Apostle of Virginia

On January 1, 1761, thirty-seven year-old Presbyterian minister Samuel Davies, known to history as the "Apostle of Virginia," preached a sermon at Princeton, New Jersey, on a text from Jeremiah 28.16: "this year thou shalt die." He said, "Perhaps I may die this year… It is of little importance to me whether I die this year or not; but the only important point is that I make a good use of my future time, whether it be longer or shorter." It was said later that he preached his own funeral sermon. He died just one month later on February 4, 1761 of pneumonia. Today marks the 250th anniversary of his translation to a better country.

In such a short lifetime on earth, he managed, by the grace of God, to leave a legacy that is worth remembering three centuries later. He was born in Delaware, on November 3, 1723, and educated in Pennsylvania; he traveled to England on behalf of the College of New Jersey (which ultimately became Princeton College), where, as a dissenter, he was nevertheless invited to preach before King George II, to whom he gave a memorable rebuke (when the king heard him he was amazed at his eloquence, and spent much time whispering that fact to his advisors, until young Davies told him bluntly: "When the lion roars, the beasts of the forest all tremble; and when King Jesus speaks, the princes of the earth should keep silence."); and is forever associated with the Dominion of Virginia, where he was the first non-Anglican licensed to preach as a circuit minister. He succeeded Jonathan Edwards as president of the College of New Jersey, and is remembered as America's first notable hymn-composer, leaving behind a body of hymns and poems that exude the love of Christ. He mentored James Waddel, and preached to Patrick Henry -- all three of whom are considered to be among history's best orators. He was married twice -- his second wife, Jean or Jane (née Holt), is immortalized to history as "Chara" -- and left behind five living children. His eloquence is legendary -- he wrote in his journal that "It is sin, alas, that intimidates me. To be miserable and to be a sinner is the same thing, and I feel that I can never be happy till I am more holy"; he wrote to his brother-in-law in Williamsburg that "I am as happy as perhaps creation can make me. I have a peaceful study, the venerable dead are waiting in my library to entertain me. I very much question if there is a more calm, placid, and contented mortal in Virginia"; he told Virginia recruits who would serve in the French and Indian War to "Fly to Jesus on the wings of faith - all of you ... that are now about generously to risk your lives for your country. ... What can do you a lasting injury while you have a reconciled God smiling upon you from on high, a peaceful conscience animating you within, and a happy immortality just before you?"; and he exhorted his student body that "Whatever be your place, imbibe and cherish a public spirit. Serve your generation." Like Stonewall Jackson, he taught Virginia slaves to read the Bible. He believed that eternal life was found in the Word of God, that is, Jesus Christ, who was at the center of his ministry, his poetry, and his life. His sermons live on, as Matthew Poole said "Ministers are living Books, and Books are dead Ministers; and yet though dead, they speak. When you cannot heare the one, you may read the other." Remember Samuel Davies, the "Apostle of Virgina," today, a man who lived a short time on earth, but who redeemed the time, giving all for Jesus, with whom he lives even now, and for ever and always.

The Blind Preacher

The father-in-law of Archibald Alexander was James Waddel, for whom his son James Waddel Alexander was named. James Waddel was an Irish-American minister who became blind at the age of 48, but despite his handicap, he is remembered as one of Virginia's most famous Presbyterian preachers. His preaching skills were so legendary that the great orator Patrick Henry ranked him with Samuel Davies (who mentored Waddel) as the two greatest orators he had ever heard. And thus the account of his preaching we have by William Wirt, Patrick Henry's biographer, gives us a picture that is probably closer to non-fiction than fiction.

William Wirt, The Letters of the British Spy, pp. 80-86:

