Title: The works of the Rev. John Wesley, Vol. 14 (of 32)
Author: John Wesley
Release date: June 15, 2024 [eBook #73833]
Language: English
Original publication: Bristol: William Pine, 1771
Credits: Richard Hulse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes
The cover image was provided by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
Punctuation has been standardized.
Most of the non-common abbreviations used to save space in printing have been expanded to the non-abbreviated form for easier reading.
The author has used an asterisk (*) to indicate passages he considers most worthy of attention.
The text is very inconsistent in its usage of quotation marks. The transcriber has attempted to make their use consistent throughout this work for improved readability.
This book was written in a period when many words had not become standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged unless indicated with a Transcriber’s Note.
The symbol ‘‡’ indicates the description in parenthesis has been added to an illustration. This may be needed if there is no caption or if the caption does not describe the image adequately.
Footnotes are identified in the text with a superscript number and are shown immediately below the paragraph in which they appear.
Transcriber’s Notes are used when making corrections to the text or to provide additional information for the modern reader. These notes are identified by ♦♠♥♣ symbols in the text and are shown immediately below the paragraph in which they appear.
THE
WORKS
OF THE
Rev. JOHN WESLEY, M.A.
Late Fellow of Lincoln-College, Oxford.
Volume XIV.
BRISTOL:
Printed by WILLIAM PINE, in Wine-Street.
MDCCLXXII.
⭘ Extract of Mrs. L****’s Letters (continued.)
⭘ Meditations upon some texts of Scripture.
⭘ Extracts from a Little Diary.
⭘ Letters written by Jane Cooper.
⭘ Some account of her life and death.
⭘ Some account of the experience of E. J.
⭘ An earnest Appeal to Men of Reason and Religion.
⭘ A farther Appeal to Men of Reason and Religion. Part I.
To the Rev. Mr. ****.
Sunday Afternoon, October 13, 1754.
My dear Friend,
I WAS this morning (though unseen by you) present at your sermon on the public worship of God, and sat impatiently, expecting and longing to hear that name mentioned, by which alone cometh salvation. Surely, thought I, when all his heathen and moral motives are done, I shall at last hear him urge that best and most prevailing motive to our joining together in the praise of God, the exceeding riches of his mercy to us in Jesus Christ. But alas! How were my expectations frustrated? And how did my heart sink when the sermon was ended!—If there is any faith to be given, either to the words or behaviour of man, you are a Christian. But what did you say here, more than Socrates might have said? You will pardon my boldness; God knows the sincerity of my heart, when I protest, that it is only from a motive of love to your soul, and the souls of those which hear you, that I write with such freedom. Give me leave then to ask, Have you, for your own soul in particular, found redemption through the blood of Christ? I have all the reason imaginable, from your sweet conversation, to believe that you have. But how is it then that you could preach one such sermon as this? Oh search well into your own heart. Is there not some root of bitterness remaining, some evil shame, which renders you thus inconsistent? Had I not heard you myself, I could not have thought it possible, for you to have preached in this manner, after the glorious things you have said to me. You have called me friend. Take this letter as the highest proof of friendship I could possibly give you. Is it not so, for your sake to run the hazard of being thought bold and assuming? If you are offended, tell me so plainly, but at the same time freely forgive me; and believe me, with the sincerest wishes for your present usefulness and everlasting happiness,
Your ever obliged and affectionate Friend,
****
To the Rev. Mr. W****.
December 25, 1754.
