Part 3
Actually, Blumhardt never sought to compete with any one. In a report to one government official he wrote,"It was never my intention to treat mental illness. The people who come seeking my help are burdened souls who do not find the strength, either from within or without, to free themselves. The only remedy I use is an awakening of trust in God, and confident prayer to him." As for physicians, he made it clear that he expected people to make use of what ever medical assistance they could:
The rejection of medical help, especially of surgery, is completely wrong. It is a mistake to reduce prayer to a singular method of curing illness. Healing powers are simply lacking in our time, so why not make use of the help people can render one another with the training and experience they have? Rejection of such help springs from self-will, and from an impudence that wants to exact everything from God, whether he is willing or not.
However, when the consistory demanded that Blumhardt turn all supplicants away – not only from his own person, but also from any hope of direct help from God – Blumhardt could no longer obey, especially when faced with infirmities that had baffled physicians. He had, on one the hand, recourse to Scriptures that confirmed his experiences and actions, and on the other hand, his civic freedom, which entitled him, like any other citizen, to let his convictions guide his actions. He declared that no minister had ever been asked to comply with such a demand. To be sure, the consistory's request that he forbid strangers to stay in Möttlingen overnight was an extraordinary and rather unrealistic demand to make on a minister.
Blumhardt intended to obey the established order, but his compliance with this decree was naturally somewhat elastic, and caused him an official reprimand for disobedience in front of two colleagues called as witnesses.
At least one friendly encounter with the medical profession reassured Blumhardt during this time of increased restriction.
One weekend in the spring of 1846, a skeptical medical student named Steinkopf came to Möttlingen from Stuttgart to investigate the miracles. Avoiding the rectory, he took up lodgings at The Ox. After the Sunday morning service, he burst in excitedly on a cluster of young men from various regions of Germany. He said he had just met a former patient of the Tübingen clinic, whom they had discharged as incurable, outside the church. When he greeted her with, "Well,Magdalena, are you here,too?" she had replied,"Yes, of course. I was cured here!" She told him that in December 1845, when Blumhardt could still work unhindered, she had seen him two or three times after church, and had told him of her illness and how it was going. Steinkopf, amazed, invited Magdalena to come with him to the rectory, introduced himself, and declared his purpose for coming to Möttlingen. Then, asking for a room he examined the patient, though only after receiving Blumhardt's permission to do so. His findings were set down in the following document:
In March 1844, Maria Magdalena Rapp from Enzthal near Wildbad, thirty-five years of age, was accepted into the medical clinic at Tübingen, as she suffered from pemphigus. She was treated with various remedies, but the blisters, though often disappearing for a few days, would always break out again on different parts of the body. The application of arsenic caused the blisters to vanish, and for some days the patient was free of them.
Then, in the winter of 1844, serious vomiting of blood, bloody stools, and stomach pains set in. From then on – doubtless in consequence of a chronic stomach inflamma tion – the patient could not ingest any kind of warm food. The spells of blood-vomiting recurred every three to five weeks. Several times, the patient was very close to death. The pemphigus reappeared with all its earlier persistence.
Rapp was discharged in July 1845 as a completely hopeless case, according to the judgment of all physicians observing her. As a last resort she tried the mineral baths at Wildbad for some weeks, but without any success. Her condition remained un changed until December, when she went to Möttlingen to seek help from Pastor Blumhardt. After her first visit she already felt much better. After she had seen the pastor once or twice more, her symptoms began to disappear and by May 1846 the under signed found the patient in Möttlingen, where she was attending church, fully restored to health.
A detailed history of Rapp's illness can be found in the Tübingen clinic, where – after protracted and unsuccessful treatment – she had been declared completely incurable.