It was one Sunday, as I travelled through the county of Orange, that my eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied near a ruinous, old, wooden house, in the forest, not far from the road side. Having frequently seen such objects before, in travelling through these states, I had no difficulty in understanding that this was a place of religious worship. Devotion alone, should have stopped me, to join in the duties of the congregation; but I must confess, that curiosity to hear the preacher of such a wilderness, was not the least of my motives. On entering, I was struck with his preternatural appearance. He was a tall and very spare old man...his head, which was covered with a white linen cap, his shrivelled hands, and his voice, were all shaking under the influence of a palsy, and a few moments ascertained to me that he was perfectly blind. The first emotions which touched my breast, were those of mingled pity and veneration. But ah! Sacred God! How soon were all my feelings changed! The lips of Plato were never more worthy of a prognostic swarm of bees, than were the lips of this holy man! It was a day of the administration of the sacrament, and his subject, of course, was the passion of our Saviour. I had heard the subject handled a thousand times: I had thought it exhausted long ago. Little did I suppose, that in the wild woods of America, I was to meet with a man whose eloquence would give to this topic, a new and more sublime pathos, than I had ever before, witnessed. As he descended from the pulpit, to distribute the mystic symbols, there was a peculiar, more than human solemnity in his air and manner, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame to shiver. He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Saviour...his trial before Pilate...his ascent up Calvary...his crucifixion...and his death. I knew the whole history; but never, until then, had I heard the circumstances so selected, so arranged, so coloured! It was all new: and I seemed to have heard it for the first time in my life. His enunciation was so deliberate, that his voice trembled on every syllable; and every heart in the assembly trembled in unison. His peculiar phrases, had that force of description, that the original scene appeared to be, at that moment, acting before our eyes. We saw the very faces of the Jews...the staring, frightful distortions of malice and rage. We saw the buffet...my soul kindled with a flame of indignation, and my hands were involuntarily and convulsively clenched. But when he came to touch the patience, the forgiving meekness of our Saviour...when he drew, to the life, his blessed eyes streaming in tears to Heaven...his voice breathing to God, a soft and gentle prayer of pardon on his enemies, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do"...the voice of the preacher, which had, all along, faltered, grew fainter and fainter, until his utterance being entirely obstructed by the force of his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible flood of grief.. The effect is inconceivable. The whole house resounded with the mingled groans, and sobs, and shrieks of the congregation. It was some time before the tumult had subsided, so far as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the usual, but fallacious standard of my own weakness, I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the preacher. For I could not conceive, how he would be able to let his audience down from the height to which he had wound them, without impairing the solemnity and dignity of his subject, or perhaps shocking them by the abruptness of the fall. But...no: the descent was as beautiful and sublime, as the elevation had been rapid and enthusiastic. The first sentence with which he broke the awful silence, was a quotation from Rousseau: "Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ, like a God!!" I despair of giving you any idea of the effect produced by this short sentence, unless you could perfectly conceive the whole manner of the man, as well as the peculiar crisis in the discourse. Never before, did I completely understand what Demosthenes meant by laying such stress on delivery. You are to bring before you the venerable preacher...his blindness, constantly recalling to your recollection old Homer, Ossian and Milton, and associating with his performance, the melancholy grandeur of their geniuses...you are to imagine that you hear his slow, solemn, well-accented enunciation, and his voice of affecting, trembling melody...you are to remember the pitch of passion and enthusiasm to which the congregation were raised...and then, the few minutes of portentous, death-like silence which reigned throughout the house...the preacher removing his white handkerchief from his aged face, (even yet wet from the recent torrent of his tears) and slowly stretching forth the palsied hand which holds it, begins the sentence..."Socrates died like a philosopher"...then pausing, raising his other hand, pressing them both, clasped together, with warmth and energy to his breast, lifting his "sightless balls" to Heaven, and pouring his whole soul into his tremulous voice..."but Jesus Christ...like a God!" If he had been indeed and in truth an angel of light, the effect could scarcely have been more divine. Whatever I had been able to conceive of the sublimity of Massillon, or the force of Bourdaloue, had fallen far short of the power which I felt from the delivery of this simple sentence. The blood, which, just before, had rushed in a hurricane upon my brain, and, in the violence and agony of my feelings, had held my whole system in suspence; now ran back into my heart, with a sensation which I cannot describe; a kind of shuddering delicious horror! The paroxysm of blended pity and indignation to which I had been transported, subsided into the deepest self-abasement, humility and adoration. I had just been lacerated and dissolved by sympathy, for our Saviour, as a fellow creature; but now, with fear and trembling, I adored him as..."a God!"

If this description gives you the impression, that this incomparable minister had any thing of shallow, theatrical trick in his manner, it does him great injustice. I have never seen, in any other orator, such an union of simplicity and majesty. He has not a gesture, an attitude, or an accent, to which he does not seem forced, by the sentiment which he is expressing. His mind is too serious, too earnest, too solicitous, and, at the same time, too dignified, to stoop to artifice. Although as far removed from ostentation as a man can be, yet it is clear from the train, the style and substance of his thoughts, that he is, not only a very polite scholar, but a man of extensive and profound erudition. I was forcibly struck with a short, yet beautiful character which he drew of our learned and amiable countryman, Sir Robert Boyle: he spoke of him, as if "his noble mind had, even before death, divested herself of all influence from his frail tabernacle of flesh;" and called him in his peculiarly emphatic and impressive manner, " a pure intelligence...the link between men and angels."

This man has been before my imagination almost ever since. A thousand times as I rode along, I dropped the reins of my bridle, stretched forth my hand, and tried to imitate his quotation from Rousseau; a thousand times I abandoned the attempt in despair, and felt persuaded that his peculiar manner and power, arose from an energy of soul, which nature could give, but which no human being could justly copy. In short, he seems to be altogether a being of a former age, or of a totally different nature from the rest of men. As I recall, at this moment, several of his awfully striking attitudes, the chilling tide with which my blood begins to pour along my arteries, reminds me of the emotions produced by the first sight of Gray's introductory picture of his Bard.

On a rock, whose haughty brow,
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Rob'd in the sable garb of woe,
With haggard eyes the poet stood;
(Loose his beard and hoary hair,
Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air!)
And with a Poet's hand and Prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.

Guess my surprize, when, on my arrival at Richmond, and mentioning the name of his man, I found not one person who had ever before heard of James Waddell! Is sit not strange, that such a genius as this, so accomplished a scholar, so divine an orator, should be permitted to languish and die in obscurity, within eighty miles of the metropolis of Virginia!

Of Ivory Towers and Fresh Air

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: (Eccl. 3.1)

Samuel Davies, Letter to William Holt (his brother-in-law in Williamsburg, Va.):

I am as happy as perhaps creation can make me. I have a peaceful study, the venerable dead are waiting in my library to entertain me. I very much question if there is a more calm, placid, and contented mortal in Virginia.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Introduction to Kubla Khan:

On awakening [from his dream, the author] appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above an hour, and on his return to his room, found, to his no small surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the surface of a stream into which a stone has been cast, but, alas! without the after restoration of the latter!

