IT is rather more than twenty-eight years since I confessed Jesus as the Son of God and became a member of the Church at Armadale. During that period I have known the author of this book as the evangelist of the churches in the Slamannan district. The first few years of our acquaintance recall very pleasant intercourse, and as the years passed by the ties of friendship grew stronger. I presume it is because of that long association with him that I have been asked to write a prefatory note to his work.
Our author's life and work have been so varied, abounding with interesting incidents, that it must be gratifying to many of his friends that he has been persuaded to make some selections and record them as he has done. When, as we walked together or sat by the fireside, he related some of his experiences, we have been delighted and helped in many ways. Because such incidents as were related in these talks were beneficial to us, we knew they would also be of use to others if written in a book. When Mr. Anderson had nearly completed his task I happened to be in a company of brethren outside the Slamannan district to which he was telling some things that had happened in his life, and one of the number said, "Why do you not put in writing some of these things?" It was a pleasing surprise to know that he had already done so. That is by no means a solitary instance shewing that such a book, as has been produced, would be much appreciated. Those who have known the author personally will expect that cold type cannot express the vivid, stirring incidents as impressively as the charming human voice, and a remarkably lucid tongue. Yet facts and truths are stated with that originality characteristic of the preacher. In few words he conveys his thoughts with precision and force.
Many of the lessons we learn are derived from the experiences of others, and a perusal of his book contains valuable lessons, especially for young Christians. The need for having a clear and firm hold of the fundamental truths of Christianity is apparent when error assails the citadel of truth; and nothing but unwavering confidence in the Oracles of the Living God can give the courage to defend the truth. In addition to a sound faith and knowledge of truth, an acquaintance with the various kinds of religious errors is absolutely necessary for those who would preach the gospel successfully. The example of Mr. Anderson meeting different religious people so frequently is calculated to fix that upon the reader's mind. It has been said, "To know the disease is half the cure;" and to know well the position of those who are in error, gives one a great advantage in successfully meeting an opponent. Much of this work has reference to public debates, and few men have been called upon to defend what the Scriptures teach as often as he has had to do. Indeed, some may think the references to these are numerous enough, but in relating incidents in a life such as his it could hardly be otherwise. If results justify the means, then these discussions have been salutary to the churches of Christ. Sometimes a religious body would propound its tenets with such zeal with some members of the churches would be wavering, but when the unscripturalness of their teaching was exposed without any ambiguity, the result was that the churches had rest from their opponents.
As a defender of the faith we have one side of his life. There are a few references to his conversations with persons as he happened to meet with them. This part of his life - and a very useful part too - has been sparingly given. When facing an opponent on the public platform he appears as a strong, courageous, unrelenting defender of truth, and some might think there was an absence of gentleness and kindness in his nature. Had more of his personal talks with individuals enquiring for the right way of the Lord been given, these traits of character would have become more apparent to the reader; but to have elaborated his conversations with such, would have required another book or made the present one too large. The reader will learn even from the few personal conversations with individuals that are recorded, that the author was both cautious and kind to the utmost with honest, anxious inquirers after truth.
The testimony given at the close of such an active public life is
encouraging to those who stand with "sword and trowel" in hand, as in
the days of Nehemiah. Aggressive and defensive work have to be done,
and our author's example will stimulate to do both. There is a clear
ring of confidence as to the sufficiency and certainty of the
Scriptures that corresponds with Paul's words - "I am not ashamed of
the gospel" - "I know whom I have believed." Love to the Lord Jesus
and a deep, sincere reverence for His will as supreme are the great
guiding principles of his life. These shine out in the experiences
recorded, and if, in a measure, these elevating and purifying motives
are strengthened in those who read this book, then the author's
desire will be obtained - the good of believers in Jesus and the
glory of God.
AS a committee appointed by Churches of Christ in Great Britain and Ireland co-operating for evangelistic purposes, with instructions to publish tracts, pamphlets or books likely to be useful in our work, we have been pleased to publish this volume, produced in the way and manner which the esteemed author explains in his preface. The suggestion to publish it came to us after it was written, so that the writing of it was not in any way influenced by us; or by any aim on Mr. Anderson's part at rendering it suitable for us to publish. We are aware that several things are discussed in it which are left open questions in our churches. As Mr. Anderson himself indicates about one of them, our objection is to making (as some do) any view on such matters, essential to church fellowship. But the prominence of discussions about some of these questions did not seem to preclude our publishing the book; even here there is so much well said of essential matters, and so much good sense exhibited in dealing with the questions themselves, that we deem the narrative in such parts also well calculated to serve a useful end.
Then the general position we take in regard to the Gospel and its conditions, the influence and help of the Holy Spirit, Christian Union, the Bible, and other subjects, and his exposure of errors, are all alike stated with the author's incisive clearness. It is hoped, also, that the form of the book - the autobiography of an evangelist of striking personality, exceptional ability, and genuine piety, - its crisp, easy, conversational style, and occasional touches of quaint humour, will lead to its important Scriptural truth being read and considered with pleasure and profit.
