The Exchanged Life (1868-1869)

The missionary and his Consul were being worsted. It was widely known that the deeds for the property in the Yangtze treaty port of Chinkiang had been signed, and the deposit paid. The Governor, however, was withholding the proclamation without which the landlord could not be kept to his bargain, and the whole affair was the laugh of tea-house and restaurant.

Hudson Taylor was carrying on these negotiations from the neighbouring city of Yangchow, where his wife and family and Emily Blatchley were settled in big rambling premises. The place was besieged with visitors at first, and Maria had her hands full. Exaggerated reports about the situation in Chinkiang, however, had suggested to the literati that the missionaries might be treated with as scant courtesy in Yangchow. Why allow them to make friends and settle down, when by carrying things with a high hand they could be ejected? A meeting was held and a decision arrived at to stir up trouble. This was done by means of anonymous hand-bills, attributing the most revolting and unnatural crimes to foreigners, especially those whose business it was to propagate ‘the religion of Jesus’.

Early in August, the missionaries began to realise the change that was coming over the attitude of the people. Friendly visitors had given place to crowds of the lowest rabble about the door, and a fresh set of posters, quite unfit for translation, was as fuel to the fire.

‘On Saturday the 15th,’ wrote Reid who, with Rudland, had arrived from Nanking, ‘Mr. Taylor received an anonymous letter, advising him to use all possible precautions, as on the following day there was to be a riot. The people assembled at an early hour, and began knocking and battering upon our door until we thought it best to go out and try to pacify them.’

The trouble went on, and on the 18th Emily Blatchley wrote:

For the last few days we have been almost in a state of siege. Mr. Taylor, just up from a sick-bed and weak as he is, has hardly dared to leave the gate, Messrs. Reid and Rudland with him, and on Saturday night Mr. Duncan opportunely arrived. Today (Tuesday) was placarded as the day for attacking our house and setting it on fire, regardless of native or foreign occupants. Once or twice the mob has seemed inclined to break in by force, but the disturbance is less than on Sunday. God is with us, we do not fear. As I write He is sending thunder and the threatening of rain, which will do more for us, Mr. Taylor was saying, than an army of soldiers. The Chinese shun rain; the most important matters they will postpone on account of it.

After this, it looked as though the worst was over. In spite of all that had been said against them, the quiet, friendly demeanour of the missionaries was winning its way, and the storm seemed to have spent itself without disaster. From Wednesday to Saturday the wearied household had a little respite, but before the close of the week an opportunity occurred for reviving the agitation. A couple of foreigners from Chinkiang came up to visit Yangchow, and were seen in various parts of the city. This was too good a chance to be lost, and no sooner had they left, with the impression that all was quiet, than reports began to be circulated that children were missing in all directions, entrapped by the ‘foreign devils.” The weather was intensely hot, which always pre-disposes to excitable fore-gatherings. Children had disappeared, so the people believed—twenty-four at least had fallen a prey to the dreaded foreigners. And on their premises, as was well known, vast stores of treasures were accumulated! Boat-loads of goods had been brought in only a few days previously. Courage! Avenge our wrongs! Attack—destroy! Much plunder shall be ours.

Forty-eight hours later, in a boat nearing Chinkiang, Emily Blatchley’s letter was bravely finished:

We have had to flee from Yangchow. I cannot stop now to describe the last few days, if indeed they are describable. The rioters sacked every room excepting mine, in which were all our most important papers and the bulk of our money—a considerable sum, $300, having reached us from Chinkiang only an hour before the breaking into the house.

Poor Mr. Reid is the most severely hurt of all; a brick-bat struck his eye while he was standing ready to catch Mrs. Taylor and me—as we had to escape for our lives by jumping from the verandah roof over the front of the reception hall. Mrs. Taylor hurt her leg very much. I, whose fall was not broken (as Mr. Reid was wounded, and so disabled from helping me), came down on my back on the stones, and it is only by God’s great loving-kindness that I have not a broken spine or skull. I have only a wound on my arm, and that the left arm. It is getting very painful, but there is so much to be thankful for that this seems as nothing.