The truth of the above is attested by
K. Steinkopf, medical candidate Möttlingen, May 24, 1846
Another episode that took place around the same time involved a woman with a convulsively clenched hand, which had also been treated without success in Tübingen. She arrived on a Saturday and wanted to see Blumhardt, but was turned away. However, Blumhardt heard of her infirmity
through Hans and told him to invite her to the evening service. The following morning, seeing Hans she marched triumphantly across the rectory yard and declared, "Now I must see the pastor!"
"I know, dear lady, but it's just not possible." "Why not?" she retorted, stretching out her hand – open, flat, and completely cured. She told him that her hand had opened the day before during the evening devotions. Unfortunately the woman later went back to Tübingen to show off her hand to those who had treated her there. Regarded as an impostor, she was not given a very friendly reception, which upset her greatly. Blumhardt, hearing of her indignation, advised her, "Go home, be quiet, and first make a fresh start yourself."
This case had unpleasant consequences for Blumhardt. For one thing, the woman, though unmarried had several children, a circumstance that made her cure offensive to some. For another, she caused Blumhardt considerable embarrassment because of the boastful and sensational way in which she advertised her healing. Some of what she said was true. Blumhardt, in greeting her in church, had taken hold of her crippled hand in an expression of sympathy and blessing. But embellished as it was by her colorful descrip tion, the miracle was quickly misconstrued and cited as a breach of promise on Blumhardt's part. In the course of her publicity seeking – perhaps because of it – her affliction returned, which added to the critical misgivings.
Such reversal of healing did occur at times, and though it pained Blumhardt, it did not surprise him. He regarded any divine help he received merely as a foretaste of what was to come. Sometimes though, as in this case, a relapse seemed related to a misunderstanding of the help received – that is, treating an instance of healing as if it were Blumhardt's doing and not God's.
In a letter to his friend Dieterlen, who was swamped by a flood of sick people asking him to contact Blumhardt for them, Blumhardt wrote about the help given to seemingly unworthy people:
I wonder, when people suffer a relapse, whether it is intended to lead them into a deeper, more inward state. With so many sick people coming, there are bound to be those who arrive with a more superficial approach. The Lord does his part, but in turn demands something from them.
But what about people who are bad? My experience is that the Savior pays little attention to that. It surprises me how many times the worst are given the most, and often much more quickly than others. Why? Perhaps they are more humble and broken… Oh, the loving kindness of the Lord – free of charge and totally undeserved!
The influx of visitors dropped off considerably after Blum hardt agreed to deny personal talks, which were, after all, the essence of what Möttlingen represented and offered. His words of comfort, admonition, rebuke, and forgiveness to individuals were imbued with a rare power. God had
endowed him with a special ability to help others – and not only by healing. Many received clarity in personal problems, direction for their vocation, strength to carry responsibilities, or an easing of difficult circumstances. People's need for true pastoral care, which slumbers unrecognized in thousands, had powerfully awakened. Naturally, once someone benefited from Blumhardt's counsel, he wanted more – for himself and for his relatives, friends, and foes. But now this place of refuge and hope, compassion and peace was closed.
To some extent Blumhardt's counsel was still available to anyone who took in the advice he gave from the pulpit. But in the long run this impersonal form of communication did not satisfy most people, and Möttlingen lost its main appeal, which could not be found just anywhere: unconditional love, blunt honesty, and wholesome comfort. Möttlingen grew even quieter during the economic recession of 1847 and the political turmoil of 1848.
While Blumhardt's direct contact with peasants outside his congregation dropped off, his pastoral work continued with people from the upper classes who still had money to travel. His household always included long-term guests in need of help. One of these guests, a woman who stayed with Blumhardt at Bad Boll many years later, offered the following testimony:
As a young girl I was afflicted with a severe eye disease. At the advice of famous doctors I was subjected to several courses of treatment so drastic that they made me sick for years. For a
while I was hardly alive. I slowly recovered from the effects of the medicines, but as my general health improved, my sight grew worse. After long indecision I decided to consult a doctor once again. He offered no prospect of recovery, giving me only slim hope that further deterioration might be halted if I gave up occupations such as reading, writing, and knitting.
