Postscript
Postscript
At about seven on the Thursday morning, Muller’s attendant knocked at his door with a cup of tea. On entering, she found him lying dead on the floor beside his bed.
The news created a sensation in Bristol. On the Sunday there was scarcely a pulpit in the city, Anglican or non-conformist, from which reference was not made to the city’s late philanthropist and preacher; in some churches, the Dead March was played.
Next day, Monday March 14th, was the day of the funeral. It is said that nothing like it has been seen in Bristol before or since. Firms closed or gave their employees time off to witness the event: thousands of people lined the route of the procession; on Bristol cathedral and other churches flags flew at half mast and muffled peals were rung; in all the main streets black shutters were put up or blinds drawn. The city mourned.
After a short service at No. 3 House, a procession formed to walk to Bethesda for the main service. Amongst the column were four of the occupants of Muller’s first home in Wilson Street, who remembered the day in June, 1849, when they had marched up to Ashley Down to see their spacious new quarters.
Hundreds were unable to gain admission to the service at Bethesda. Among those who did squeeze into the main area of the chapel and its galleries were a number of clergymen and dissenting ministers. After the two addresses, hymns, and F. S. Arnot’s closing prayer, nearly a hundred carriages including the Mayor’s state coach joined the procession across the river to the cemetery. At about two o’clock the procession reached the main gates inside of which a vast crowd of about seven thousand people had gathered. With considerable difficulty, a way was cleared for the bearers to carry the coffin up the hillside to the spot under a yew tree where Mary and Susannah had been buried. The service at the graveside concluded with the massive open air congregation joining to sing the last hymn which Muller had chosen at the prayer meeting less than five days previously—ending, as he would have wished, not in sadness, but in anticipation of those ‘yonder bright regions of joy’.
Obituary articles appeared in most national and local newspapers; one of the longest and most detailed—in The Times—has already been quoted in chapters seventeen and eighteen, and will be further cited below. Several newspapers contrasted the unequivocal facts of Muller’s life with the rationalism of the age. ‘Mr Muller,’ said the Bristol Evening News, ‘occupied a unique position among the philanthropists of the nineteenth century. In an age of agnosticism and materialism, he put to a practical test theories about which many men were content to hold profitless controversy.’ The Liverpool Mercury, noting that thousands of children ‘have been fed, clothed, and educated out of funds, which have poured in without any influential committee or organisation, without appeal or advertisement of any sort’ asked: ‘How was this wonder accomplished? Mr Muller has told the world that it was the result of “Prayer”. The rationalism of the day will sneer at this declaration; but the facts remain, and remain to be explained. It would be unscientific to belittle historical occurrences when they are difficult to explain, and much juggling would be needed to make the Orphanages on Ashley Down vanish from view.’ The Daily Telegraph, in similar vein, said ‘Mr Muller’s life and example, by their eloquent and touching beauty, cannot fail to impress even a sceptical and utilitarian age.’ Writing of Muller’s far-reaching social achievements, the Telegraph noted that he had ‘robbed the cruel streets of thousands of victims, the gaols of thousands of felons, the workhouse of thousands of helpless waifs’.
In a sense, the tributes of the Bristol press are of greater significance than those of the national papers. For it was in Bristol that Muller sought to demonstrate that God answers prayer. Hundreds of Bristolians were or had been permanently employed at the Homes; many more worked there temporarily teaching, nursing, carrying out repairs or making deliveries; others took the weekly opportunities to visit the five Homes. Had Muller’s principles failed, the truth could surely not have been shielded from Bristol’s watchful eyes. The west country has never lacked its sceptics nor the nineteenth century its cynics. The news of under-fed, ill-clothed or cruelly treated children would have quickly travelled from Ashley Down to the heart of Bristol and beyond. And yet the Bristol Times, devoting its first leader as well as a separate news item and obituary article to Muller’s passing commented: ‘It may be taken as substantiated that nearly all which has been said about Mr Muller is absolutely true’. The paper spoke of Muller’s ‘rare and stupendous intellectual gifts’ and genius, and concluded he was ‘raised up for the purpose of showing that the age of miracles is not past, and rebuking the sceptical tendencies of the time’.
How are we to assess George Muller nearly eighty years after his death?