FREQUENTLY of late I have been asked by friends to commit some things to writing. Those who have spoken to me have given in substance the same reason, this being to the effect that they had often been helped by me as to the meaning of a portion of Scripture, or how to support and defend a truth, or how to oppose an error which was being pressed upon them. As a rule they have added something like this: "You are getting old now, you will not be able to help us in this respect much longer, you should commit some things to writing - they might be useful to us when you are gone from us."
It is very hard for me to decide whether I should take no notice of this suggestion or whether I should try to some extent to comply with it. The book which my friends seem to desire would be largely an account of my experience - what I have required to say and do in connection with preaching the Gospel of Christ, helping its friends and opposing its foes. This would be a big and strange book. I could not write all, and I may not be able to make the best selections. Still, in deference to the wishes of my friends, I feel inclined to jot down some things and see what shape they take.
Should those who do not know me read what I write, they may consider it presumption in a man like me writing anything in book form. I have a good deal of sympathy with this opinion, and if blame there be in this respect my friends must at least share it. I have never posed as a scholar; I have ever spoken as a common man to common men. But if in that sphere my tongue has been in some degree useful, it is not impossible that my pen may be of some use to the same class.
I do not profess to have a profound knowledge of anything. My aim has always been to be plain and practical. Hence, I have a deep conviction that any ordinary man who adopts the principles which have governed my life may, even with very little help, equal or surpass anything which has been accomplished my me.
Some friends have urged that, if I write, the book should take
the shape of the story of my life. I have much the same trouble with
that suggestion; I have had a long and varied life. I could not write
all the particulars of it if I would, and I have no wish to write a
big book. Still, I may try to blend this suggestion with the
foregoing, that is, give an outline of my life and try to work some
useful information into it.
Jas. Anderson
I WAS born in the village of Clarkston, near Airdrie, on November 23rd, 1837. My father served his apprenticeship for a papermaker in Clarkston Paper Mill, and my mother was employed in that same mill. Not long after my father's time was out, machinery made the trade not worth following, and as far back as I can remember he was employed about mines. When I first remember, he was a colliery engine-man in connection with Wilsontown Ironworks. These works stopped when I was quite a small boy, and we moved near to Coatbridge. But I need not trace our movements, enough to say that my life was the ordinary life of a boy in a mining village of seventy years ago. There was no compulsory education then. My father's education was a good bit above the average. He was generally calm and always fair. My mother was anxious that I should speak the truth and do the right thing; but she would sometimes punish one for doing a thing and then inquire into why that thing was done. If one had anything to say for oneself, father would hear it in the first place. He made it easy for a boy to speak the truth to him. From my early teens onwards, my father and I were more like brothers than father and son. I went to school for some time, but I never wrote a line nor figured a sum in a day-school. I was helped by evening-schools at two different places.
When I was seven or eight years of age, miners' wages rose to five shillings per day. That was considered a big wage then, and my father took advantage of it and went underground. The Miners' Union of those days put no limit upon the hours which you might work in a day, but they put a limit upon the wage - no man was allowed to earn more than five shillings in a day. But if a miner had a young boy, and took the boy to work with him, he was allowed, if he was able to earn it, so much more, according to the age of the boy. I was not quite ten years of age when my father took me to work with him. This allowed father, if he was able, to earn one-fourth more in the day; and he was generally able, for he was a good workman. I had to be there, but, at first, I was not pushed at all, nor put to do anything that was too heavy for me; still, the heavy work came soon enough. Circumstances brought me a good deal into contact with pit engines, as well as underground work, and I grew up with a fair knowledge of both; so that I was sometimes above ground and sometimes below.
As I passed into my teens I became fonder of reading, and sometimes gave attention to some useful branches of information, arithmetic receiving more consideration than any other thing. But I moved as fancy led me, and I made no systematic attempt to improve my education until I was verging upon manhood.
I was about twenty years of age when I began to think seriously about religion. I was then living in Cumberland in the neighbourhood of Cleator Moor. I was engine-driver at an iron-ore pit near the village of Cleator. I cannot give any one reason for my attention being more seriously called to religion that it had ever been before. I was, upon the whole, doing more thinking than I had ever done before. I was also trying to put my efforts at self-improvement into some shape. I suppose that it would hardly do to speak of my efforts in those days as studies. About that time The Student's Manual, by John Todd, fell into my hands. I was the better for that book; it helped me to put method into my work. When reading that manual one day, I came upon the place where the author speaks of what was one of my bad habits, "As only one of a nest of vipers." I remember putting down the book and reasoning with myself after this fashion: "I have been pleased with that book up till now, but I cannot admit this statement. I know that my language is not what it should be sometimes, but that this is only one of a nest of vipers, though the only one hissing at present - I do not believe that." Still, when I turned my eyes within to try and vindicate my character against the charge made by the author, I only found that there was more truth in the statement than I had up to that time believed. That remark by John Todd deepened my conviction of sin. The more I thought, the more my conviction of sin grew. It was only reasonable that it should. I had always believed in God and in the Lordship of Jesus Christ. And yet I had never spent a single day in the service of God. God has a right to hold the first place in our minds; I had lived without even trying to serve Him. I spent six very unhappy months at that time.