James W. Alexander, Journal:

§ 12. Against Solitude.—A life of study has always appeared to me an unnatural life. Is it not better to converse with the living than the dead? Some one will yet have to write a book on the excess of literature. The ancient Greek way of studying abroad, in the Porch, or the Academy, on the Bissus and under the platanus, among the haunts of man, was better for the health both of body and mind. Recluse habits tend to sadness, moroseness, selfishness, timidity, and inaction. The mind has better play in aprico. Collision produces scintillation of genius, and proximity of friends opens a gush for the affections. The early Christians seem to have been out-of-door people, rehearsing to one another the wisdom which had been given to them orally. Lessons which go from mouth to mouth, take a portable shape, because dense, pithy, and apothegmatic: such are the proverbs of all ages. We are made for action, and life is too short for us to be always preparing. A breath of pure air seems to oxygenate the intellect, and the best thoughts of the scholar are sometimes during the half hour of twilight, when he has laid aside his books, and taken his walking-stick. Then he is more of a man, feels his fellowship not only with nature, but with his kind. I sometimes wish I had been less a reader of books; that I had exercised my prerogative over the beasts of the field, mastered horses, or traversed countries as a reckless pedestrian. Ever turning the thoughts inward produces corrosion. We should have something, it is true, within, but it should tend outwards. He has not fulfilled his vocation, who has spent his score of years in solitary delight over ancient authors, and eaten his morsel alone. Gray, with all Greece in his mind, pacing up and down the green alleys of a college walk, was but half the man he should have been. Horace Walpole, revelling in the virtu of Strawberry Hill, degenerated into a mere toyman, and filled the most elegant letters extant with the matching of old chairs and Sevres china. It is to let the mind run to seed in a corner; transplantation is necessary. To live for others is the dictate of religion. And what to do for others is best done by actual approaches, face to face, eye looking into eye, and hand pressing hand. It is not enough to say, this or that recondite pursuit may turn to somebody's advantage. So it may, if you live to be a Methuselah or a Lamech. But your ever-increasing stock should not be all hoarded. The sum is, go forth among mankind. Lay aside the cowl, and make one of the great company. Every day renew the electric touch with the common mind. Fall into the circle, to give and take good influences. It is not too late if your heart is not ossified to the core. I hope it is not so bad as that in Tully's phrase, locus ubi stomachus fuit, concaluit. It is worth an effort. The air of a saloon or a market-place will do you good, and you will gain something from brushing the crowd in a thoroughfare.

§ 22. Books and Solitude.—Much may be learned without books. To read always is not the way to be wise. The knowledge of those who are not bookworms has a certain air of health and robustness. I never deal with books all day without being the worse for it. Living teachers are better than dead. There is magic in the voice of living wisdom. Iron sharpeneth iron. Part of every day should be spent in society. Learning is discipline; but the heart must be disciplined as well as the head; and only by intercourse with our fellows can the affections be disciplined. Bookishness implies solitude; and solitude is apt to produce ill weeds: melancholy, selfishness, moroseness, suspicion, and fear. To go abroad is, therefore, a Christian duty. I never went from my books to spend an hour with a friend, however humble, without receiving benefit. I never left the solitary contemplation of a subject in order to compare notes on it with a friend, without finding my ideas clarified. Ennui is not common where men properly mingle the contemplative with the active life. The natural and proper time for going abroad is the evening. Such intercourse should be encouraged in one's own house as well as out of it. Solitary study breeds inhospitality: we do not like to be interrupted. Every one, however wearisome as a guest, should be made welcome, and entertained cordially. Women surpass men in the performance of these household duties; chiefly because they are all given to habits of solitary study. The life which Christ lived among men is a pattern of what intercourse should be for the good of society. I have a notion that the multiplication of books in our day, which threatens to overleap all bounds, will, in the first instance, produce great evils, and will afterwards lead men back to look on oral communication as a method of diffusing knowledge which the press has unduly superseded; and that this will some day break on the world with the freshness of a new discovery.

To a Departing Soul

On his deathbed in 138 AD, Roman Emperor Hadrian is said to have composed the following verses (known as "Animula, Vagula, Blandula") addressed to a departing soul (Historia Augusta, "Life of Hadrian" 25.9):

O blithe little soul, thou, flitting away,
Guest and comrade of this my clay,
Whither now goest thou, to what place
Bare and ghastly and without grace?
Nor, as thy wont was, joke and play.

Centuries later, Alexander Pope, upon the request of his friend Sir Richard Steele (1672-1729), composed the following translation of Hadrian's poem, with a Christian supplement (said to have been written in 1712, published in 1736) (Pope's Works, Vol. 5, p. 196):

Ah fleeting Spirit! wand'ring fire,
That long hast warm'd my tender breast,
Must thou no more this frame inspire?
No more a pleasing cheerful guest?
Whither, ah whither art thou flying?
To what dark, undiscover'd shore?
Thou seem'st all trembling, shiv'ring, dying,
And Wit and Humour are no more.

The Dying Christian to His Soul

I.

Vital spark of heav'nly flame!
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

II.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away!
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

III.

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring:
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly:
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?

Samuel Davies was later inspired to write a poem modeled after Pope's, which he published in 1752 among his Miscellaneous Poems (Richard Beale Davis, ed., Collected Poems of Samuel Davis 1723-1761, pp. 27-29).

X. The Soul releas'd by Death.

I.

Active Spark of heav'nly Fire,
In a Clod of Earth confin'd,
Ever fluttering to aspire
To the Great PATERNAL MIND;
Struggling still with upward Aim
To mingle with thy native Flame!

Death soon will break this Pris'n of Clay,
And give thee Leave to spring away;
Then to thy native Regions go,
There with th' Etherial Flames to glow.

II.

Come, thou shining Hour, appear!
Happy Moment, Oh draw near!
'Tis come! -- I feel the purple Stream
Stagnate; in misty Darkness swim
My dizzy Eyes confus'd and dim;
Bedew'd with cold and clammy Sweat;
The dancing Pulses cease to beat;
In vain I gasp for Breath --
Strange! Can this be Death?