Some of his personal qualities were by themselves unusual, and when combined in one man, are rare to say the least. We may point, in the first place, to the outstanding administrative ability of the man (himself the son of a civil servant) who founded a home for thirty children and over the years undertook to expand the operation, becoming responsible for the welfare and education of two thousand children and the direction of a full-time staff of two hundred people. That same man, as a director of the Scriptural Knowledge Institution, controlled the expenditure of hundreds of thousands of pounds to aid and encourage missionary work overseas, and to provide education for children and adults at home and abroad in schools financed and often directly run by the Institution. His supervision of all this activity was characterised by a consistent attention to detail: he maintained accurate accounts of every aspect of his work; he was renowned—even when the work was at its peak—for his knowledge of many of the children by name (in the early days he knew them all); he took a similar personal interest in the affairs of the members of his large congregation at Bethesda and in the missionaries all over the world whose activities he supported. In his decision-making as the work grew he was scrupulously correct: whether the decision was to move or not to move from Wilson Street, to expand or not to expand, whom to appoint to his staff, he would carefully set out the pros and cons in true managerial style—but with this in addition, long hours would be spent in thoughtful prayer. And yet with all his attention to detail, he was, as we have seen, neither inflexible nor lacking in vision.
Then we may point to the man’s remarkable energy, which he demonstrated as a student in Halle and London by regularly working for between twelve and fourteen hours a day, and in his seventies and eighties by travelling about two hundred thousand miles to preach and work in thirty countries.
Muller was an individualist. He preferred to direct than to be directed, to be the employer rather than the employee. His early connection as a trainee with a London Missionary Society did not last: he found their restrictions unacceptable and preferred to go his own way—though the break was friendly enough. But there was a master whom he delighted to obey, and it was in the service of Christ that he found his life’s work. From that summer in Devon when, as he put it, he ‘found his all in God’ his life was one of total commitment to Him. ‘Honour, pleasure, money,’ he wrote, ‘my physical powers, my mental powers, all was laid down at the feet of Jesus.’
He was not, therefore, a selfish individualist. The evidence corroborates his testimony that there was a day when he died, ‘died to George Muller, his opinions, preferences, tastes and will’. His energy and abilities were directed into self-less channels in the service of God and his fellow human-beings. (It is known that during his life he received about £93,000 for his personal expenses: of this he gave away over £81,000; and at his death his sole estate was valued at about £160, including household furniture.)
Combined with the undoubted stubbornness of the Prussian, there was a surpassing graciousness of character which won him the affection and loyalty of friends and staff, the love and admiration of hundreds whom he met on his preaching tours, and the obvious respect of the citizens of Bristol. Charles Parsons, who knew him well, recorded: ‘In himself George Muller was one of the most lovable of men: his heart overflowed with love. To the orphans whether singly or in groups he spoke in the tenderest manner imaginable. Said one of the schoolmasters to me one day, himself brought up as an orphan in the Homes, “Mr Muller is more than a father to us all”.’ No one who has read his journal could deny the marked absence of harsh or caustic comment: as shrewd a judge of character as any, for Muller it was the good and wholesome aspects of men which were worthy of note; as for the rest he was content to be silent.
There will be those who will say he was narrow-minded. It is true that he appears to have thought of ‘the world’ as disordered and in the grip of the evil one—a view that he would no doubt have defended on the basis of both observation and Scripture—probably calling in aid verses like 1 John 5:19, ‘And we know that we are of God, and the world lieth in wickedness’. Twice after his conversion, he went to the theatre (except to preach) and once to a concert, but felt ‘that it was unbecoming for me, as a child of God, to be in such a place’. Even had he been fond of the normal forms of entertainment, there would have been little time for this amid his busy life—or, perhaps, he would have achieved less. Narrow-minded or single-minded?— the reader must decide. His attitude to the world did not prevent him from devoting the last years of his life to going ‘into all the world’ to preach the gospel. And as for his attitude to Christians who held differing views from his, we saw that one of his aims on these tours was to discourage sectarian attitudes amongst Christian denominations and, as he said, to ‘preach amongst all’ (chapter 21).
The reference in the Bristol Times to Muller’s ‘rare and stupendous intellectual gifts’ is somewhat surprising. There is no doubt that he was gifted intellectually: he shone at school, despite his wild life; he left Halle with a good degree; and spoke seven languages. But on the whole he was happier in the field of action than in the realm of ideas. When he taught Christians, his ministry was mainly either practical (how they might live the Christian life, find reality, and know definite answers to prayer), or such as would inspire his hearers to greater commitment. This interested him far more than rather abstract theological debate: it was only with reluctance (and of necessity) that he was drawn into the controversy in the 1840s on the humanity and sufferings of Christ. It is clear that he well understood the issues involved: indeed, his comments on the debate are strikingly penetrating; but he refused to indulge in unedifying tract warfare on the subject.