Dear Sir,
*MAY this blessed day in which the sun of righteousness first arose on our dark world, bring a new accession of light, and peace, and joy to your precious soul! May the power of God accompany every word you utter, and give you this day to enlarge your conquests over the prince of darkness. Oh, give my full heart leave to expand itself in praying for you, in blessing you, and in thanking you, for your surprizing goodness to me. No, never shall you find me ungrateful; that God in whom alone I trust for strength, will preserve me from falling into this meanest of all crimes.—I shall not, I fear, have the delightful satisfaction of hearing you to-morrow, and therefore could not forbear writing to-day; besides, I am by illness prevented attending the public worship of God, so that I have need of this comfort. Every thing has succeeded here beyond my hopes, your presence has greatly dispelled every cloud of prejudice, and fear of man. In short, when I consider the goodness of God and my own absolute unworthiness, I am lost in astonishment: dear Sir, pray that I may make a proper improvement of all these blessings, and particularly of that exceeding great blessing, your friendship. Oh Sir! may I indeed say your friendship? The Lord Jesus bless and reward you! Expression fails me, when I would thank you as I ought, and tell how much I am,
Your ever obliged and affectionate,
****
Dear Sir,
YOUR answer to my question, on what is the proper foundation of our rejoicing in temporal blessings, is perfectly satisfactory, and I thank you for it. What you say of Mr. P.’s tract is just what I wanted: possibly some fit season may be given me to make a good use of it. One would imagine that if singleness of eye, and sincerity of heart were really found in all those of our ministers, who in a measure preach the gospel, there would scarce be room left even for the shadow of a dispute. But this is only imagination; for I cannot help observing of some, for whose sincerity I would answer with my life, that they are far from being consistent long together. I have lately been attacked with a mighty pretty distinction (and from my ignorance a new one to me) in respect of the doctrine of assurance of forgiveness of sin.—Mr. **** says, it is of the essence of faith; but most of the old Puritans, together with a heap of great names (of which I remember not one) say, it is of the fruits of faith.—A poor weak woman, who has not learnt logic, may be easily puzzled with the nicety of a logical distinction; but still I could plainly see, that let it be essence or fruits, there was a manifest necessity for enforcing the doctrine: because a tree which brings not forth its proper fruits, is a barren tree.—A faith which brings not forth its proper fruits, is a dead faith, and consequently unprofitable.—The answer is, “A tree may be alive, and yet not bring forth fruit immediately.”—Well, but this makes nothing against the necessity there is that it should bring forth fruit, in order to make it a profitable tree.—But then we have a homily to fly to:—“The homily on salvation says ‘nothing of assurance.’”—If the homily contradicts St. Paul, the homily is nothing to me.—“O, you won’t refer it to that, ‘because it makes against you.’”—I do not so much as know what is in it.—“It only ‘says a sure trust and confidence.’”—I think a sure confidence is nearly the same with assurance.—“No, they are very different.”—Now, Sir, you must be so good to furnish me with two or three of your strong arguments, to pull down this Babel tower, which our friends are building. I should also be glad, if you would tell me by what happy art you are always consistent in doctrine, as well as practice: for I can find no one else that is so.—Difference of opinion I regard not; I could enjoy fellowship of spirit with a truly sincere Predestinarian, Papist, or Quaker. Inconsistency is the thing alone which hurts me. When I find this in people whom I know to be in so much higher a state of grace than myself, and whom I love and honour, it disquiets me, I own, by far too much: and my soul, like Noah’s dove, flies solitary about, and finds no place of rest on the face of the whole earth: till at last with one olive-leaf, and only one, she returns joyful to the ark—Give me leave, Sir, to intreat of you (if you should have a little time to spare) that you will just point out to me, First, What are the probable causes of this inconsistency, in those who have truly sincerity of heart, and singleness of eye. Secondly, What is the most probable means of curing this distemper of the mind. And, Thirdly, How I may avoid falling into it myself, and keep my soul from being disquieted, when I find it in those whom I highly esteem.——I hope God continues to preserve to us your precious health, and that your long journies may be a means of strengthening and establishing it.—I doubt not but the work of the Lord prospers in your hands, and that you will have much reason to rejoice in the fruit of your labours. How happy are you to be always thus employed, in such eminent service for your Master? You live almost the life of an unembodied spirit; and I live nearly the life of a plant. But thank God, it is absolutely certain, that this immortal spirit of mine, which is thus pressed in on every side, and weighed down with matter, will some time burst its bonds, and break the bars of its prison; and then, how it will soar! Nothing sure can equal the life, the joy, the glorious liberty, which a spirit must feel, when first delivered from its heavy clog! Farewel! May our dear Redeemer continually watch over you, and bless you in every thought, word, and action!
I am, &c.
****
September 17.
