall never see God's face (and, alas, I were a beguiled wretch if it were so!) if this be not the only saving way to heaven. Oh that you would take a prisoner of Christ's word for it (nay, I know you have the greatest King's word for it), that it shall not be your wisdom to speer out another Christ, or another way of worshipping Him, than is now savingly revealed to you. Therefore, though I never saw your faces, let me be pardoned to write to you (ye honourable persons, ye faithful pastors, yet amongst the flocks, and ye sincere professors of Christ's truth, or any weak, tired strayers, who cast but half an eye after the Bridegroom), if possibly I could, by any weak experience, confirm and strengthen you in this good way, everywhere spoken against.
I can with the greatest assurance (to the honour of our highest, and greatest, and dearest Lord, let it be spoken!) assert (though I be but a child in Christ, and scarce able to walk but by a hold, and the meanest, and less than the least of saints), that we do not come nigh, by twenty degrees, to the due love and estimation of that fairest among the sons of men. For if it were possible that heaven, yea, ten heavens, were laid in the balance with Christ, I would think the smell of His breath above them all. Sure I am that He is the far best half of heaven, yea, He is all heaven, and more than all heaven; and my testimony of Him is, that ten lives of black sorrow, ten deaths, ten hells of pain, ten furnaces of brimstone, and all exquisite torments, were all too little for Christ, if our suffering could be a hire to buy Him. Therefore, faint not in your sufferings and hazards for Him. I proclaim and cry, hell, sorrow, and shame upon all lusts, upon all by-lovers, that would take Christ's room over His head, in this little inch of love of these narrow souls of ours, that is due to sweetest Jesus. O highest, O fairest, O dearest Lord Jesus, take Thine own from all bastard lovers. Oh that we could wadset and sell all our part of time's glory, and time's good things, for a lease and tack of Christ for all eternity! Oh how are we misted and mired with the love of things that are on this side of time, and on this side of death's water! Where can we find a match to Christ, or an equal, or a better than He, among created things? Oh this world is out of all conceit, and all love, with our Well-beloved. Oh that I could sell my laughter, joy, ease, and all for Him; and be content with a straw bed, and bread by weight, and water by measure, in the camp of our weeping Christ! I know that His sackcloth and ashes are better than the fool's laughter, which is like the crackling of thorns under a pot. But, alas! we do not harden our faces against the cold north storms which blow upon Christ's fair face. We love well summer-religion, and to be that which sin has made us, even as thin-skinned as if we were made of white paper; and would fain be carried to heaven in a close-covered chariot, wishing from our hearts that Christ would give us surety, and His handwrite, and His seal, or nothing but a fair summer until we be landed in at heaven's gates!