I deeply felt my need of pardon, but was not by any means clear as to how pardon was to be obtained. I sometimes went to gospel meetings conducted by the Methodists. I paid the best of attention, for I was interested. They made it plain enough that God loved you, that Christ died for you, and that it was the will of God that you should be saved; but every preacher that I listened to at that time conveyed the impression that you must get to know that you are saved by the Holy Spirit speaking peace to your soul. I prayed earnestly and often, but I could never persuade myself that the Holy Spirit spoke directly to me. I did not, therefore, find peace in that way. Praying was a new thing for me; I was not until then in the habit of praying before I went to bed; as long as I wished to keep clear of religion, I kept clear of the form. Though I could not find peace in that way, I did not doubt the honesty of those who thus professed to know or believe that their sins were forgiven. It never occurred to me to ask if this was the way in which people came to a knowledge of pardon in New Testament times. Nor did it ever occur to me to take the New Testament and try to think out the subject for myself.
It appeared strange in after years that this did not occur to me. I had, before that time, mastered some hard tasks with nothing but the printed page to help me, and yet it never came into my mind to take the New Testament and study this subject for myself. I have found that a great many have had the same experience with regard to this point that I had.
Years after the time about which I am now writing, I made the acquaintance of an old farmer who had a very extensive knowledge of the Scriptures, but he confessed to having the same experience to begin with that I had. He explained that circumstances inclined us to shrink from the study of the Gospel rather than take to it. He expressed himself after this manner: "A man has to be a better scholar than an ordinary working man before he goes to college, and there he has to pass years of study before he is considered fit to preach the Gospel. We therefore infer that the Gospel must be a very hard thing to understand when all this is required before a man can preach it. Then we naturally conclude that it is beyond the reach of the ordinary man, and, as a consequence, we do not try to understand it."
I then asked him how be came to know so much about the Bible. In reply he said: "I owe all that to a farmer. In my younger days I was a country blacksmith. In the spring and summer evenings when farmers or their servants came to have work done, the blacksmith's shop was sometimes quite a lively place, and all kinds of things were discussed there. One evening preaching was the topic of conversation. A farmer was working the bellows for me, and during the conversation he said to me: 'James, I do not see much need for all this preaching.' 'Why not?' I asked. 'Because,' said the farmer, 'it was all preached before.' That remark by that farmer sent my mind out on a new track. I thought of the four Gospels, how much of these were taken up with what Jesus said to the people. The Acts of the Apostles contained much that was spoken by the Apostles to the people. Most of the Epistles were written to churches, to be read there. I then reasoned with myself, that if these Scriptures were at the first delivered to ordinary people for the purpose of instructing them, then, unless I was more stupid than an ordinary person I ought to be able to understand the most of these Scriptures. From that time I set to work to study the Scriptures with the conviction that if I paid earnest attention I might make something of them. But it was that farmer's remark which caused me to begin; I owe it all to him."
My experience at first was so far like the blacksmith's, and perhaps his reason why is as likely as any. Be that as it may, the fact remains that I did not begin to study the Gospel for myself when I should have done it.
While in this state of mind, inclining to the light and not seeing my way clearly, I left Cumberland and went back to Scotland to the town of Carluke in Lanarkshire. My father had been in Cumberland, but had returned to Scotland some considerable time before that. When I went back I found my father living a religious life and connected with the Evangelical Union. The minister was an earnest preacher, and he invited those who were anxious about salvation to call upon him on the Monday evenings. His preaching, like the preaching of our Methodist friends, left the impression upon me that I must get to know that I am saved by some direct operation of the Holy Spirit upon my spirit.
After hearing this preacher for some weeks, I called on him one Monday evening. He asked me if I was saved. I said, "No, that is just what I am anxious about." He asked if I had been praying. I answered "Yes." "What have you been praying for?" he asked. "I have heard you preaching a good deal about the Holy Spirit," I replied, "and I was praying that I might receive the Holy Spirit and that I might know that I was saved." "That was a mistake on your part," he said; "it is because you are saved that you receive the Holy Spirit - it is because you are a son that God gives you the Spirit of a son; you must be saved first." "Well," I said, "if my praying was a mistake I fear there was some mistake about your preaching. However, if I have been going wrong, I wish to be put right." "Do you believe the Scriptures?" he asked. "Yes," I replied. "Do you believe that Christ died for your sins? "I do," I answered. He then called my attention to John iii.16: "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son; that whosoever believeth in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life." "Now," he said, "you say that you believe and this passage says that he that believes has everlasting life: if that be so, you must have everlasting life." I thought that was quite clear. I knew that I believed, and if whosoever believeth hath everlasting life, then I must have everlasting life. I was perfectly satisfied and left that house a very happy man.