Murder, though intended, had been averted again and again. Both Taylor, exposed to all the fury of the populace on his way to seek help of the authorities, and those he had to leave in the besieged dwelling, were alike protected by the wonder-working hand of God.

‘But for the protection afforded us by the darkness,’ Taylor wrote of that desperate effort to summon aid, ‘we should scarcely have reached the yamen alive. Alarmed by the yells of the people the gate-keepers were just closing the gates as we approached, but the momentary delay gave time for the crowd to close in upon us; the as yet unbarred gates gave way to the pressure, and we were precipitated into the entrance hall. Had the gates been barred, I am convinced that they would not have been opened for us, and we should have been torn to pieces by the enraged mob.

“Once inthe yamen, we rushed into the judgment hall, crying “Kiu-ming! Kiu-ming!” (save life! save life!), a cry the Chinese Mandarin is bound to attend to at any hour of the day or night.

“We were taken to the room of the Chief Secretary, and kept waiting three-quarters of an hour before we had an audience with the Prefect, all the time hearing the yells of the mob a mile or more off, destroying, for aught we knew, not only the property, but possibly the lives of those so dear to us. And at last when we did get an audience, it was almost more than we could bear with composure to be asked as to what we really did with the babies; whether it was true we had bought them, and how many; what was the cause of all this rioting? etc., etc.

‘At last I told His Excellency that the real cause of all the trouble was his own neglect in not taking measures when the matter was small and manageable; that I must now request him first to take steps to repress the riot and save any of our friends who might still be alive, and afterwards make such enquiries as he might wish, or I would not answer for the result.

‘“Ah”, said he, “very true, very true! First quiet the people and then enquire. Sit still, and I will go to see what can be done.”

‘He went out telling us to remain, as the only chance of his effecting anything depended on our keeping out of sight; for by this time the number of rioters amounted to eight or ten thousand.

“We were kept in this torture of suspense for two hours, when the Prefect returned with the Governor of the military forces of the city, and told us that all was quiet; that the Governor himself, the captain of the soldiers who guard the gates, and two local Mandarins had been to the scene of the disturbance; that they had seized several of those who were plundering the premises, and would have them punished. He then sent for chairs, and we returned under escort.

“When we reached the house, the scene was such as baffled description. A pile of half-burned reeds showed where one of the attempts to fire the premises had been made; strewn about everywhere were the remains of boxes and furniture broken and smouldering—but no trace of inhabitants within.’

After a long and agonising search it was with unspeakable thankfulness he learned that some at any rate of the party were hiding in a neighbour’s house. The darkness of the night had favoured their escape from their own burning premises. Taken from one room to another as the danger of discovery increased, they had finally been left without a glimmer of light in the innermost apartments.

‘Mr. Reid lay groaning with pain,’ wrote Emily Blatchley, ‘the poor tired children wanted to sleep and we dared not let them, as at any moment we might have to flee again. Mrs. Taylor was 334. BIOGRAPHY OF JAMES HUDSON TAYLOR

almost fainting from loss of blood; and I now found that my arm was bleeding from a bad cut, and so painful that I could not move it, while most of us were stiff and sore with bruises.’

Then it was that suspense about Taylor and Duncan was hardest to bear. In the darkness and silence, the uncertainty was terrible.

‘I cannot attempt to describe to you our feelings,’ Maria wrote. ‘But God was our stay, and He forsook us not. This confidence He gave me, that He would surely work good for China out of our deep distress.

‘At last, after a much shorter time than it appeared to us, we heard my husband’s voice outside the door, which had been barred for greater safety. He told us that the rioters had all been driven out, and he thought we might venture back to our own rooms, for there would be a guard around the premises. How our hearts went up to God in thanksgiving that He had spared us to each other!

‘For the remainder of the night we were in quiet, though for some of us there was no sleep. Early in the morning the guard retired, and the people began to come in again to plunder. Again my husband had to go to the yamen, and again commenced a season of anxiety similar to, though in some respects more trying, than the night before. Once more my room became our sanctuary, till just when it seemed as if in another minute the crowd would be upstairs, the alarm was given that the Mandarin had come, and his soldiery soon dispersed the people.’