Dear Sir,
HOW shall I find words to thank you for your sweet expressions of care and friendship for my soul? Ten thousand thousand blessings on your own for this kindness.——I hope I may in one sense say, that my soul prospers, because I desire nothing but that the will of God may be done in me and by me. But I have not at present those overflowings of joy I have at some times experienced: the cries of a sickly infant, which touch all the finest springs of human nature, cast a kind of heaviness over my soul: and the perpetual and strict watch I am obliged to keep over my heart, for fear the least murmuring or complaining thought should arise in it, (which I would rather die than suffer) seem rather to restrain my soul from the glorious freedom she once had, of losing herself in the heights and depths of divine love.—Oh blessed hours of abstraction from all creatures, and joyful communion with the fountain and centre of all happiness, when will ye return? When it is the will of my heavenly Father that you should return; and in that divine will I rest contented, willing, nay pleased, to suffer any thing, every thing, so I may be kept from sin. I have lately had inward temptations, buzzing about my mind, like insects in a summer’s day; but, by looking to Jesus, I as easily disperse them, as the waving hand disperses those little troublesome animals: and, thanks to my Redeemer’s boundless mercy, I still enjoy in my inmost soul, a peace, which I would not lose for millions of worlds. But I greatly want constant recollection, and a mortified humble spirit. You know the weight your words have with me; give me, I beg of you, some directions for obtaining this. I cannot take my leave, without thanking you again and again, for enquiring after my soul: Oh how dearly do I love you for this goodness; may the tender mercies of God be with you! May the eternal Comforter meet and bless you in every word of your tongue, and in every thought of your heart!
Your ever-grateful and affectionate,
****
February 28.
I SHALL not forget the great reason I had to be thankful both to God and you, for our last conversation. It seemed to me, that I had more liberty of speaking to you than usual, though a thousand things were yet left unsaid; and you led me to make many observations, which I hope will be of lasting benefit to my soul. You have taught me to see the amazing wisdom and loving kindness of God in several instances, which I should not else have thought of; and I am fully satisfied with all his disposals: knowing he orders all things well, I chearfully submit; and I trust that strength will be given me to walk on in the way set before me, “though sorrowful, yet (in one sense) always rejoicing.”—Is it not a great blessing that the thorns are mixed with roses? This is infinitely more than I deserve.—How true is it, that the higher satisfaction we have in any thing, besides God, the greater pain must necessarily attend it? I have often been taught this lesson, in various degrees, each rising above the other; and yet I have not learnt wisdom. And who shall teach me this wisdom? Why you yourself can lay down most excellent rules, but it is God alone who can give me power to practise them. I plainly see the necessity of having every thought brought into subjection to Christ: it must be thus, if I would attain settled peace and constant recollection.—In your extract from Molinos, the state of mind I am seeking, is well described in these words: “The soul that is entered into the heaven of peace, acknowledges itself full of God, and his supernatural gifts; because it lives grounded in pure love, receiving equal pleasure in light and darkness, in night and day, in affliction and consolation: through this holy and heavenly indifferency, it never loses its peace in adversity, nor its tranquility in tribulation, but sees itself full of unspeakable enjoyments.”——And again, “Though the valley of the lower faculties of the soul, is suffering tribulations, combats, martyrdoms, and suggestions, yet at the same time, on the lofty mountain of the higher part of the soul, the true sun casts its beams; it enflames and inlightens it, and so it becomes clear, peaceable, resplendent, quiet, serene, being a mere ocean of joy.”—But alas! you will say, “How far are you from this state!” True, I am far from it indeed. And yet I have sometimes experienced some little glimmerings of it, but they have been soon disturbed: and then I have fondly said to myself, Well, when this trial, when this temptation, or difficulty is over, I shall return to my sweet peace, and my soul will be wholly swallowed up in the love of God. Vain imagination! I think I have now experimentally learnt a truth, which before only floated in my brain, “That the peace of a Christian does not consist in being free from temptations and difficulties, but in stedfastly and calmly conquering them.”—Once more, the Lord preserve you! Could my prayers avail any thing, what blessings would you receive, in body, soul, and spirit! Oh farewel, farewel! And when your soul is most carried up to God, remember to pray for,
Your grateful and affectionate,
****
April 2.
Dear Sir,
I RETURN you many thanks for writing so soon, and particularly for filling two sides of your paper. My soul was as much enlivened by your letter, as the earth, the birds, and flowers, are by the rays of the sun, after a long and heavy rain. May your blessed Master reward you for all your goodness to me!