I had heard Pastor Blumhardt preach, and felt drawn to him, without having more precise information about his work. I sensed only that here was a place to find help in my dejected state. I inquired and, unexpectedly, received an invitation to come and stay for half a year. While my eyes did not improve, there they did not get worse either, and I found strength to carry my affliction.
Two years later, I returned in much the same state, unable to make myself useful in any way. One day Blumhardt asked me if my family would like me to seek medical advice again. I had to answer yes, but added that I was resolved not to do so, since previous treatments had had such a devastating effect. "You shouldn't say that," he said. "You just like it too much here. That is why you shy away from doctors. Why shouldn't you believe that your eyes can be helped? I know a famous oculist in Stuttgart who is a good friend. Why not let him give you one more checkup?"
We traveled to Stuttgart, and I will never forget how Blum hardt, seated in an armchair, followed the examination with lively interest. The doctor's verdict: "There is nothing that can be done. Drugs would only speed up the loss of sight. The optic nerves are worn out, and the muscles and mucous membranes
are so weak they barely function. It's a marvel that there is still any sight left at all." This agreed in every detail with the other doctors' conclusions.
On the train returning home Blumhardt asked me, "Are you sad, my child?"
"Oh, no," I replied, "I already knew all that. I was just afraid the doctor would want to attempt an operation."
"Well," he said, "I think you know that where people can do nothing, the Savior enters with his help. Now you must simply hold out in faith and hope."
Since that day nine years have passed, and I have not gone blind. I am still extremely short-sighted, but my eyes have improved marvelously. I feel no pain, my exaggerated sensitivity to light has gone, and with the aid of glasses I can read and write all day and live like anyone else. Whenever the condition worsened, I would mention it to Blumhardt, personally or in writing, and before long help would come again. Indeed, the Savior has done great things for me.
On his journeys, Blumhardt was constantly surrounded by people pleading for help. A factory worker living about an hour's walk from Elberfeld was afflicted with a painful dermatological condition. He had already expended every prospect of medical help, when he was told that a well-known pastor had come to Elberfeld, and that through his intercession many people had been cured of serious illnesses.
The man, who did not think much of "pious gentlemen," resolved to see for himself.
Arriving at Elberfeld, he found Blumhardt, and began to unfold his tale of woe. Blumhardt, quickly perceiving the problem, said, "My dear friend, I have no time right now, though I can see you need help. Just attend the service and listen carefully, and may the Savior help you!" The man could scarcely conceal his anger at being treated so curtly. He grumbled to himself, "There's the compassionate Blumhardt for you! That's just what religious people are like. And now he expects me to go to church!" But he decided to attend the service anyway, hoping Blumhardt would say something that addressed his condition. And in fact, although the man did not catch on, Blumhardt did: he preached on the text,"Ask, and you will receive."After the service, half encouraged, half enraged, he turned his back on the church and set off for home. "Those pious people and their compassion!" he fumed – but the words of the sermon kept echoing in his head.
Suddenly he became aware of a strange sensation in his skin. Starting from a number of points, it kept spreading and growing stronger. Skeptical but curious, he hurried home, locked himself in his room, and examined himself. To his amazement he discovered that the disease was indeed rapidly disappearing. The man kept his excitement to himself until he was certain of the result, but later he hurried back to Elberfeld and through acquaintances relayed the good news to Blumhardt.
Several memorable personal experiences from the summer of 1844 stayed with Blumhardt for life. Once, while walking back with some fellow ministers from a festival in a neighboring village, he composed the following verse, which he shared with his companions:
Jesus is victorious King, Who over all his foes has conquered. Jesus, soon the world will fall At his feet, by love overpowered. Jesus leads us with his might From the darkness to radiant light.