It was thankfulness more than anything else that filled the hearts of that little company, wounded and suffering as they were, on the boats that took them to Chinkiang. The Mandarins had insisted on their leaving for a time, that the house might be repaired and the people quietened; and with no thought of compensation, still less of revenge, the missionaries looked forward to a speedy return. Homeless and despoiled of almost everything, ‘they rejoiced in having been counted worthy to suffer ‘for the sake of the Name,’ and their hearts were cheered as they recalled the protecting care of God. Their lives had been spared as by a miracle and even the money and more important Mission papers were safe, though the room in which they lay had been open to the rioters.

Upon reaching Chinkiang, great was the kindness received from the foreign residents. Though the community was small, they managed to put up all the refugees. Here, in the midst of the debris from the riot, the Taylors set to work at once on business and correspondence, having nine or ten stations and many fellow-workers to think of as well as the party with them.

It was a dark hour indeed that was coming upon the leader of the Mission, a period so painful in some of its aspects that even the sufferings of the riot seemed little in comparison. To begin with, a resident at Chinkiang, with the kindest intentions; wrote stirring accounts to the Shanghai papers, axed public feeling demanded that action, prompt and decisive, should be taken by the British authorities. This brought the Consul-General and later on the Ambassador himself into the matter. A gunboat was sent up to Chinkiang, and there was much coming and going of British officers and blue jackets.

These proceedings caused grave concern to Taylor. While grateful for the Consul-General’s desire to help, how much rather would he have gone back at his own risk to live down unfriendliness and opposition by patient continuance in well-doing. Detained in Chinkiang week after week, he saw the difficulty grow only more serious. Meanwhile he was faced with distressing complications of another sort in his own circle, for it was at this time the group of five left him, and he was conscious of the questions that would be asked by friends of the Mission at home.

A letter to Mr. Berger written even before this happened showed how the true character of the work was more and more unfolding itself to his mind. With Maria bearing so bravely her share of the burdens, it had meant much to” him when he wrote:

It is most important that married missionaries should be double missionaries—not half or a quarter or eighth-part missionaries. Might we not with advantage say to our candidates: ‘Our work is a peculiar one. We aim at the interior, where the whole of your society will be Chinese. If you wish for luxury and freedom from care, do not join us. Unless you intend your wife to be a true missionary, not merely a wife, home-maker, and friend, do not join us. She must be able to read and be master of at least one Gospel in colloquial Chinese before you marry. A person of ordinary ability may accomplish this in six months, but if she needs longer there is the more reason to wait until she has reached this point before you marry. She must be prepared to be happy among the Chinese when the duties of your calling require, as they often will, your temporary absence from home. You, too, must master the initial difficulties of the language and open up a station, if none be allotted to you, before you marry. With diligence and God’s blessing you may hope to do this in a year or so. If these conditions seem too hard, these sacrifices too great to make for perishing China, do not join our Mission. These are small things to some of the crosses you may be permitted to bear for your dear Master.’

China is not to be won for Christ by self-seeking, easeloving men and women. Those not prepared for labour, selfdenial, and many discouragements will be poor helpers in the work. In short, the men and women we need are those who will put Jesus, China, souls first and foremost in everything and at all times: life itself must be secondary—nay, even those more precious than life. Of such men, of such women, do not fear to send us too many. Their price is far above rubies.

The riot and all that grew out of it did but emphasise these considerations and deepen Taylor’s thankfulness for many of the fellow-workers already given him. He rejoiced in the devotion to Christ which had led them to cast in their lot with such a Mission, and in the practical way they were adapting themselves to their surroundings. It was not only obvious to him but to others, how effective was Maria’s unconscious influence. One of the younger workers who on their arrival in China had early been moulded by her strong though gracious personality, wrote:

How impressed I was with her calm, holy, happy appearance, as well as her Christian carriage! She, with Mr. McCarthy and a Chinese-helper, had come seven days’ journey from Hangchow to meet our party. She gave us the warmest welcome and every assistance possible, but it was evident that she had no mercy on fastidiousness as to food or any other matters.