I know that I had not seen all round that subject at that time,
but for the time being I was perfectly satisfied. My active religious
life started from that time. I attended all the meetings in
connection with that Church, and was willing to help in any way I
could. This took place in the year 1858, and just before the great
religious Revival of 1859, generally spoken of as the Irish Revival
because it took its rise in that country. I gained more religious
experience of one kind and another in that year than I would have
been likely to gain in a number of ordinary years. It meant religious
meetings somewhere every night and generally very excited and
excitable meetings. I shall not attempt a description, I do not feel
equal to that. I attended as many of these meetings as I could and
took some part in them. One man started a prayer-meeting in his house
at seven o'clock on the Sunday morning. I do not think that I missed
one of these meetings while they continued. The minister sometimes
called upon me to engage in prayer at the close of the Gospel meeting
on the Sunday evenings.
Chapter II
Perplexing thoughts followed by clearer light and obedience to the truth
I TOOK the most favourable view I could of all that took place at these meetings, but when I had done my best I could not approve of all. Still most of us believed that the Revival was the result of a special operation of the Holy Spirit; and though my views on the subject have modified somewhat I am not prepared to say that there was no truth in that belief.
An earnest, honest young man went along with me to many of those meetings; and, of course, we often expressed to each other our opinion of the meetings as we came home. I was sometimes well pleased with the meeting and was quite sure that the Holy Spirit had been doing a good work there; when my friend on the other hand was just as sure that the meeting was a failure, and that for some reason the Spirit's presence was not there. At other times my friend was pleased when I was disappointed. This caused me some trouble. I asked myself, "How does this come? I know that I am converted, but I have not the smallest doubt that James Clark is converted also. How comes it, then, that the Holy Spirit says one thing to me and a different thing to James Clark about the same meeting?" As time went on I observed that a speaker who moved the emotions pleased James, even if there was a good deal of what I considered confusion and mistake in what he said. I was better pleased with the man who spoke to the intellect. James taught me a useful lesson. He taught me to put less value upon our states of mind or private convictions as tests of what was true, or false, or good and bad in religion. I saw more clearly from that time on, that the Holy Spirit had revealed the will of God in the Bible, and that that book would have to be the final test; and that there was a danger sometimes in thinking that our states of mind and emotions were caused by a direct operation of the Holy Spirit, when some other causes had to do with producing these results.
That friend helped me in another way. If he did not understand a portion of Scripture he made it a subject of prayer. And whatever came into his mind after he had earnestly asked God to reveal the meaning to him, that was to him, beyond all question, what the passage meant. This led him sometimes to put the most unlikely interpretations upon passages. The man who does not ask God's help will never be likely to know much of His will, but James helped me to become quite certain that it was not God's will that prayer should enable us to dispense with study.
I was married in September, 1859. Three months afterwards I could not find suitable work about Carluke. My father and my brother had returned to Cumberland and were getting along well enough, so I decided to also return to Cumberland, to the Cleator Moor district. Before my wife and I left Scotland, circumstances had caused us to have some doubts about infant baptism and some other matters in connection with the Church, so we determined, when we went to England, not to join any religious body until we had time to think over things which we were in doubt about.
Though we did not connect ourselves to any religious body, we generally went to a Methodist meeting on the Sunday evenings. Their earnestness impressed us, but some of the things they did we could not fall in with. One local preacher in particular carried things to a pitch that, though we felt the excitement, our understanding rebelled against it. In the after meeting he would start three or four all at once, with the result that you could not hear distinctly what any of them was saying. Add to that a number of men all over the meeting shouting, "Amen," "Praise the Lord," etc., the preacher all the while going up and down among the seats shouting one thing and another, pushing his fingers up through his hair, and talking to anyone who seemed moved by the uproar. We felt the excitement, but we also felt that we could take no hand in it. As we were coming out from one of these meetings, my father asked one of the leading men if he ever read about a meeting like that in the New Testament. "Well, no," he said, "but good men have found out that this is the best way of converting people." We had to decide that we could not make our home there.
We had been in England about six months when Mrs. Anderson observed, in the Whitehaven papers, advertisements by a people who professed to be seeking to return to Christianity as it was instituted at the first. That was what we were wishing to get at, if they were up to what they professed. It meant a four-miles walk, but I was at their hall in good time next Sunday evening. I was the first of the audience and took a seat near the door. The preacher came along and said, "It is a big hall, sir, and it will not be filled and my voice is not too strong; will you, please, come nearer the front?" As we passed down the hall he asked where I came from. "From Cleator Moor just now," I said, "but from Scotland originally." He then informed me that one of their elders was a Scotchman, and if I cared he would introduce me to him at the close of the meeting. I thanked him and said that I would be pleased if he did so.
I was pleased with the preacher and was introduced to the Scotch elder at the close of the meeting. It was a summer evening, and I accepted the invitation to drink a cup of tea with the Scotchman before I went home. We talked about a number of things, and I felt that at a few points I was not able to defend the religious body which I had been connected with. When he referred to infant baptism, I said that I did not feel inclined to uphold that; that I had been thinking less or more about it, and I had to confess that so far I had not been able to find proof for it. He said that, if I made up my mind to join them, I should find they were not like the Baptists in one respect, in that they would not ask me for my Christian experience before I was baptised. He said that he considered that practice was just as inconsistent as it would be for a minister to refuse to marry a couple until they could give him their married experience.