While singing the verse to a well-known melody, it seemed that hundreds of voices in the nearby woods suddenly joined in, so powerfully that at least one of the men, flabbergasted, stopped singing. Blumhardt, however, went on singing lustily. When he arrived home, he was met by Gottliebin, who recited for him the very same verse he had just composed and sung!
Blumhardt told of several instances of divine protection when hostile attempts were made on his life. In general, he seldom made enemies, but his campaign against superstition and magic did earn him the deadly enmity of a few, and at least one plot to murder him came to light. For a time the police even assigned a nightly patrol to his house.
During July 1844 the Blumhardts heard footsteps along the halls of their house every night, even though the building was searched each evening and the entrances bolted. Since the
disturbance never went any further, they got used to it, even when – as one night – they heard all kinds of noises from the adjoining barn.
Blumhardt's mother was visiting, and a carriage had been ordered for her departure the next morning. A coachman, arriving early, noticed smoke billowing from the barn door, and sizing up the situation, ran through the village shouting, "Fire!" Soon the yard was filled with neighbors carrying a motley assortment of water containers.
The innkeeper of The Ox took charge of the brigade and gave orders to put out any flames that might break out when he opened the barn door. Then he forced the door open, exposing a burning heap of straw, which was quickly extinguished. Inside they found various indications of arson scattered throughout the barn, including dozens of packs of matches and a number of long beanpoles placed in a tub with their tips pointing to the floor of Blumhardt's bedroom above. They were already charred at the bottom. Only Blumhardt remained unruffled by the hubbub. When everyone was gathered again back in the house, he read the scheduled Bible text for the day: "No weapon made to harm you will prevail" (Isa. 54:17).
That same month the riddle of the nightly stalker was solved. It happened like this. One night, hearing a noise directly over his bedroom, Blumhardt shouted, "Jesus is the victor." The following morning – Blumhardt's birthday –
someone found a letter stuck under the back door, scribbled in pencil on a scrap of paper. Dated July 16, 1844, it read:
Dear friends,
I am leaving your house at four in the morning, but not as the man I was when I came in. I came as a murderer with murderous thoughts, until I heard the shout, "Jesus is the victor." Yes, Jesus is victorious, and now my conscience has awakened. I spent the rest of the night in despair among the roof timbers. Your efforts have been in vain, though, for the devil has been thwarting you. Unless the blood of Christ cries out mightily even today, all that is left for me to do is to take the knife I wanted to pierce your heart with and turn it against my own breast. God's flaming eye has seen me; he has stabbed my heart…I will receive what my deeds deserve. I have served the devil loyally, and hell is his reward for me now. When I heard the name of the Most High called out, something went right through me. It made me so docile that now I only want to let you see me as I am. Be kind enough to intercede for me with the heavenly Father.
I thank you for your faithfulness. Think of me for Jesus' sake.
Your enemy
The signature was illegible, but when Blumhardt brought the letter to his Bible class that evening, passing on the author's plea for prayers, someone identified him as a man from a nearby village.
One afternoon Blumhardt went to Haugstett for a Bible class. Worried by the recent attempts on her husband's life, Doris sent Hans to meet him so he would not have to come home alone in the dark. Blumhardt, rankled at the idea of needing a protector, said that Doris must have forgotten there was a full moon. But her precaution paid off.
Suddenly two men appeared at the edge of the woods. At first, Blumhardt took them for peasants returning late from their fields and then, seeing their weapons gleam in the moonlight, for hunters. Just then the men took aim at Blumhardt, who quickly cried out,"Jesus is the victor."At this they immediately lowered their rifles. Later, in the middle of the forest they were surprised by another gunman, who raised his rifle and cocked the hammer. Hans was ready to dive for cover, but Blumhardt restrained him and prayed aloud for their would-be assassin, who lowered his gun. Coming out of the woods, they again met two armed men half-hidden in the meadow. Hans, by now feeling invincible, shouted, "Go ahead! Pull the trigger. It won't go off!" At this the gunmen, evidently strangers come from a distance, lowered their weapons and went harmlessly on their way.