Her one desire now, in spite of all that had happened at Yangchow, was to return to that city and win a way to _darkened hearts for the saving love of Christ.

It was with thankfulness that news was at last received of an amicable settlement of the Yangchow matter. A stone tablet was placed at the entrance to the Yangchow house, stating that the foreigners were there with the full recognition of the authorities. Quite a function was arranged to reinstate the party; and Taylor wrote, ‘The result of this case will probably be greatly to facilitate work in the interior.’

It was, however, the family life and friendly spirit of the missionaries that disarmed suspicion and gradually won its way among the people. They could not but be touched when the children were brought back after all that had taken place, and the arrival of a fourth son made a favourable impression, calling forth the congratulations of Chinese neighbours.

‘In this again,’ Maria wrote to her friend at Saint Hill,. “God has given me the desire of my heart. For I felt that if safety to my infant permitted, I would rather it were born in this city, in this house, in this very room than in any other place.’

The landlord of the inn (a Mr. P’eng) and two others who had befriended the missionaries in the riot were by this time candidates for baptism; and when before the end of the year the Chinkiang house was also in their possession, Taylor might well write, ‘Once again we raise our Ebenezer—‘‘Hitherto hath the Lord helped us.”

The Yangchow difficulties were, far from ended with this satisfactory settlement, however, for the action of the consular authorities* gave rise to a storm of indignation at home. Missionaries were making trouble as usual. The country would be involved in war before the Government had even time to consider the matter! It seems almost incredible as one looks back upon it, that so much misrepresentation could have found its way into the daily papers, and that for a period of four or five months Hudson Taylor and his doings could so largely have occupied the public mind. From the ‘connected narrative’ in The Times of December Ist, ‘explaining’ the whole situation, to the discussion in the House of Lords on March 9th—in which, after a heated declamation, the Duke of Somerset urged that all British missionaries should be recalled from China—the matter seems hardly to have been absent from the public mind. Needless to say, the brunt of all this fell upon Mr. Berger. He wrote,

The excitement, indeed I may almost say storm, seems bursting over us now. The Times is very severe and incorrect in some things: Whether to reply to the false statements I scarcely know. At present the Yangchow outrage is the all-absorbing subject.

January 13th, 1869: It rejoices our hearts that you are again at Yangchow. The late riots have led to such an immense increase of correspondence and claims upon me, that I must guard against breaking down entirely.

February 25th: We are just back from Bristol, where we found many dear friends who remembered and enquired most affectionately after you and Mrs. Taylor. The sympathy expressed for you and those with you in the late trial was great and very sweet; and none spoke more warmly of you than dear Mr. Miiller.

I asked for his opinion respecting the appeal to the British Consul, and you would have rejoiced to have heard him repudiate the spirit of judging you, or of fault-finding. He said he would never have spoken to me on the subject, had I not asked him for his judgment: after which he said that, had poor George Miiller been in such circumstances, he cannot tell what he might have done; still he thought the more excellent way would have been to trust in God. That we must not set up what we think the more excellent way, as a rule for others, he quite agreed with me. Finally, Mr. Miller only allowed me, upon my request, to refer to his opinion with the understanding that it was that we might help each other in serving the Lord, and not in any spirit of fault-finding or condemning you.

March 11th: The Yangchow matter is before the House of Lords, and I hope to send you a copy of The Times ere long. You can scarcely imagine what an effect the matter has produced in the country. Thank God I can say, ‘None of these things move me.’ I believe He has called us to this work, and it is not for us to run away from it or allow difficulties to overcome us. Be of good courage, the battle is the Lord’s.