"Then," I said, "you question that I am a saved person." "Yes," he replied, "I question is you can lay claim to a Scriptural knowledge of pardon." I said to him, "Do you think that I do not love the Lord Jesus Christ as sincerely as you do?" He said, "I do not doubt that, young man." I then asked, "Do you think that I am not as willing to follow Him as you are?" He said, "I do not doubt that either." "Then what do you mean?" I asked. He then asked, "Are you married?" "Yes." "Did you love your wife as well immediately before the marriage ceremony as you did immediately afterwards?" "Yes." "Did the marriage ceremony change your heart at all?" "No." "Did it change your state?" "Yes, it put me out of a single state into a married state." "And might not God have an ordinance that had to do with changing your state, while it had nothing to do with changing your heart?" "Well," I said, "it is possible, but what about the fact?"
"Here is the fact, young man," he said, and then quoted Mark xvi.16: "He that believeth and is baptised shall be saved, but he that believeth not shall be damned." "Now salvation is a state, young man; where does it come in, in that passage, after baptism or before it?" I would have given a good deal to have got over that passage and others which the old man put before me, but I saw no honest road through. The old man went a mile towards home with me. In parting he laid his hand on my shoulder and said: "Now if we are right, come and help us, and if we are wrong, in pity come back again and let us know where."
Had he simply said that believers should be baptised, I was not in a position to strongly resent that; but when he questioned my right, according to the Scriptures, to say that I was pardoned, I did resent that strongly, still I could not say that he had treated any passage unfairly. He presented passages that seemed to clearly teach that we must repent or be lost. And if repentance had anything to do with it, then salvation was not by faith alone, and I had been teaching salvation by faith alone. Then he had presented passages which seemed to teach that baptism had a closer relation to pardon than I had thought. Up to this time I was satisfied that I could produce passages to prove that salvation was by faith alone. I could not see yet that the view which I had taken of these passages was wrong. On the other hand, I could neither set aside the passages which the old man had presented, nor could I harmonise the one set of passages with the other. Such was my state of mind as I found my way back home.
I was employed underground at that time. The manager was a local preacher who commanded a good deal of respect. On the day after I had the conversation with the Scotch elder, the manager was passing the place where I was working, and stopped for a short talk as he sometimes did. I told him that I had been to Whitehaven to hear a man preaching who held that believers should be baptised, and I asked him what he thought about that matter. "Well," he said, "if you think that it is right to be baptised, get it done, but if you do not see it to be right, it makes no matter." "But," I said, "if God has commanded it, Mr. F., it will surely be right whether I think it or not; and if God has not commanded it, it seems to me that it will be wrong to do it in His name; I do not see that my thinking or not thinking can make it right or wrong." "Well," he replied, "it does look like that, my lad; but look here, I have known people go and get baptised, and then turn out worse than ever." "That may be," I said, "but have you not known people join the Methodists, and then turn out worse than ever?" He said, "Yes, I have." "Did that prove to you that Methodism was wrong?" "No, it did not." "And why should the other thing prove to you that baptism is wrong?" "Oh, well," he said, "if you think it is right get it done, but I still think that if you do not see it, it makes no difference. Good morning." This conversation left me certain that if there was anything against believers' baptism, Mr. Fee did not know it, and I would have to fight my own battle so far as he was concerned.
Thinking the matter over, I decided that it was safe to get baptised. There was no doubt that believers were baptised, and I saw no certain proof that infants were baptised. I was not sure that the elder that I had the talk with was right in holding it as a condition of pardon, but there was no doubt that a believer was a proper subject of baptism; I would obey, and then whatever was in it was mine, and I would have time to think it out afterwards. I talked the matter over with my father; he was pretty much in the same mind as myself. So we went both together to Whitehaven next Sunday and were baptised.
That was about the end of June or beginning of July, 1860. Our
eldest child - a daughter - was born just about that time. It was a
good while before Mrs. Anderson was about again, and we had time to
talk matters over while she was getting stronger. When she was able,
she also was baptised. And we all enjoyed the fellowship of the
Church of Christ in Whitehaven. It was a time of great blessing to
all of us.
Chapter III
Improvement and bible study
I OWE a great deal to three men in that Church. George
Sinclair was the man that I heard preach the first evening that I
went down. He and the Scotchman, Andrew Weild, were elders. William
Brown was a deacon in the Church; he owned a dye-work in Whitehaven,
and Geo. Sinclair and Andrew Weild were employed under him. Mr. Brown
had spent a considerable sum of money in advertising the Church, and
he was pleased that it had the effect of bringing us to it. They were
three different types of men, but all strong in faith and piety. I
could not say which of them played his part best, but they were all
valuable helps to me, and they certainly managed together what none
of them could have done singly. We generally took the baby with us on
Sunday; I gave a hand in carrying her. My first attempts at that were
clumsy enough. To begin with, the woman was certainly not the "weaker
vessel." But I improved. I could, after a while, have carried her all
the four miles as easily as I could have carried her four hundred
yards at the first.