III.

Hark! Th' Angelic Envoy say,
"Sister Spirit, come away,
Drop the Cumber of the Clay,
And with thy Kindred join" --
Angels, I come; conduct me on:
Instruct me in a World unknown,
In Mysteries Divine:
Instruct me unexperienc'd Stranger how
To act as the Immortals do;
To think, and speak, and move like you:
Teach me the Senses to supply,
To see without the Optics of an Eye;
To Music of your Songs to Hear
Without the Organ of an Ear.

IV.

Yes! now Blest Angels, now I find
The Pow'rs of an unfetter'd Mind!
How active and how Strange!
O happy Place! O blissful State!
Welcome Felicity compleat!
Welcome amazing, happy Change!

V.

And is this then Eternity!
And am I safely landed here!
No more to Sin, no more to die,
No more to sigh, or shed a Tear! --
My Soul! can this be I?
I, who just now imprison'd dwelt
In yonder World of Woe and Guilt!
Just now shudd'ring, trembling, sighin,
Startled at the Thought of dying!
Am I indeed the same?
Or is it all a pleasing Dream? --
The very same! -- Ye heav'nly Choirs!
Cherubic and Seraphic Fires!
Come, assist my labouring Tongue;
Sound aloud the grateful Song;
Assist a Stranger to express
His Thanks to rich unbounded Grace --
JESUS! th' unbounded Grace was thine,
Who bled and languished on the Tree,
And bore infinite Pains for me,
To raise me thus to Joys Divine.
And do I see Thy Face at last,
O my Dear, incarnate GOD!
And has Thy Love Thy Servant plac'd
In this Thy shining, blest Abode!
Enough! -- Thy Bounty gives me mor[e]
Than I could think or wish before.

In 1929, T.S. Eliot published his contribution to the chain.

Animula

Issues from the hand of God, the simple soul,
To a flat world of changing lights and noise,
To light, dark, dry, damp, chilly or warm,
Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs
Rising or falling,
Grasping at kisses and toys,
Advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm,
Retreating to the corner of arm and knee,
Eager to be reassured, taking pleasure
In the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree
Pleasure in the wind, the sunlight and the sea'
Studies the sunlit pattern on the floor.
And running stays around a silver tag:
Confounds the actual and the fanciful,
Content with playing cards and kings and queens,
What the fairies do and what the servants say.
The heavy burden of the growing soul
Perplexes and offends more, day by day,
Week by week, offends and perplexes more.
With the imperatives of "so it seems"
And may and may not, desire and control.
The pain of living and the drug of dreams
Curl up the small soul in the window seat
Behind the Encyclopaedia Britannica.
Issues from the hand of time, the simple soul,
Irresolute and sefish, misshapen, lame
Unable to fare forward or retreat,
Fearing the warm reality, the offered good,
Denying the importunity of the blot,
Shadow of its own shadow, spectre of its own gloom,
Leaving disordered papers in a dusty room;
Living first in silence after the viaticum,
Pray for Guiterriez, avid of speed and power
For Boudin, blown to pieces,
For this one, who made a great fortune
And that one who went his own way.
Pray for Floret by the boorhound slain between the yew trees,
Pray for us now and at the hour of our birth.

Chara

Chara is the Greek word for joy or happiness, and it is by this name that Samuel Davies, "the Apostle of Virginia," referred to his beloved second wife, Jean or Jane (née Holt), mother of his six children. Not only a preacher, but a poet, he poured out his love to her in verse, before he died at the young age of 38, such as in the extracts below from the Collected Poems of Samuel Davies, 1723-1761, pp. 55-68, 160:

Conjugal Love and Happiness

Connubial Love! thrice happy was the Hour
I fell a willing Captive to thy Pow'r.
...
Chara, beneath thy Influence I felt
The charming Flame; my Soul was taught to melt
In Extasies unknown, and soon began
To put the Stoic off, and soften into Man.
The Veil of Modesty, in vain confin'd
Th' alluring Beauties of thy lovely Mind:
The shining Charms beam'd thro' the fair Disguise;
Blush'd in thy Aspect, dazzled in thy Eyes;
In every Word, in all thy Conduct known.
An in thy artless Face, well-copy'd, shone --
So thro' resulgent Clouds breaks the bring Morning Sun.
...
'Twas gracious Heav'n presided o'er our Choice --
Come, Chara, then, assist my grateful Voice.
To Thee, Great God! to Thee alone we owe
This mutual Bliss, this Paradise below.
...
Chara, thou dear Partaker of my Heart,
The Hour approaches, when ev'n we must part:
We tho' in strongest Bonds of Union join'd,
Must feel the painful Rupture of the Mind.
When on the Bridal Day I took thy Hand,
And clasp'd thee to me in the nuptial Band,
This Thought did mod'rate my Exces of Joy,
"Restless Death this Union will destroy:
This splendid Jewel must not still be mine;
But cruel Fate will force me to resign."
...
Chara, this humble Monument I raise
Of our fond Passion, in my youthful Days;
That if you're doom'd the mournful Day to view,
When I shall cease to speak or write to you;
When my dull Muse shall silent lie in Death,
Or in celestial Strains employ her tuneful Breath;
To still, or rather vent your Griefs, you may
With gushing Eyes these tender Lines survey,
And as you pore upon them, sigh and say,
"Well; once I had a Friend, whose loving Soul
Did antedate these Sorrows to condole;
That early wail'd my then uncertain Doom,
And mourn'd in Prospect what I mourn as come."