One result of all these difficulties was, not unnaturally, a falling off in the income of the Mission, so that for the first time Taylor was faced with serious shortness of funds in China. This would have been much more the case if the Lord had not laid it upon the heart and put it into the power of George Miller largely to increase his gifts. He had been sending regularly to several members of the Mission sometimes as much as £25 a quarter and now, within a day or two of the Yangchow riot (long before he heard of it), he wrote to Mr. Berger asking for the names of others who were thoroughly satisfactory in their work whom he might add to his list. Mr. Berger sent him six names from which to choose, and his choice was to take them all.” This was not only a substantial help, it was a great encouragement, for it meant added sympathy and prayer on the part of one who knew the way to the Throne. And more and more Taylor was feeling the need of just such fellowship. Constantly under pressure of strain and stress as he was, his spiritual life had hardly kept pace with the demands upon it. Outwardly it may not have seemed so.

‘Our hearts were much drawn to Mr. Taylor,’ said one of the fellow-workers constantly with him, ‘by seeing his gentle, humble, tender spirit under the administrative trials of those early years.’

But ‘the heart knoweth its own bitterness,’ and the load Hudson Taylor was carrying was almost more than he could bear. It was not the work with all its difficulty and trial: when consciously in communion with the Lord these seemed light. It was not shortness of funds, nor anxiety about those dearest to him. It was just—himself: the unsatisfied longing of his heart; the inward struggle to abide in Christ; the frequent failure and disappointment. So bitter was this experience that even when it was left far behind he could never forget it. This it was that made him always sympathetic with younger workers in their spiritual conflicts, quick to see and make the most of every opportunity to help them. Fellowship with God was to him a great reality, a great necessity. He had known much of it; much too of the terrible void of losing it. “Like a diver under water without air, or a fireman on a burning building with an empty hose,’ he found himself face to face with heathenism and all the claims that pressed upon him, but alas! too often out of touch with Christ.

Just at this time the pages of the Revival (later the Christian) were largely occupied with a genuine holiness movement destined, in the providence of God, to lead to the Keswick Convention with its world-wide influences for good. Finding its way to all the stations of the Mission, this paper was bringing the subject of a deeper spiritual life prominently before its readers, and not a few, like Taylor himself, were hungering for a fuller experience of the possibilities it set forth, which they saw to be - in accordance with the Word of God. It was the life of habitual victory over sin, the life that is in deep reality ‘Not I, but Christ,’ for which their hearts longed.

Life was too busy as a rule for Taylor’s Correspondence to reveal much of the crisis through which he was passing, but early in 1869 he found himself alone on a journey which gave opportunity for one of the old-time letters to his mother.

I have often asked you to remember me in prayer, and when I have done so there has been much need of it. That need has never been greater than at the present time.

My own position becomes continually more and more responsible, and my need greater of special grace to fill it; but I have continually to mourn that I follow at such a distance and learn so slowly to imitate my precious Master. I cannot tell you how I am buffeted sometimes by temptation. I never knew how bad a heart I had. Often I am tempted to think that one so full of sin cannot be a child of God at all; but I try to throw it back, and rejoice all the more in the preciousness of Jesus, and in the riches of that grace that has made us ‘accepted in the beloved.’ Beloved He is of God; beloved He ought to be of us. But oh, how short I fall here again! May God help me to love Him more and serve Him better. Do pray for me. Pray that the Lord will keep me from sin, will sanctify me ee will use me more largely in His service.

It was six months after writing this letter that he himself received one which proved to be God’s channel for the illumination he needed. The letter came from John McCarthy in Hangchow, and reached him at a time when life was specially full and busy. There it lay amid a pile of accumulated correspondence that awaited his return from attending a fellow-missionary dangerously ill. We do not know if he was alone as he read it: we do not know just how the miracle was wrought. But ‘as I read, I saw it all. I looked to Jesus; and when I saw, oh how joy flowed!’

The whole story of his own extremity and deliverance was poured out in a letter to his sister Amelia,

October 17th, 1869: The last month or more has been, perhaps, the happiest of my life; and I long to tell you a little of what the Lord has done for my soul. I do not know how far I may be able to make myself intelligible about it, for there is nothing new or strange or wonderful—and yet, all is new! In a word, ‘Whereas I was blind, now I see’.