The elders encouraged young men in the forenoon meeting to rise and make a few remarks on a passage, without attempting anything like a regular address. I began before long to take advantage of this now and again, seldom speaking longer than five minutes at a time. This left me open to hints from the elders. You never missed the meaning of the Scotchman's hints; though fatherly, they were plainly given. Brother Sinclair would sometimes drop a hint so gently that you were on your way home before you began to see the force of it. Bro. Brown had a fair stock of books, we were there for dinner sometimes, and now and again he would suggest what I might read, and he always left his book-case open for me to take what I liked with me to read at home. I have said that Bro. Sinclair was, as a rule, gentle in his hints; on one point he was a bit persistent. I had helped myself a little in some ways, but I was absolutely ignorant of English grammar; I had given no attention to that. A matter of that kind could not escape Bro. Sinclair's observation, and he pressed me to buy an English grammar and begin the study of it. I was not inclined to listen to him. I said, "It is too late in the day for that, George, that is schoolboy's work and I am married." But he said, "No, no, if you should not get far, you must begin." I took his advice, and I have often thanked that quiet man for his persistent pleading on this point.
It was not long till there were a few other members in our neighbourhood. When there were six men of us we started a Bible Class; some of us were on night-shift one week, and day-shift the other, so we could only meet once in two weeks. That class was a real help to us. The other five men had all got a better education in their youth than I had got. That, perhaps, helped me to work harder to get alongside of the others. We took up the Gospel by Luke, but if anything which we considered important came in the way of any of us, we put aside the regular lesson and gave two weeks' attention to that particular subject.
About that time I went to take charge of an engine and pumps at an iron-ore quarry. My duties and responsibilities there were light, giving me a good deal of time for self-improvement. I had a boiler to clean one Sunday, and went out early to have it over, so that I could get to the forenoon meeting. A Cumberland youth out for a walk heard me at work, and came and looked into the boiler and started to whistle. That grated upon my Scotch feelings; and I was about to reprove the lad, when the though came into my mind that I professed to be guided by the Bible, and what passage should I quote in reproving the youth? "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." Yes, but that was the seventh day, and this was the first day of the week. True, "but the Sabbath was changed from the seventh day to the first." But it is the shorter Catechism which says that, and I do not remember a passage in the Bible which says so. I thus reasoned with myself till the youth had stopped whistling and was gone.
At the next Bible Class I told the story of the lad and his whistling, and asked them to consider that subject for the next two weeks, and deal with it in the Bible Class. They were very reluctant to do it; they all felt sure that they could easily prove that the Sabbath was changed and it would be two weeks wasted. But as I had made some little attempt to find proof and had failed they consented to take it up. It was six disappointed men who met two weeks after that. We were all able to find that the religion of the Jews had been done away, and the religion of Christ and His Apostles had taken its place. We could not find that Christians were commanded to observe the seventh day; we could find that they met on the first day of the week. But that we were under all the laws of the Jewish Sabbath, only changed from the seventh day to the first, we could not find, and we were all disappointed that we could not. However, the finding of the Bible Class helped me when I met some of the Seventh Day people years afterwards.
This was one of the most profitable times in my life; I studied
hard, and studied with method. Even my hours for sleep were reduced
to the lowest that health could permit. Each night I drew my plan for
next day, stating what time I would give to each subject, and I did
my best during the day to carry out my plans.
Chapter IV
Preaching the gospel and some results
SOME time after I joined the Church in Whitehaven, Bro.
Geo. Sinclair was urged to hold an open-air meeting in the village of
Frizington in the Cleator Moor district. While conducting that
meeting he met with some opposition from a schoolmaster connected
with the Methodists. Mr. Sinclair appeared to better advantage in a
debate than he did as a preacher, and the opposition only helped his
meeting. He continued these meetings for a number of Sunday evenings
in succession, and got a good hearing. Just then something came in
his way which caused him to go from home. He came to me and said,
"James, I have to go from home, and these are good meetings and they
must be kept up; you must try what you can do to keep them going till
I come back." "I have never delivered a regular Gospel address," I
said, "and I fear that I am not equal to that task." "You know the
great facts of the Gospel," he said. "Yes," I replied, "I am thankful
to say that I do." "And you know what men have got to do to be
saved?" "Yes," I said, "I know that too." "Then," he said, "you must
go and tell the people, as best you can, till I come back."
I consented and made up my mind to try what I could do next Sunday evening. I selected a New Testament conversion from the Acts of Apostles. I made myself as familiar with the story as I was able to do in the time I had to give to it. I could have repeated it from memory or paraphrased it in my own words. I then noted down what I considered the main points in the narrative. I numbered these points so that I might more easily remember how many there were of them. I determined, if possible, to put these points before the people in the order in which I had noted them. Last of all, I committed my notes to memory, and asked God to help me when the hour of action came. I did not speak without notes, but no one saw my notes. My notes were in my head and in my pocket - not in my hand. I got through with that meeting as well as I expected. The people paid good attention, and I did not feel greatly disappointed.