To Chara

While objects various, strange and new,
In numerous Prospects rush to view,
The Tho'ts of Friends, the Tho'ts of Home
Engross my Heart and still find Room.
Chara with what strange, magic Art,
Dost thou, so distant, charm my Heart?

Not seas can quench, nor Distance cool
The flame of Love that fires my Soul.
Not works of Nature nor of Art
Can raze thine Image from my Heart.
I shrink to view those Days to come,
While cruel Absence is my Doom.
Indulgent Heav'n! contract those Days,
And give my anxious Bosom Ease.

Christ the Beloved

Samuel Davies, Collected Poems of Samuel Davies, pp. 94-95, quoted by Maureen Bradley, Worthy is the Lamb: Puritan Poetry in Honor of the Savior (Don Kistler and Joel Rishel, eds.), pp. 167-168:

Christ the Beloved

Let others let their passions rove
Round all the earth, from shore to shore;
Since Jesus is my friend and love,
My utmost wish can grasp no more.

His glories have allured my eye,
And into love transformed my heart;
To Him my tenderest passions fly;
Jesus, nor shall they e'er depart.

Upon His friendship I rely,
Still of His tender care secure;
My wants are all before His eye!
Nor can they overcome His pow'r.

His presence fills unbounded space;
My heavenly friend is always nigh.
Full of compassion, rich in grace;
Touched with the tenderest sympathy.

Faithful and constant is His love,
And my ungrateful conduct hides;
Safe to the happy world above,
The meanest of His friends He guides.

Amid the agonies of death,
And terrors of the final doom,
He saves them from almighty wrath,
And leads the helpless pilgrims home.

Oh, may an everlasting flame
Of love possess my grateful mind!
And my last breath adore His name,
Who condescends to be my friend!

Mediatorial Kingship of Christ

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counseller, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with judgment and with justice from henceforth even for ever. The zeal of the LORD of hosts will perform this. (Isa. 9.6-7)

Samuel Davies traces the course of God's redemptive plan through the historical rise, present reality and developing progress of the mediatorial kingdom of Jesus Christ in a famous delivered on May 9, 1756, at Hanover, Virginia, called The Mediatorial Kingdom and Glories of Jesus Christ:

The kingdoms of the world have their rise, their progress, perfection, declension, and ruin. And in these things, the kingdom of Christ bears some resemblance to them, excepting that it shall never have an end.

Its rise was small at first, and it has passed through many revolutions in various ages. It was first founded in the family of Adam, but in about 1600 years, the space between the creation and the flood, it was almost demolished by the wickedness of the world; and at length confined to the little family of Noah. After the flood, the world soon fell into idolatry, but, that this kingdom of Christ might not be destroyed quite, it was erected in the family of Abraham; and among the Jews it continued until the coming of Christ in the flesh. This was indeed but the infancy of his kingdom, and indeed is seldom called by that name. It is the gospel constitution that is represented as the kingdom of Christ, in a special sense. This was but very small and unpromising at first. When its founder was dying upon Calvary, and all his followers had forsaken him and fled, who would have thought it would ever have come to any thing, ever have recovered? But it revived with him; and, when he furnished his apostles with gifts and graces for their mission, and sent them forth to increase his kingdom, it made its progress through the world with amazing rapidity, notwithstanding it met with very early and powerful opposition. The Jews set themselves against it, and raised persecutions against its ministers, wherever they went. And presently the tyrant Nero employed all the power of the Roman empire to crush them. Peter, Paul, and thousands of the christians fell a prey to his rage, like sheep for the slaughter. This persecution was continued under his successors, with but little interruption, for about two hundred years.