His most notable intellectual quality was his ability to think clearly. In 1839, for instance, when a separation threatened at Bethesda over a dispute on points of church order, Muller and Craik went into retreat for a fortnight, to think, study and pray. They returned to Bethesda for a series of meetings at which they explained their findings. The paper which Muller produced containing the substance of what they said is something of a masterpiece of concise, logical thought. It outlined their findings on eldership, discipline, and the Lord’s Supper, carefully distinguishing between what could be ‘expressly proved from Scripture’, and what Scripture seemed ‘rather in favour of’. (In the latter case, it was particularly emphasised that ‘mutual forbearance ought to be exercised’ where churches differed). Primarily a man of action rather than a philosopher or controversialist, Muller was nevertheless capable of sustained and objective thought. It is noteworthy that accuracy was the feature that struck him about Newton’s later writings.
What has intrigued and inspired people for over a century now, is not so much what George Muller was as what he did: if his personal qualities were unusual, his achievements were in one respect unique, perhaps since apostolic times and possibly even since Elijah’s finest hour on Carmel (see 1 Kings, 18). For Muller embarked on his project with the stated aim of demonstrating God’s reality, and of proving to those who cared to observe that God answers prayer. There have always been those who would claim to have proved this power for themselves or who have trusted in God alone to support them; Muller’s uniqueness lies not in his exercise of faith, nor in the importance he attached to prayer, but in his announcement, as he embarked on the undertaking, that he was setting out to demonstrate that God is real. In 1837, recalling the reasons which led him to establish his first home (in 1836), he wrote:
Now, if I, a poor man, simply by prayer and faith, obtained without asking any individual, the means for establishing and carrying on an Orphan-House: there would be something which, with the Lord’s blessing, might be instrumental in strengthening the faith of the children of God, besides being a testimony to the consciences of the unconverted, of the reality of the things of God.
So Muller issued his challenge to unbelievers to watch the work he had begun and see whether there was a God who would finance it; he invited believers not only to see what God would do, but to consider their response if He proved faithful.
The preceding pages have told what happened. In brief: during the next sixty-three years, Muller received nearly one and a half million pounds (to be precise: £1,453,513 13s 3d); and the many branches of his work included the care of some ten thousand children. He claimed that neither he nor his staff ever issued an appeal for funds or asked any individual to support his work. No evidence has been produced to disprove this. (There was once an allegation that Muller had prayed publicly that God would send money to the Homes; Muller described this as ‘entirely false’—see chapter n.) According to Muller, for over sixty years God provided the means— and thus demonstrated His reality.
What will be the reaction to this in the last quarter of the twentieth century?
It would be foolish to claim that the events of Muller’s life constitute scientific proof either of the existence of God, or, if He exists, of His willingness or ability to answer prayer. It is the view of the author, however, that what Muller described as ‘the Lord’s dealings’ with him constitute—not proof of these things—but evidence which deserves to be taken seriously.
Leaving aside for a moment the issue of how the money was raised, the reader can verify the visible facts of the case by taking a trip to Bristol. Those five great buildings still stand on Ashley Down. Now used by Bristol Polytechnic, No. 3—where the founder lived and died—is clearly marked and suitably named: Muller House. When in Bristol, the reader may care to visit the other Muller House (address: 7 Cotham Park, Bristol, BS6 6DA), headquarters of the work today, to enquire whether Muller’s principles have stood the test of time. There has been no departure from them.
The sceptical reader, while readily agreeing with the Liverpool Mercury that ‘much juggling would be needed to make the Orphanages on Ashley Down vanish from view’ may raise a number of objections to Muller’s explanation as to their financing. We have allowed Muller to reply to some of the objections put forward in his day in chapter fifteen—including the argument that it was simply the publication of annual reports which produced the results. (We do not repeat Muller’s reply here.)
Muller believed that God exists; that in the nineteenth century, He was still the Living God; that this Living God answered his prayers and ‘put it into people’s hearts’ to give to the work which he directed. Perhaps the argument of those who do not believe in God, or who are doubtful and remained unconvinced by Muller’s attempt to demonstrate His reality, would run something like this:
(i) It may well be true that George Muller never appealed, for funds, but it is a fact that he publicly announced his intention of founding a home for children;
(ii) He clearly had a large number of Christian friends, many of them in the Brethren movement, who would have been anxious that his attempt to demonstrate God’s reality should succeed;
(iii) Seeing the value of what he was doing, and the obvious extent of the need, they therefore gave generously to his work;
(iv) His refusal to appeal for funds, so the critic may argue, was a convenient device to spare him indignity and embarrassment.