Perhaps I shall make myself more clear if I go back a

little. Well, dearie, my mind has been greatly exercised for six or eight months past, feeling the need personally, and for our Mission, of more holiness, life, power in our souls. But personal need stood first and was the greatest. I felt the ingratitude, the danger, the sin of not living nearer to God. I prayed, agonised, fasted, strove, made resolutions, read the Word more diligently, sought more time for retirement and meditation—but all was without effect. Every day, almost every hour, the consciousness of sin oppressed me. I knew that if] could only abide in Christ all would be well, but I could not. | began the day with prayer, determined not to take my eye from Him for a moment; but pressure of duties, sometimes very trying, constant interruptions apt to be so wearing, often caused me to forget Him. Then one’s nerves get so fretted in this climate that temptations to irritability, hard thoughts, and sometimes unkind words are all the more difficult to control. Each day brought its register of sin and failure, of lack of power. To will was indeed present with me, but how to perform I found not.

Then came the question, ‘Is there no rescue? Must it be thus to the end—constant conflict and, instead of victory, too often defeat?’ How, too, could I preach with sincerity that to those _ who receive Jesus, ‘to them gave he power to become the sons of God’ (i.e. God-like) when it was not so in my own experience? Instead of growing stronger, I seemed to be getting weaker and to have less power against sin; and no wonder, for faith and even hope were getting very low. I hated myself; I hated my sin; and yet I gained no strength against it. I felt I was a child of God: His Spirit in my heart would cry, in spite of all, “Abba, Father’: but to rise to my privileges as a child, I was utterly powerless. I thought that holiness, practical holiness, was to be gradually attained by a diligent use of the means of grace. I felt that there was nothing I so much desired in this world, nothing I so much needed. But so far from in any measure attaining it, the more I pursued and strove after it, the more it eluded my grasp; till hope itself almost died out, and I began to think that, perhaps to make Heaven the sweeter, God would not give it down here. I do not think I was striving to attain it in my own strength. I knew I was powerless. I told the Lord so, and asked Him to give me help and strength; and sometimes I almost believed He would keep and uphold me. But on looking back in the evening, alas! there was but sin and failure to confess and mourn before God.

I would not give you the impression that this was the daily experience of all those long, weary months. It was a too frequent state of soul; that toward which I was tending, and which almost ended in despair. And yet never did Christ seem more precious—a Saviour who could and would save such a sinner!

Sometimes there were seasons not only of peace but of joy in the Lord. But they were transitory, and at best there was a sad lack of power. Oh, how good the Lord was in bringing this conflict to an end!

All the time I felt assured that there was in Christ all I needed, but the practical question was how to get it out. He was rich, truly, but I was poor; He was strong, but I was weak. I knew full well that there was in the root, the stem, abundant fatness; but how to get it into my puny little branch was the question. As gradually the light was dawning on me, I saw that faith was the only prerequisite, was the hand to lay hold on His fullness and make it my own. But I had not this faith. | strove for it, but it would not come; tried to exercise it, but in vain. Seeing more and more the wondrous supply of grace laid up in Jesus, the fullness of our precious Saviour—my helplessness and guilt seemed to increase. Sins committed appeared but as trifles compared with the sin of unbelief which was their cause, which could not or would not take God at His word, but rather made Him a

liar! Unbeliéf was, I felt, the damning sin of the world—yet I indulged in it. I prayed for faith, but it came not. What was I to do?

When my agony of soul was at its height, a sentence in a letter from dear McCarthy was used to remove the scales from my eyes, and the Spirit of God revealed the truth of our oneness with Jesus as I had never known it before. McCarthy, who had been much exercised by the same sense of failure, but saw the light before I did, wrote (I quote from memory):

‘But how to get faith strengthened? Not by striving after faith, but by resting on the Faithful One.’

As I read I saw it all! ‘If we believe not, he abideth faithful.’ I looked to Jesus and saw (and when I saw, oh, how joy flowed!) that He had said, ‘/ will never leave you.’ ‘Ah, there is rest!’ I thought. ‘I have striven in vain to rest in Him. I'll strive no more. For has He not promised to abide with me—never to leave me, never to fail me?’ And, dearie, He never will!