But, under all these pressures, the church bore up her head; yea, the more she was trodden, the more she spread and flourished; and at length she was delivered from oppression by Constantine the Great, about the year 320. But now she had a more dangerous enemy to encounter, I mean prosperity: and this did her much more injury than all the persecutions of her enemies. Now the kingdom of Christ began to be corrupted with heresies: the ministry of the gospel, formerly the most dangerous posts in the world, now became a place of honour and profit, and men began to thrust themselves into it from principles of avarice and ambition; superstition and corruption of morals increased; and at length the bishop of Rome set up for universal head of the church in the year 606, and gradually the whole monstrous system of popery was formed and established, and continued in force for near a thousand years. The kingdom of Christ was now at a low ebb; and tyranny and superstition reigned under that name over the greatest part of the christian world. Nevertheless our Lord still had his witnesses. The Waldenses and Albigenses, John Hus, and Jerome of Prague, and Wickliffe in England, opposed the torrent of corruption; until at length, Luther, Calvin, Zuinglius, and several others, were made the honoured instruments of introducing the Reformation from popery; when sundry whole kingdoms, which had given their power to the beast, and particularly our mother-country, shook off the papal authority, and admitted the pure light of the gospel. Since that time the kingdom of Christ has struggled hard, and it has lost ground in several countries; particularly in France, Poland, Bohemia, &c. where there once were many Protestant churches; but they are now in ruins. And, alas! those countries that still retain the reformed religion, have too generally reduced it into a mere formality; and it has but little influence upon the hearts and lives even of its professors. Thus we find the case remarkably among us. This gracious kingdom makes but little way in Virginia. The calamities of war and famine cannot, alas! draw subjects to it; but we seem generally determined to perish in our rebellion rather than submit. Thus it has been in this country from its first settlement; and how long it will continue in this situation is unknown to mortals: however, this we may know, it will not be so always. We have the strongest assurances that Jesus will yet take to him his great power, and reign in a more extensive and illustrious manner than he has ever yet done; and that the kingdoms of the earth shall yet become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ. There are various parts of the heathen world where the gospel has never yet been; and the Jews have never yet been converted as a nation; but both the calling of the Jews and the fulness of the gentiles, you will find plainly foretold in the 11th chapter to the Romans; and it is, no doubt, to render the accomplishment of this event the more conspicuous, that the Jews, who are dispersed all over the world, have, by a strange, unprecedented, and singular providence, been kept a distinct people to this day, for 1700 years; though all other nations have been so mixt and blended together, who were not half so much dispersed into different countries, that their distinct original cannot be traced. Posterity shall see this glorious event in some happy future period. How far it is from us, I will not determine: though, upon some grounds, I apprehend it is not very remote. I shall live and die in the unshaken belief that our guilty world shall yet see glorious days. Yes, my brethren, this despised gospel, that has so little effect in our age and country, shall yet shine like lightning, or like the sun, through all the dark regions of the earth. It shall triumph over heathenism, Mahometism, Judaism, popery, and all those dangerous errors that have infected the christian church. This gospel, poor negroes, shall yet reach your countrymen, whom you left behind you in Africa, in darkness and the shadow of death, and bless your eyes with the light of salvation: and the Indian savages, that are now ravaging our country, shall yet be transformed into lambs and doves by the gospel of peace. The scheme of Providence is not yet completed, and much remains to be accomplished of what God has spoken by his prophets, to ripen the world for the universal judgment; but when all these things are finished, then proclamation shall be made through all nature, “That Time shall be no more”: then the Supreme Judge, the same Jesus that ascended the cross, will ascend the throne, and review the affairs of time: then will he put an end to the present course of nature, and the present form of administration. Then shall heaven and hell be filled with their respective inhabitants: then will time close, and eternity run on in one uniform tenor, without end. But the kingdom of Christ, though altered in its situation and form of government, will not then come to a conclusion. His kingdom is strictly the kingdom of heaven; and at the end of this world, his subjects will only be removed from these lower regions into a more glorious country, where they and their King shall live together for ever in the most endearing intimacy; where the noise and commotions of this restless world, the revolutions and perturbations of kingdoms, the terrors of war and persecution, shall no more reach them, but all will be perfect peace, love, and happiness, through immeasurable duration. This is the last and most illustrious state of the kingdom of Christ, now so small and weak in appearance: this is the final grand result of his administration; and it will appear to admiring worlds wisely planned, gloriously executed, and perfectly finished.

What conqueror ever erected such a kingdom! What subjects so completely, so lastingly happy, as those of the blessed Jesus!

Tolle Lege

Samuel Davies, Letter to his brother-in-law:

I have a peaceful study, as a refuge from the hurries and noise of the world around me; the venerable dead are waiting in my library to entertain me, and relieve me from the nonsense of surviving mortals.

Here is counsel on the value of good reading, a sadly-neglected art in our modern sound-bite age, and encouragement to tolle lege, take up and read!

Thomas Watson, Farewell Sermons of Some of the Most Eminent of the Nonconformist Ministers, pp. 196-197:

First, I beseech you, keep your constant hours every day with God. The godly man is a man set apart, Ps. iii. not only because God hath set him apart by election, but because he hath set himself apart by devotion. Give God the Aurorae filiam. Begin the day with God, visit God in the morning before you make any other visit; wind up your hearts towards heaven in the morning, and they will go better all the day after! Oh turn your closets into temples; read the scriptures. The two Testaments are the two lips by which God speaks to us; these will make you wise unto salvation: the scripture is both a glass to shew you your spots, and a laver to wash them away; besiege heaven every day with your prayer, thus perfume your houses, and keep a constant intercourse with heaven.

Secondly, Get books into your houses, when you have not the spring near to you, then get water into your cisterns: so when you have not that wholesome preaching that you desire, good books are cisterns that hold the water of life in them to refresh you. When David's natural heat was taken away, they covered him with warm clothes, 1 Kings i. So when you find a chillness upon your souls, and that your former heat begins to abate, ply yourselves with warm clothes, get those good books that may acquaint you with such truths as may warm and affect your hearts.

Charles Spurgeon, Sermon No. 542: Paul -- His Cloak and His Books:

Even an apostle must read. Some of our very ultra Calvinistic brethren think that a minister who reads books and studies his sermon must be a very deplorable specimen of a preacher. A man who comes up into the pulpit, professes to take his text on the spot, and talks any quantity of nonsense, is the idol of many. If he will speak without premeditation, or pretend to do so, and never produce what they call a dish of dead men's brains—oh! that is the preacher. How rebuked are they by the apostle! He is inspired, and yet he wants books! He has been preaching at least for thirty years, and yet he wants books! He had seen the Lord, and yet he wants books! He had had a wider experience than most men, and yet he wants books! He had been caught up into the third heaven, and had heard things which it was unlawful for a men to utter, yet he wants books! He had written the major part of the New Testament, and yet he wants books! The apostle says to Timothy and so he says to every preacher, "Give thyself unto reading." The man who never reads will never be read; he who never quotes will never be quoted. He who will not use the thoughts of other men's brains, proves that he has no brains of his own. Brethren, what is true of ministers is true of all our people. You need to read. Renounce as much as you will all light literature, but study as much as possible sound theological works, especially the Puritanic writers, and expositions of the Bible. We are quite persuaded that the very best way for you to be spending your leisure, is to be either reading or praying. You may get much instruction from books which afterwards you may use as a true weapon in your Lord and Master's service. Paul cries, "Bring the books"—join in the cry.

Matthew Poole, The Last Sayings of Matthew Poole:

Ministers are living Books, and Books are dead Ministers; and yet though dead, they speak. When you cannot heare the one, you may read the other.