Just as we have stated that the events of Muller’s life do not prove the existence of a God who answers prayer (rather they constitute evidence that deserves to be taken seriously), so it must be said that none of these objections disproves Muller’s contention. But, in Muller’s defence, it may be noted:
(a) In answer to (i) above, Muller’s concept of trust in God rarely involved doing nothing. This attitude he described as the ‘counterfeit of faith’. Once he had satisfied himself that it was God’s will to found a home, it was necessary to act and to act correctly: therefore the meeting to outline his plans was arranged (a collection, of course, being deliberately excluded). Also three statements in the Bristol press summarised his proposals and gave certain details of eligibility, and so on. Without considering the practical difficulties of proceeding in the absence of some publicity, this also may be added: it required courage for Muller to make no secret of his intentions at the outset. For this way, if ever his principles failed, he knew that his God would be publicly discredited;
(b) In answer to (ii) above. It is true that, as the years passed, Muller’s circle of friends increased. But in 1836, when his first home was founded, he was relatively unknown even in Bristol. Indeed, he had lived in England for barely seven years;
(c) In answer to (iii) above. It is not only the total amount of money that Muller received which is striking, but the timing of its receipt—for periods the income being consistently adequate but no more than adequate (discussion of this below);
(d) In answer to (iv) above. This is an assertion capable neither of proof nor disproof. Even if it were true, it would not explain why and how the funds came in.
To argue that God did not answer Muller’s prayers, as he believed, or that there is and was no God to support his work, is to say that he was deluded. (This assumes that he sincerely believed that God was providing for him: an alternative view—though more difficult to sustain—that he was a deceiver is discussed below.) The view that Muller was deluded can be held without malice, and can be maintained alongside an admiration, even affection, for the man: he was a good, perhaps a great man of considerable achievement—but he was wrong, sincerely wrong. It is the conviction of the author, however, that the evidence of Muller’s life lends no support to this position. The evidence points not to a deluded or disillusioned man, but to someone who daily had his faith confirmed and strengthened.
It is true that Muller’s faith was tried. Chapters 9 to 11 described the period from 1838 to 1846 when—although the children knew nothing of this—there was rarely an excess of funds. The need was supplied by the day, even by the hour. Just once during this period, as we saw, Muller became—in his words—‘tried in spirit’ (chapter 9). ‘For the first time, the Lord seemed not to regard our prayer’. But an hour or so later, having been handed a gift by a visitor from London who had been staying for several days next door to the Boys’ Home in Wilson Street, and who had been entrusted with this donation by her daughter in the metropolis, Muller was able to ‘burst out into loud praises and thanks the first moment I was alone’. In Muller’s view the fact that ‘the money had been so near the Orphan-Houses for several days without being given, is a plain proof that it was in the heart of God to help us, but because He delights in the prayers of His children, He had allowed us to pray so long; also to try our faith, and to make the answer so much the sweeter’.
Muller apparently regarded this early period as a test of his obedience, and of that of his helpers. ‘It can only be ascribed to the especial mercy of God, that the faith of those who were engaged in this work did not altogether fail, and that they did not entirely grow weary of this way of carrying on the Lord’s work, and go, in despair of help from God, back again to the habits and maxims of this evil world.’ It was a period when his character was moulded, prepared for his life’s work. And can we not agree that the very fact that for long periods enough was sent but no more than enough was evidence of the hand of God? Is not this as remarkable in itself as the total receipt of one and a half million pounds? Does not a rejection of Muller’s version of the events, involve the acceptance of an incredible alternative? It would mean that for sixty or so years, his sympathisers, for various reasons excluding actual divine intervention, not only sent him sufficient funds in total to enable the vast expansion of his work, but also for periods—particularly in the early years—sent just enough to supply the need, but never, even for one day, too little.
We have noted that an alternative to the view that Muller was deluded is that he was a deceiver; in other words that, despite his assertions to the contrary, there were periods when the children were in need. But this view is almost impossible to reconcile with Muller’s popularity in Bristol, and the respect which, as we have seen, the citizens of that city—with the evidence before them—held for him.
If, as the author believes, there is little evidence to support the hypothesis that Muller was either deluded or a deluder, there is even less to suggest that, as the years passed, he grew disillusioned. He never struck his contemporaries as a man who was anxiously striving to preserve a myth, or who had reason to doubt that the needs of over two thousand persons would be met. ‘A peaceful and stately demeanour ... without a care’ was the testimony of a west-country farmer. ‘The twenty-third Psalm seemed written on his face!’