But this was not all He showed me, nor one half. As I thought of the vine and the branches, what light the blessed Spirit poured direct into my soul! How great seemed my mistake in having wished to get the sap, the fullness out of Him. I saw not only that Jesus would never leave me, but that I was a member of His body, of His flesh and of His bones. The vine now I see, is not the root merely, but all—root, stem, branches, twigs, leaves, flowers, fruit: and Jesus is not only that: He is soil and sunshine, air and showers, and ten thousand times more than we have ever dreamed, wished for, or needed. Oh, the joy of seeing this truth! I do pray that the eyes of your understanding may be enlightened, that you may know and enjoy the riches freely given us in Christ.

Oh, my dear sister, it is a wonderful thing to be really one with a risen and exalted Saviour; to be a member of Christ! Think what it involves. Can Christ be rich and I poor? Can your right hand be rich and the left poor? or your head be well fed while your body starves? Again, think of its bearing on prayer.

Could a bank clerk say to a customer, ‘It was only your hand wrote that cheque, not you,’ or, ‘I cannot pay this sum to your hand, but only to yourself’? No more can your prayers, or mine, be discredited if offered in the Name of Jesus (i.e. not in our own name, or for the sake of Jesus merely, but on the ground that we are His, His members) so long as we keep within the extent of Christ’s credit—a tolerably wide limit! If we ask anything unscriptural or not in accordance with the will of God, Christ Himself could not do that; but, ‘If we ask anything according to his will, he heareth us, and... we know that we have the petitions that we desired of him.’

The sweetest part, if one may speak of one part being sweeter than another, is the rest which full identification with Christ brings. I am no longer anxious about anything, as I realise this; for He, I know, is able to carry out His will, and His will is mine. It makes no matter where He places me, or how. That is rather for Him to consider than for me; for in the easiest positions He must give me His grace, and in the most difficult His grace is sufficient. It little matters to my servant whether I send him to buy a few cash worth of things, or the most expensive articles. In either case he looks to me for the money, and brings me his purchases. So, if God places me in great perplexity, must He not give me much guidance; in positions of great difficulty, much grace; in circumstances of great pressure and trial, much strength? No fear that His resources will be unequal to the emergency! And His resources are mine, for He is mine, and is with me and dwells in me. All this springs from the believer’s oneness with Christ. And since Christ has thus dwelt in my heart by faith, how happy I have been! I wish I could tell you instead of writing about it.

I am no better than, before (may I not say, in a sense, I do not wish to be, nor am I striving to be); but I am dead and buried with Christ—aye, and risen too and ascended; and now Christ lives in me, and ‘the life that I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.’

I now believe I am dead to sin. God reckons me so, and tells me to reckon myself so. He knows best. All my past experience may have shown that it was not so; but I dare not say it is not now, when He says it is. I feel and know that old things have passed away. I am as capable of sinning as ever, but Christ is realised as present as never before. He cannot sin; and He can keep me from I sinning. I cannot say (I am sorry to have to confess it) that since I have seen this light I have not sinned; but I do feel there was no need to have done so. And further—walking more in the light, my conscience has been more tender; sin has been instantly seen, confessed, pardoned; and peace and joy (with humility) instantly restored; with one exception, when for several hours peace and joy did not return—from want, as I had to learn, of full confession, and from some attempt to justify self.

Faith, I now see, is ‘the substance of things hoped for,’ and not mere shadow. It is not /ess than sight, but more. Sight only shows the outward forms of things; faith gives the substance. You can rest on substance, feed on substance. Christ dwelling in the heart by faith (i.e. His word of promise credited) is power indeed, is life indeed. And Christ and sin will not dwell together; nor can we have His presence with love of the world, or carefulness about ‘many things’.

And now I must close. I have not said half I would, nor as I would, had I more time. May God give you to lay hold on these blessed truths. Do not let us continue to say, in effect, ‘Who shall ascend into heaven? that is, to bring Christ down from above.’ In other words, do not let us consider Him as afar off, when God has made us one with Him, members of His very body. Nor should we look upon this experience, these truths, as for the few. They are the birthright of every child of God, and no one can dispense with them without dishonour to our Lord. The only power for deliverance from sin or for true service is Christ.