But the unexpected happened next. A young Methodist stepped into the circle beside me just as I finished speaking. He said that he wished to say something. He briefly stated the great change which had passed over him, that he now loved God and believed in Christ; that he now loved the things which he used to hate, and hated what he used to love. He then added with considerable emphasis: "I am all this without baptism." "Well," I replied, "you are a fit subject for baptism now, it is your next duty; we baptise a man because that change has passed over him, not to produce it." I have seldom seen a look of as great surprise as came upon that young man's face when I made my reply. He seemed to be in no way prepared for it. He stammered out, "You have a good foundation to begin upon, then." "Of course we have," I said; "what made you doubt that? You must have been thinking about what you were going to say yourself and not paying attention to me." I felt for the young man as he left the ring and went into the crowd, in which there was a murmur of disapprobation.
That was my first Gospel meeting. I mean the first at which I was the only, or even the principal speaker. It is somewhere about fifty years since then. But how many times during the fifty years I have had to check people for the same mistake which that young Methodist made, I do not know - scores of times at any rate; and not always young persons either, but often persons of considerable religious experience from whom we had a right to expect better things.
I continued these Sunday evening meetings for some weeks. An incident of some interest should be mentioned here, as it occurred after one of these meetings. Along with a number of friends who had come with me, I was returning from one of those meetings, trying to reason out some points of difference with one, John Black. John was of Scotch parents, but was brought up in Cumberland. This was the third time I had been in Cumberland, the first time I was only a boy, and each of the times I knew John Black and his younger brother William. I knew all the family, of course, but I knew John and William best, John being just about my age and William a little younger. They had both turned their attention to religion about the time I did. Both men were in earnest and they had both a fair education. They were interested in me and I was interested in them, and wherever we met the points on which we differed were talked over. Though fifty years lie between, some of my conversations with these men are as clearly before me as if they had taken place yesterday. Some time before this John was inclined to come our way, but William and another friend managed to put him past it. Shortly after that William and that friend joined us. But though they had managed to hinder John they could not bring him with them when they came.
Well, I have said that I was returning from one of my first Gospel meetings talking with John Black; passing along we came to an old quarry where a quantity of water had accumulated. John stopped and said, "See, here is water, what doth hinder me to be baptised?" I replied, "If thou believest with all thine heart, thou mayest." John made the good confession, and we turned aside into the quarry. We put off our outer garments and went into the water in our flannels, and I baptised him. We put off our wet under-clothing and put on our outer shell. The women wrung our wet things and took them under their shawls (the shawl was much in evidence in those days), and we resumed our journey. William Black was at work on a pit engine that night. We had to pass within three or four hundred yards of where William was at work. And knowing that he would not be very busy, and thinking the news too good to keep till morning, John and I and another friend or two called in to see William. It did my heart good to see the hearty hand-shake of these two brothers as they knew that they were again to stand shoulder to shoulder in the same religious cause.
William Black was one of the finest young men I ever knew, but he died quite young. Many incidents connected with him crowd upon my memory; I must mention one or two of them before I drop him out of my story. The Blacks were Presbyterians, and they, like ourselves, went to Whitehaven to worship, there being then no place nearer. One Sunday William and I foregathered on our way home. As we walked together he informed me that he had asked a certain local preacher about baptism. That preacher had spoken to him in much the same way that the other local preacher had spoken to me. That is, he said, "If you think it is right get baptised, but if you do not think that it is right, it makes no matter about it." William seemed rather inclined to accept that. We were passing a farmyard while William was telling me what the preacher said. There was a heap of turnips lying in the farmyard.
"What are these in that heap?" I asked. "Turnips," he said. "Yes, if you think they are turnips, William, but if not, just you think that they are potatoes and they will be potatoes." "Nay, nay. Jim," he said, "they will be turnips whatever you think." "Yes, Will, and God commanded baptism or He did not, whatever you think; and if He commanded it, it is right, no matter what you think, and if he did not command it, it is wrong, and your thinking will not alter it." "You are right, Jim," he said, "it must be as you say." "Then, Will, think it out; did God command it? or did he not? settle that question for yourself." He was not long after that until he came; how far I helped him I do not know.
When William was baptised, his brother John was in the house that night when he went home. John said, "Now, Will, you have gone and got baptised, how much are you better than I am?" "I have this advantage at least, Jack" he replied, "I dare read all the New Testament now, you dare not."
John Black was the first person that I baptised. He was faithful
to Christianity as found in the New Testament all his life. He died
in Australia a few years ago.
Chapter V
Beginning of the church at Carluke and incidents connected therewith
IN November, 1862, we left Cumberland and went back to Scotland. We took up our residence in the village of Braidwood, about two miles from Carluke. We had then two children; the younger, a boy of six months old.