Muller’s longevity itself is surely consistent with his profession of an inner peace: a delight in God cradled in the experience of answered prayer. ‘I cannot tell you,’ he told a friend, ‘how happy this service in which I am engaged makes me. Instead of my being the anxious, careworn man so many persons think me to be, I have no anxieties and no cares at all. Faith in God leads me to roll my burdens, all my burdens, upon God. Not only burdens concerning money, but burdens concerning everything, for hundreds are my necessities besides those connected with money. In every way I find God to be my helper, even as I trust in Him for everything, and pray to Him in child-like simplicity about everything ... I have found invariably, during my long life as a believer, that if I only believed, I was sure to get in God’s time the thing I asked for.’
The incident, described in chapter 22, when—anxious to honour an engagement in Quebec—Muller prayed successfully for fog to be lifted, is, while almost certainly authentic, not typical of the man.
We do not pretend to miracles [he wrote at another time]. We have no desire that the work, in which we are engaged, should be considered an extraordinary, or even a remarkable one. We are truly sorry that many persons, inconsiderately, look upon it as almost miraculous. The principles are as old as the Holy Scriptures. But they are forgotten by many; are not held in living faith by others; and by some they are not known at all; nay, they are denied to be Scriptural by not a few, and are considered wild and fanatical.
The particular relevance of the ‘fog incident’ to our present discussion is Muller’s comment to the ship’s captain, ‘for fifty-two years, there has never been a single day that I have failed to get an audience with the King’. This, surely, was the confidence of a man in the habit of seeing his prayers answered.
Another illustration of his calm assurance that God would meet the needs of his children, was his readiness to send thousands of pounds abroad to missionaries and lay out large sums on his educational work in England and in various parts of the world. He did not think it necessary to put every penny he received to the Ashley Down account. It is the contention of the author that this was the confidence of a man who had discovered that his God was a rich God.
The obituary writer in The Times was struck by the loyalty that Muller commanded in his staff. ‘His reliance upon a Higher Power in the great crises of life was regarded on the part of many as simple fanaticism; but the results he obtained were marvellous; and though misunderstood in some quarters, he was able to kindle in those around him a devotion and an enthusiasm which were as extraordinary as they were unique’. Cannot the explanation of this ‘extraordinary enthusiasm’ be that these people, like Muller, had discovered for themselves, the reality of the things of God?
The Times observed, and Muller frequently conceded, that there were those who dismissed his principles as (in Muller’s words) ‘wild and fanatical’. The dictionary defines a fanatic as a ‘person filled with excessive and mistaken enthusiasm, especially in religion’. Was Muller a fanatic? Not according to the Western Daily Press:
Never was there a philanthropist with less of fanaticism and more of method. His bearing and his speech were not those of an emotional enthusiast who would incur heavy liabilities with a light heart; indeed, had he been such a man, his life would have been less surprising than it was; it was his calmness and confidence, associated with the most careful watchfulness over expenditure and most business-like habits, that presented a combination of qualities altogether unique and wholly surprising.
And, of course, Muller himself denied it: ‘I am not a fanatic or enthusiast, but, as all who know me are well aware, a calm, cool, quiet, calculating business-man’. And will not most business-men agree that a man who successfully raised £ii million at nineteenth-century values, and directed its outlay, cannot easily be dismissed as ‘filled with ... mistaken enthusiasm’?
Muller was not, of course, a political reformer and did not—like Lord Shaftesbury—seek to improve social conditions by influencing legislation in Parliament. Nor—like F. D. Maurice and the Christian socialists—did he strive to awaken the social conscience of Victorian Christians. He was, though, an interested member of the ‘Reformatory and Refuge Union’ of which the President was Lord Shaftesbury, and Quintin Hogg a prominent member. It was perhaps in this connection that Shaftesbury visited Ashley Down.'Muller’s diaries indicate an awareness of the findings of official Reports on poverty, of conditions in the work-houses and prisons. But his main concern was to do what he could by direct action to offer children a better start in life rather than seeking to reform the existing Poor Law Institutions. His reaction to the revelation in an official Report that there were six thousand young orphans in the prisons of England was to say: ‘By God’s help, I will do what I can to keep poor orphans from prison’; he was content - in the main - to leave to others the attempt to change the system itself.