Wilhelm Hofacker, a minister and close friend of Blum hardt, wrote of one of his most memorable experiences:
I once attended the main Sunday service in Möttlingen. It was summer, right before harvest. I was seated in front, in one of the pews reserved for honored guests. The church was crammed with listeners, and the yard outside was crowded
too. During the opening prayer the sky grew darker and darker. Thunder rolled, and the clouds turned that menacing hue that forebodes hail. All of a sudden, Blumhardt calmly departed from the fixed track of the liturgy with the words, "Loving God, if you mean to punish us for our sins and undo the blessing of our harvest, we would not dare to plead with you against that. But surely you will be gracious enough to let us hear your word undisturbed." He then continued with the liturgy. I felt like hiding under the pew at such audacity, but lo and behold, it suddenly became lighter, and in a few minutes the sky was blue again and the sun shining.
Things did not always turn out so well for Blumhardt. Still, he was not afraid of receiving a negative response to a request, but saw the hand of God in everything. "Faith has pulled us through again," he would remark whenever a predicament was solved. He expressed this in a letter to Barth:
My theory about illness is biblical. It took root in me through the constant reading of the Bible from childhood on. Later, I was given repeated intimations of its truth, and these were strengthened and raised to certainty by experience. My supreme maxim is this: Everything comes from God.
Faith is a duty. Most sick men would rather walk ten hours than search their consciences or bend their knees. But that is unbelief, and if it is connected with a bad conscience, it is sin. The Gospel does not say anywhere that we ought to seek God's help in some devious or roundabout way.
Blumhardt could never understand one objection that several of his critics raised – that is, their claim that the confidence with which he prayed for physical ills to be taken away violated the principles of patience and resignation. He believed that God is always inclined to help us, if only we implore him ear nestly enough. If we fail to do so, it is we who prevent his coming to our aid. Asking God for something does not exert pressure on him, for true prayer is prepared for a negative answer. As he put it: "Asking calls for faith and patience. Faith expects everything, patience nothing."
Certainly he detested the sort of prayer that presses God for one's own desires, and he warned against the long, passionate prayers popular in some circles. At the same time he could admit,"I have noticed that something not attained by asking for it once or twice may yet be given when prayed for a third or fourth time." He often took the apostle Paul's example – "three times" (2 Cor. 12:8) – and then assumed that God did not want to grant that particular request.
Behind the objection to Blumhardt's prayers for healing was the notion that truly a devout person would prefer to model exemplary patience, than be freed from suffering. Blumhardt respected the forbearance of people who quietly endured suffering for years, but he questioned any sort of "patience" that forbade praying for help. "It is much easier," he once said, "to slip into a wrong kind of submission to God's will than to draw the bolts that hold back God's help." Another time he put it even more bluntly, "Why should we
want to suffer and not want to believe? When we look closely at what lies behind it, we will find that most people would rather suffer than repent." To a sick woman he wrote,"Beware of showing off your patience. What is demanded of you is faith, and if you ignore that, you will make yourself guilty." It is insincere to endure only, and refuse to ask for relief.
The poor, misguided people – will they never recognize the delusion which they serve when they talk to God of their patience? I will not deny that a person's inner life may im prove through suffering. But it is also common knowledge that people afflicted with chronic illnesses often become more, not less contrary, headstrong, self-willed, grumpy, and impatient. Clearly, in most cases people lack that which they need most: God's direct intervention.
It was not only Blumhardt's irritation at hypocritical atti tudes that sparked this outburst, but compassion for human ity and confidence that even the most threadbare relationship to God can be completely restored. In short, Blumhardt was confident that God would send help if he were only asked.