Richard Baxter, A Christian Directory, pp. 56-57:

Direct. xvi. ' Make careful choice of the books which you read. Let the Holy Scriptures ever have the pre-eminence, and next them, the solid, lively, heavenly treatises, which best expound and apply the Scriptures; and next those, the credible histories, especially of the church, and tractates upon inferior sciences and arts: but take heed of the poison of the writings of false teachers, which would corrupt your understandings: and of vain romances, play-books, and false stories, which may bewitch your fantasies, and corrupt your hearts.'

As there is a more excellent appearance of the Spirit of God in the Holy Scriptures, than in any other book whatever, so it hath more power and fitness to convey the Spirit, and make us spiritual, by imprinting itself upon our hearts. As there is more of God in it, so it will acquaint us more with God, and bring us nearer him, and make the reader more reverent, serious, and divine. Let Scripture be first and most in your hearts and hands, and other books be used as subservient to it. The endeavours of the devil and Papists to keep it from you, doth shew that it is most necessary and desirable to you. And when they tell you, that all heretics plead the Scripture, they do but tell you, that it is the common rule or law of Christians, which, therefore, all are fain to pretend: as all lawyers and wranglers plead the laws of the land, be their cause never so bad, and yet the laws must not be therefore concealed or cast aside: and they do but tell you, that, in their concealment or dishonouring the Scriptures, they are worse than any of those heretics. When they tell you, that the Scriptures are misunderstood, and abused, and perverted to maintain men's errors, they might also desire that the sun might be obscured, because the purblind do mistake, and murderers and robbers do wickedly by its light: and that the earth might be subverted, because it bears all evil doers : and highways stopt up, because men travel in them to do evil: and food prohibited, because it nourisheth men's diseases. And when they have told you truly of a law or rule (whether made by pope or council), which bad men cannot misunderstand or break, or abuse and misapply, then hearken to them, and prefer that law, as that which preventeth the need of any judgment.

The writings of Divines are nothing else but a preaching the Gospel to the eye, as the voice preacheth it to the ear. Vocal preaching hath the pre-eminence in moving the affections, and being diversified according to the state of the congregations which attend it: this way the milk cometh warmest from the breast. But books have the advantage in many other respects: you may read an able preacher, when you have but a mean one to hear. Every congregation cannot hear the most judicious or powerful preachers; but every single person may read the books of the most powerful and judicious. Preachers may be silenced or banished, when books may be at hand: books may be kept at a smaller charge than preachers: we may choose books which treat of that very subject which we desire to hear of; but we cannot choose what subject the preacher shall (rent of. Books we may have at hand every day and hour; when we can have sermons but seldom, and at set times. If sermons be forgotten, they are gone. But a book we may read over and over until we remember it; and, if we forget it, may again peruse it at our pleasure, or at our leisure. So that good books are a very great mercy to the world. The Holy Ghost chose the way of writing, to preserve his doctrine and laws to the church, as knowing how easy and sure a way it is of keeping it safe to all generations, in comparison of mere verbal tradition, which might have made as many controversies about the very terms, as theie be memories or persons to be the preservers and reporters,

Books are (if well chosen) domestic, present, constant, judicious, pertinent, yea, and powerful sermons: and always of very great use to your salvation: but especially when vocal preaching faileth, and preachers are ignorant, ungodly, or dull, or when they are persecuted, and forbid to preach.

You have need of a judicious teacher at hand, to direct you what books to use or to refuse. For among good books there wre some very good that are sound and lively: and some are good, but mean, aad weak, and somewhat dull: and some are very good in part, bat have mixtures of error, or else of incautious, injudicious expressions, fitter to puzzle than edify the weak. I am loath to name any of these latter sorts (of which abundance have come forth of late): but to the young beginner in religion, I may be bold to recommend (next to a sound catechism) Mr. Rutherford's Letters; —Mr. Robert Bolton's Works ;—Mr. Perkins's;—Mr. Whateley's ;—Mr. Ball, of Faith;—Dr. Preston's;—Dr. Sibbs's ;—Mr. Hildersham's :—Mr. Pink's Sermons ;— Mr. Jos. Rogers's;—Mr. Rich. Allen's;—Mr. GurnalPs; —Mr. Swinnock's;—Mr. Jos. Simonds's. And to establish you against Popery, Dr. Challoner's Codex Credo Eccles. Cathol.;—Dr. Field, of the Church ;—Dr. White's Way to the Church, with the Defence;—Bishop Usher's Answer to the Jesuit; and Chillingworth, with Drelincourt's Summary. And for right principles about Redemption, &c. Mr. Truman's Great Propitiation; and of Natural and Moral Impotency;—and Mr. William Fenner, of Wilful Impenitency;—Mr. Hotchkis, of Forgiveness of Sin. To pass by many other excellent ones, that I may not name too many.

To a very judicious, able reader, who is fit to censure all he reads, there is no great danger in reading the books of any seducers : it doth but shew him how little and thin a cloak is used to cover a bad cause. But, alas! young soldiers, not used to such wars, are startled at a very sophism, or at a terrible threatening of damnation to dissenters (which every censorious sect can use), or at every confident, triumphant boast, or at every thing that hath a fair pretence of truth or godliness. Injudicious persons can answer almost no deceiver which they hear: and when they cannot answer them they think they must yield, as if the fault were not in them but in the cause, and as if Christ had no wiser followers, or better defenders of his truth than they. Meddle not, therefore, with poison, till you better know how to use it, and may do it with less danger, as long as you have no need.