Two brothers and a brother-in-law of Mrs. Anderson had a contract of a section of a pit, and they took me in company with them. They were good workmen, and there was no trouble in making a comfortable living. From that time onwards I seldom did a single-handed day's work. I was connected with contracts, or was in charge of men.
My only brother and a brother of Mrs Anderson joined the Church at Whitehaven, but they had returned to Scotland before us. Isaac Carson, a young Cumberland man who was also a member of the Church at Whitehaven, came to Carluke. These three and Mrs. Anderson and I, started to Break Bread in our house in Braidwood on Lord's days in the year 1863. We made some progress, and after a time (I am not sure how long) we took a hall and met in Carluke on Lord's days. The Church was then spoken of as the Church in Carluke. Our year-book states that the Church in Carluke was formed in 1868. That is a mistake that I should have corrected. That Church was formed in 1863. When the little Church began, I realised the benefit of the help which I had received at Whitehaven. In addition to sometimes speaking in the forenoon and preaching the Gospel in the evening, the elders had sometimes asked me, under their guidance, to conduct meetings; all this helped me when we made the beginning at Braidwood.
An opportunity served, and we all did what we could to make known the truth as we understood it. A short time after we went to Braidwood a special meeting was advertised at a big house not far from Braidwood. They called it a conference, but it could not properly be said to be that. All Christians were invited, and it was understood that any "converted" person was at liberty to speak for ten minutes. The man who made the first speech spoke on Christian Union, and advised those who followed, as far as possible, to keep to the same subject. At Whitehaven my attention had been called to the subject of union and how it may be attained.
I spoke for ten minutes at that meeting - pointing out that before men can be united there must be some common and authoritative ground on which to stand. If we tried to agree upon essentials, putting aside what was considered non-essentials, we would find that impossible, for what one considered non-essential, another would look upon as essential, and union would never be reached in that way. To be a Christian at all we have to recognise Christ as Lord of all. He said, "Ye are My friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you." To acknowledge Christ as Lord and then pick and choose in His instructions as to what is essential and what non-essential is the highest presumption. Whatever He has clearly taught must be binding. But we must be left free in regard to anything that he has not put past a doubt. He is Lord, and where He has not bound us we must be left free. We must leave men free to form opinions on doubtful matters, but they must not try to make their opinions binding upon others. These lines cautiously and earnestly followed must bring union. Union never can and never will come any other way.
I spoke for ten minutes at that so called conference in the manner which I have indicated. There was a Mrs. Scott at that meeting. She was deeply interested in religious matters, and lived just outside the village. What I said commended itself to her. She said to a friend that she was pleased with what I had said and wondered where I came from. Her friend informed her that I lived in the village. "Then," she replied, "I must try and see him." That led to a long and intimate acquaintance. It was not long till her husband and she were members with us. Wherever Mrs. Scott went to live, if she saw an opportunity she arranged for a gospel meeting in her house and sent for me to address it, and many a Gospel meeting she arranged for me. She died a few years ago, in her ninetieth year, but she has left children and grandchildren in our connection.
The Scott family was the means of introducing us to a man who was a help to us. A brother of Mr. Scott was employed during the harvest with a Mr. Tennant of Hillend farm, which was about three miles distant and across the valley of the Clyde from us. Mr. Scott's brother came to see him one Sunday forenoon, and Mr. and Mrs. Scott induced him to come to the meeting with them. On the Monday he was telling Mr. Tenant what a strange religion his brother had joined. He described the meeting as best he could, and Mr. Tenant helped him by putting questions. Mr. Tennant was then about eighty years of age, and the road was a heavy one - downhill the one half of the way and uphill the other; but Mr. Tennant was with us next Sunday and came regularly as long as he was able. He had been baptised a number of years before that. He had read our literature extensively, and had a better knowledge of the Scriptures than any man I had met.
We made the acquaintance of some Christadelphians shortly after that, and he was some help to us with regard to them. We had left that district before he died, but he sent for me when he was dying. It was hardly like a death-bed somehow; though weak he spoke calmly and clearly. Still I made my stay shorter than I would have done lest I should exhaust him. During our conversation he said, "I have made a mistake here. I thought I would win people by living a good life beside them. Of course, it makes no matter what you believe if you do not live a good life, but, 'Faith comes by hearing,' and I have not spoken to people as often as I should. See that you do not die with my scruple, as you have opportunity, speak." We engaged in prayer together before we parted, and he said: "This is our last farewell upon earth, we have had our last conversation, I shall hear your voice no more on earth. I am dying, and what shall be the first thought that will flash upon my naked spirit when I die, I do not know. If God has revealed that in the Bible, it has escaped my observation. But I know this - all is well."
Few men approach death with all their wits about them as Bro.
Tennant did. His life impressed me, his death impressed me much. I
did not think that he was so near his end, but he died next day. Mr.
Tennant is the farmer that I referred to earlier in my story. He was
a blacksmith when young. He then became a veterinary surgeon, and
later in life became a farmer. What induced him to study the
Scriptures I have already related.
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