I thank God, I have in some measure learnt that grand lesson, “Not as I will, but as thou wilt;” and I continually pray that he may teach it me more and more. The present idle and half-dying life I am obliged to lead, greatly needs this temper of mind; and it is all owing to the free mercy of my Redeemer, that I can now say, his grace is sufficient for me.
In regard to temporal blessings, I have now and then a little dispute with some of my religious friends, and I want your authority to strengthen my arguments.—They say, Whatever temporal blessing God gives, you are to rejoice and take a pleasure in it, as his gift. And I say, Whatever temporal blessing God bestows, the motive for your rejoicing should be merely the will of God: for if you rejoice in the blessing, considered as a happiness in itself (though referring it to God with a thankful heart) you are building on the sand, and your happiness will be shaken, if not overturned, by the first storm that beats upon it. But if the will of God be the motive of your rejoicing, you build your happiness on a foundation which never can be moved. The present blessing, indeed, may vanish away, but your cause of rejoicing still remaineth sure and stedfast, in time and in eternity.—Some people think the way I am in at present a prodigious happiness, and the greatest of worldly blessings, and will ask me, “Are you not pleased?”—I answer, I am pleased with every thing which is the will of God; and the answer is thought an odd one: but I cannot help it, I dare not make any other.
*You want me to say something upon Christian love ripened in eternity. But this is a theme for angels; my soul is too low, too dull to attempt to write upon it; I can only wish and pray to be a partaker of it. Farewel; may the sweetest streams of redeeming love ever fill your soul.
I am unalterably your’s,
****
July 18.
*Dear Sir,
I CAN truly say, that I would with joy devote all I have, and all I am to God, and gladly spend every hour in his service, But the difficulties I find in the way are indeed insuperable to me, though not so I think to every one, at least if I may judge from some few instances I have seen since my acquaintance with you.—You yourself, even outwardly, appear to me to spend every hour to the glory of God; and for this reason I look upon you to be the happiest of mankind. When I see you spent with fatigue, your eyes half closed, and your outward man seeming to hasten to its dissolution, though I would freely give my own life and strength to increase yours, I almost envy you this glorious fatigue, and say to myself, How happy, how blessed is this man, thus to spend and be spent in the service of his Redeemer! Think me not presumptuous when I say, that I place you constantly before my mind, as my living example. Outwardly it certainly is impossible for me to follow you, but inwardly!—Oh, Sir, that I could in every faculty of my soul be a follower of you, even as you are of Christ!—You bid me love enough; and doubtless if I could love enough, I should (as you say) do enough, for perfect love is perfect liberty, liberty to conquer all sin, and attain to all holiness. This is the glorious privilege of the children of God; and this my soul pants after. But though I can sincerely say, that I love God above all things, yet it is very evident that I do not love enough, because the fruits of this perfect love are not produced in my soul. Sometimes my enemies seem intirely conquered, and my mind is smooth and calm, as were the waters after Christ had said to them, Peace, be still. But when I seem thus strong, I am (to my inexpressible shame and confusion) found to be weakness itself: some trifle, which perhaps had appeared too contemptible even to be thought of, will be the means of my inwardly falling. But thanks be to God I have this given me,
“Quick as the apple of an eye,
The slightest touch of sin to feel.”
To feel, and immediately to fly to that blood of sprinkling which alone can cleanse me from this pollution. But indeed, Sir, I find every day more and more the truth of your words, “that I have need to watch always.” I am set as it were in the midst of snares, both friends and enemies conspiring together to keep me from that humility, which is so necessary to one who wishes to be really a Christian. My enemies lead to pride, by railing at me for what is, and ought to be, in one sense, my glory; and my friends, by having too high an opinion of me. I think there is none, except yourself, who does not in some measure hurt me: and therefore, though I dare not call you my friend, as implying any particular attachment on your part, you are in fact, my truest and best friend. Praise I now dread as poison; and yet my temper is such as makes some encouragement necessary. Your behaviour to me is exactly fitted to preserve the balance of my mind even; a smile of approbation from you, is that praise which encourages without endangering. You will pardon my speaking so much of myself: a patient, you know, must fully lay open his case to his physician; and I have been emboldened even by you yourself, to increase the length of my letters. Oh may your blessed Master reward you for all your labours in his service, and for all your goodness to,
Your unworthy, though
ever-grateful and affectionate,
****