As for play-books, and romances, and idle tales, I have already shewed in my "Book of Self-Denial," how pernicious they are, especially to youth, and to frothy, empty, idle wits, that know not what a man is, nor what he hath to do in the world. They are powerful baits of the devil, to keep more necessary things out of their minds, and better books out of their hands, and to poison the mind so much the more dangerously, as they are read with more delight and pleasure: and to fill the minds of sensual people with such idle fumes, and intoxicating fancies, as may divert them from the serious thoughts of their salvation: and (which is no small loss) to rob them of abundance of that precious time, which was given them for more important business; and which they will wish and wish again at last that they had spent more wisely. I know the fantastics will say, that these things are innocent, and may teach men much good (like him that must go to a whore-house to learn to hate uncleanness; and him that would go out with robbers to learn to hate thievery): but I shall now only ask them as in the presence of God, 1. Whether they should spend that time no better ? 2. Whether better books and practices would not edify them more. 3. Whether the greatest lovers of romances and plays be the greatest lovers of the book of God, and of a holy life? 4. Whether they feel in themselves that the love of these vanities, doth increase their love to the Word of God, and kill their sin, and prepare them for the life to come? or clean contrary? And I would desire men not to prate against their own experience and reason, nor to dispute themselves into damnable impe- nitency, nor to befool their souls by a few silly words, which any but a sensualist may perceive to be mere deceit and falsehood. If this will not serve, they shall be shortly convinced and answered in another manner.

C.S. Lewis, Introduction to Athanasius' On The Incarnation:

There is a strange idea abroad that in every subject the ancient books should be read only by the professionals, and that the amateur should content himself with the modern books. Thus I have found as a tutor in English Literature that if the average student wants to find out something about Platonism, the very last thing he thinks of doing is to take a translation of Plato off the library shelf and read the Symposium. He would rather read some dreary modern book ten times as long, all about "isms" and influences and only once in twelve pages telling him what Plato actually said. The error is rather an amiable one, for it springs from humility. The student is half afraid to meet one of the great philosophers face to face. He feels himself inadequate and thinks he will not understand him. But if he only knew, the great man, just because of his greatness, is much more intelligible than his modern commentator. The simplest student will be able to understand, if not all, yet a very great deal of what Plato said; but hardly anyone can understand some modern books on Platonism. It has always therefore been one of my main endeavours as a teacher to persuade the young that firsthand knowledge is not only more worth acquiring than secondhand knowledge, but is usually much easier and more delightful to acquire.

This mistaken preference for the modern books and this shyness of the old ones is nowhere more rampant than in theology. Wherever you find a little study circle of Christian laity you can be almost certain that they are studying not St. Luke or St. Paul or St. Augustine or Thomas Aquinas or Hooker or Butler, but M. Berdyaev or M. Maritain or M. Niebuhr or Miss Sayers or even myself.

Now this seems to me topsy-turvy. Naturally, since I myself am a writer, I do not wish the ordinary reader to read no modern books. But if he must read only the new or only the old, I would advise him to read the old. And I would give him this advice precisely because he is an amateur and therefore much less protected than the expert against the dangers of an exclusive contemporary diet. A new book is still on its trial and the amateur is not in a position to judge it. It has to be tested against the great body of Christian thought down the ages, and all its hidden implications (often unsuspected by the author himself) have to be brought to light. Often it cannot be fully understood without the knowledge of a good many other modern books. If you join at eleven o'clock a conversation which began at eight you will often not see the real bearing of what is said. Remarks which seem to you very ordinary will produce laughter or irritation and you will not see why - the reason, of course, being that the earlier stages of the conversation have given them a special point. In the same way sentences in a modern book which look quite ordinary may be directed at some other book; in this way you may be led to accept what you would have indignantly rejected if you knew its real significance. The only safety is to have a standard of plain, central Christianity ("mere Christianity" as Baxter called it) which puts the controversies of the moment in their proper perspective. Such a standard can be acquired only from the old books. It is a good rule, after reading a new book, never to allow yourself another new one till you have read an old one in between. If that is too much for you, you should at least read one old one to every three new ones.

Every age has its own outlook. It is specially good at seeing certain truths and specially liable to make certain mistakes. We all, therefore, need the books that will correct the characteristic mistakes of our own period. And that means the old books. All contemporary writers share to some extent the contemporary outlook - even those, like myself, who seem most opposed to it. Nothing strikes me more when I read the controversies of past ages than the fact that both sides were usually assuming without question a good deal which we should now absolutely deny. They thought that they were as completely opposed as two sides could be, but in fact they were all the time secretly united - united with each other and against earlier and later ages - by a great mass of common assumptions. We may be sure that the characteristic blindness of the twentieth century - the blindness about which posterity will ask, "But how could they have thought that?" - lies where we have never suspected it, and concerns something about which there is untroubled agreement between Hitler and President Roosevelt or between Mr. H. G. Wells and Karl Barth. None of us can fully escape this blindness, but we shall certainly increase it, and weaken our guard against it, if we read only modern books. Where they are true they will give us truths which we half knew already. Where they are false they will aggravate the error with which we are already dangerously ill. The only palliative is to keep the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds, and this can be done only by reading old books. Not, of course, that there is any magic about the past. People were no cleverer then than they are now; they made as many mistakes as we. But not the same mistakes. They will not flatter us in the errors we are already committing; and their own errors, being now open and palpable, will not endanger us. Two heads are better than one, not because either is infallible, but because they are unlikely to go wrong in the same direction. To be sure, the books of the future would be just as good a corrective as the books of the past, but unfortunately we cannot get at them.