It may be that the reaction of some to the re-telling of the Muller story will be to wish that they themselves were similarly gifted with faith. To any such, let this be said: Muller denied that the faith which enabled him to found his orphan homes was a special gift. He wrote: ‘It is not true that my faith is that gift of faith which is spoken of in 1 Corinthians 12:9.’ (In this verse Paul includes faith in a list of spiritual gifts, others mentioned being healing, miracle working, prophecy and tongues.) Muller spoke of his faith in these terms (in 1869): ‘It is the selfsame faith which is found in every believer, and the growth of which I am most sensible of to myself; for, by little and little, it has been increasing for the last forty-three years’. He continued: ‘Oh! I beseech you, do not think me an extraordinary believer, having privileges above other of God’s dear children, which they cannot have; nor look on my way of acting as something that would not do for other believers. Make but trial! Do but stand still in the hour of trial, and you will see the help of God, if you trust in Him.’
Muller’s answer to those who asked him how they might have their faith strengthened was as follows. He would begin by quoting James 1:17: ‘Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.’ Then he would point out that as the increase of faith is a good gift, it must come from God, and therefore He ought to be asked for the blessing. But, in addition, he recommended four steps which those who wished to see their faith increased could take to help the process along.
First, he advised ‘the careful reading of the word of God, combined with meditation on it’. This, he said, is how the believer learns more of the nature and character of God and ‘thus sees more and more, besides His holiness and justice, what a kind, loving, gracious, merciful, mighty, wise, and faithful Being He is’ and therefore when difficulties arise ‘will repose upon the ability of God to help him’ having ‘seen instance upon instance in the Holy Scriptures in which His almighty power and infinite wisdom have been actually exercised in helping and delivering His people; and he will repose upon the willingness of God to help him, because he has not only learned from the Scriptures what a kind, good, merciful, gracious, and faithful being God is, but because he has also seen in the word of God, how in a great variety of instances He has proved Himself to be so.’
Secondly, he warned that ‘it is of the utmost importance that we seek to maintain an upright heart and a good conscience, and, therefore, do not knowingly and habitually indulge in those things which are contrary to the mind of God ... All my confidence towards God, all my leaning upon Him in the hour of trial will be gone, if I have a guilty conscience, and do not seek to put away this guilty conscience, but still continue to do things which are contrary to the mind of God. And if, in any particular instance, I cannot trust in God, because of the guilty conscience, then my faith is weakened by that instance of distrust; for faith with every fresh trial of it either increases by trusting God, and thus getting help, or it decreases by not trusting Him; and then there is less and less power of looking simply and directly to Him, and a habit of self dependence is begotten and encouraged.’
Thirdly, he advised those who wanted their faith increased not to shrink from situations where their faith might be tested and thus strengthened. ‘In our natural state we dislike dealing with God alone... This cleaves to us more or less, even after our regeneration. Hence it is, that, more or less, even as believers, we have the same shrinking from standing with God alone—from depending upon Him alone—from looking to Him alone—and yet this is the very position in which we ought to be, if we wish our faith to be strengthened.’ It is in trying situations, depending on God alone, that Muller said the believer ‘may see the hand of God stretched out on his behalf’.
Finally, Muller said it is important that ‘we let God work for us, when the hour of the trial of our faith comes, and do not work a deliverance of our own ... However weak our faith may be, God will try it; only with this restriction, that as, in every way, He leads on gently, gradually, patiently, so also with reference to the trial of our faith ... God never lays more upon us than He is willing to enable us to bear. Now when the trial of faith comes, we are naturally inclined to distrust God, and to trust rather in ourselves, or in our friends, or in circumstances. We will rather work a deliverance of our own somehow or other, than simply look to God and wait for His help ... Would the believer, therefore, have his faith strengthened, he must especially, give time to God, who tries his faith in order to prove to His child, in the end, how willing He is to help and deliver him, the moment it is good for him.’
To those who have never yet embarked on a life of faith, two brief sentences on the theme of ‘Christianity’ written by Muller 130 years ago bear repeating to-day: ‘There is life,’ he wrote, ‘and power, and reality in our holy faith. If you never yet have known this, then come and taste for yourself.’
Let those who seek reassurance that the God of the late twentieth century is the God in whom George Muller delighted, note his declaration: ‘The Living God is with us, whose power never fails, whose arm never grows weary, whose wisdom is infinite, and whose power is unchanging. Therefore to-day, to-morrow, and next month, as long as life is continued, He will be our helper and friend. Still more, even as He is through all time, so will He be through all eternity.’