Dr. de Valenti, a cleric who had demanded that Blumhardt leave the treatment of mentally ill people to physicians, said he should restrict his activity to pastoral care, to "instruction, rebuke, and comfort." In his reply, Blumhardt explained how he arrived at his simple faith, especially in his care of the mentally ill:
As a rule, application of the spiritual pressure you recom mend only serves to excite the sick, often increasing their agitation to a veritable frenzy. Instruction, rebuke, and comfort are least helpful at the beginning. When asked for advice, I forbid relatives to use these three approaches. And in my own counseling, I only use them cautiously and in moderation. What is really needed is something that must come from above. Otherwise, there can be no help – only false "help" that does more harm than good.
But how can we receive this gift from above? Indeed, the gates of heaven, which at one time stood open, now seem to be closed. There is so much prayer, but how little it achieves! How often people come and say almost despairingly that all their praying changes nothing.
According to the New Testament, God wants to offer his gifts through human instruments. The gospel is to be proclaimed by servants of God, ambassadors for Christ, and these messengers are to bear spiritual gifts and powers for the church. That is why the apostles were endowed with exceptional power, both to preach and to heal.
Christianity knows absolutely nothing of this anymore. Hence all the despair in face of misery, and the devious means many try. Hence, too, the plight medical science finds itself in: it is expected to replace by its skills what the servants of the gospel ought to provide but have long since forfeited. In this case, medical science is to be commended for having labored far more faithfully than the servants of the gospel, in spite of the unbelief it professes as a body. Especially in the
case of mental illness, most pastors cut a pathetic figure alongside physicians.
But is there no hope for change? In my fight with powers of possession I dared to do more than a pastor is accustomed to. I put no trust in myself, and credited myself no more than any other pastor. But I approached the matter as a servant of the gospel, who does have a certain right to ask God for something.
I soon came to see, though, that the gates of heaven were not yet completely open to me, and I felt like giving up in discouragement. Still, the sight of sick people who could see no prospect of help anywhere gave me no peace. I remem bered Jesus' words: "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you." I thought: If through unfaithfulness, unbelief, disobedience, negligence, and indolence the church and its servants have lost the power to drive out demons, Jesus might have been thinking of just such times of spiritual famine when he told the parable in Luke 11:5–8:
Suppose one of you has a friend who comes to him in the middle of the night and says, "My friend, lend me three loaves, for a friend of mine on a journey has turned up at my house, and I have nothing to offer him," and he replies from inside, "Do not bother me. The door is shut for the night; my children and I have gone to bed; and I cannot get up and give you what you want." I tell you that even if he will not provide for him out of friendship, the very
persistence of the request will make him get up and give him all he needs.
I could relate to that man standing at the door at midnight. Even though God was my friend, I was not worthy to obtain anything from him. Still, I could not bear to give up on a member of my congregation. I kept knocking. Some say that amounted to tempting God and was impudent, spiritually presumptuous, and fanatical. But I could not leave my guest standing at the door. I had to be patient for a long time, but in the end God did accede to my request. Was it wrong of me to pester him so?
And what was the result of my entreaties? The unwilling friend in the parable did not say, "Just go away. I myself will bring your guest what he needs –I don't need you for that." Rather, he gave the three loaves to his friend to use them for the guest at his discretion. It stands to reason that there was something left over, for the guest would be unlikely to consume all three loaves at once. By that I mean to say that God did indeed confer power on me, particularly to overcome demon possession. I was given this power in order to free a member of my congregation who was severely tormented by the devil, and who was entrusted to my care.
I used the three loaves and had some left over. Still, the supply was small, and new guests arrived, who came because they knew I cared for their needs and would take the trouble to approach "my slumbering friend" for further handouts at inappropriate hours. Each time I received what was needed, with some to spare.
How could I help it if now the wretched and tormented came running to me? Was I to become hard and say, "Why do you always come to my house? There are many other houses in town – big, roomy ones – go there?" They would have replied, "Good sir, we have been there already, and they told us that they could not feed us and could not be troubled to get what was needed from a friend. Can you get us something to eat, for we are hungry and hurting?" What was I to do? Their distress touched my heart. Even though it was a bother for me, I went again and again to get more loaves. I was given them many times, much more quickly than at first, and with more left over. Of course, this bread is not to everybody's taste. Now and then, for whatever reason, someone leaves my house hungry.
In this way, Blumhardt defended his actions but reproached his fellow "servants of the gospel" for showing so little interest in wanting to recover the gifts of apostolic times. He was convinced that what was given to him was meant to show that God wanted to give new courage and power to everyone ready to pray for a better time:
Jesus says, "I have authority from my Father to forgive sins, and those whom I forgive are forgiven." What the Lord did, ought to continue, for everything he did as a man shall be done by other human beings until the end of days. The Father authorized him, and he authorized others. He said to the disciples, "As my Father has sent me, so I send you." Thus his disciples could say to repentant sinners as decisively as
Jesus himself did, "Take heart, your sins are forgiven." And what is to shake our conviction that this power remains in force for those proclaiming the good news today – that they, too, should have authority to forgive sins?
Some people find it hard to accept that God should listen to a particular person's intercession more than to that of others –
especially their own – and that God is willing to be approached through an intermediary. James 5:14 gives insight:"Is any among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him." James did not regard miraculous help as a gift to the individual, but rather to the entire church. As Blumhardt often pointed out, the significance of the power he had been granted went far beyond his work as a pastor or healer, and far beyond Möttlingen:
If someone asks whether everything God does through me is tied to my person or can be copied, I must answer that something has indeed been given to me as a result of the fight – and I doubt everybody can suddenly have it in the same manner. But I am convinced that it must become widespread, and that we should ask for the original powers of the gospel to be fully restored. For the time being, though, what has happened through me shows that we are justified in pleading for a renewal.
But until the heavens open up, that renewal will not take place. It is wrong to think that believing is all that is needed to experience apostolic times again. No, those powers can only
slowly be won back. Christianity's faithlessness and apostasy over two thousand years have aroused the Lord's disfavor as well as an upsurge of satanic powers. The first thing that is needed is the conversion of Christendom.
Blumhardt never doubted that this renewal would come, or that it was worth fighting for. He had tasted victory, and through him many others had too. What God gave one village through one man who turned to him, he wants to give the entire world. Möttlingen's triumph over darkness should give us courage to face our own demons, and hope to expect greater things to come.
We are a dehydrated people. Nothing will quench our thirst and end the drought but God pouring out his spirit once again. Only a fraction of the promise was fulfilled at the time of the apostles. Must it not now be fulfilled on a larger scale? This stream of the Spirit will come – let us await it with confidence. The thirst is almost killing us, and people are de teriorating both inwardly and outwardly. But now, because we need this spirit, God will give it again.
THE AUTHOR
Friedrich Zuendel (1827–1891), the Swiss pastor, author, and essayist, is best known for his landmark biography of Johann Chris toph Blumhardt. First published in Germany in 1880, it has been re-issued dozens of times and still remains in print.
OTHER TITLES
A C T I O N I N W A I T I N G
CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH BLUMHARDT
AFTERWORD BY KARL BARTH
Grasp the joy of losing yourself in service to God and oth
ers. Blumhardt, in his quest to get to the essentials of
faith, burns away the religious trappings of modern piety.
L I F T T H I N E E Y E S
CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH BLUMHARDT
Blumhardt's prayers and the corresponding Bible pas
sages bespeak a certainty in God's nearness; the peace that
flows from them comes from an unshakable conviction
that his kingdom is indeed on the way. Offers a wellspring
of hope we can turn to again and again.
N O W I S E T E R N I T Y
COMFORT AND WISDOM FOR DIFFICULT HOURS
J.C . AND C .F. BLUMHARDT
Bad days are one thing – everyone has them now and
then. But what about the darker clouds that settle over a
life for weeks or even months at a time? In Now Is Eternity
you will find a collection of short but striking medita
tions to battle wearniess and despair.