To Marion McKnaught — Letter 35

Worthy and dearest in the Lord.

I have ever loved, since I knew you, that little vineyard of the Lord's planting in Galloway — but now much more, since I have heard that he who has his fire in Zion and his furnace in Jerusalem has been pleased to set up a furnace among you, among the first in this kingdom. He who makes old things new, seeing Scotland an old dross-laden and rusted church, is beginning to make a new, clean bride of her and to bring a young chaste wife to himself out of the fire. This fire shall be quenched as soon as Christ has brought a clean spouse through the fire. Therefore, my dearly beloved in the Lord, fear not a worm; fear not, weak Jacob — Christ is in that cause and shall win the plea. Charge an unbelieving heart, under pain of treason against our great and royal King Jesus, to dependence by faith and quiet waiting on our Lord. Get into your chambers and shut the doors about you; go with speed into your strong hold, you prisoners of hope. You doves, flee into Christ's windows, till the indignation is over and the storm is past. Glorify the Lord in your sufferings and take his banner of love and spread it over you. Others will follow you if they see you strong in the Lord; their courage shall take life from your Christian conduct. Look up and see who is coming; lift up your head — he is coming to save, in garments dyed in blood, and traveling in the greatness of his strength. I laugh, I smile, I leap for joy to see Christ coming to save you so quickly. Oh, what wide steps Christ takes! Three or four hills are but a step to him; he skips over the mountains. Christ has set a battle between his poor weak saints and his enemies; he chooses the weapons for both parties and says to the enemies: Take a sword of steel — law, authority, parliaments, and kings on your side; that is your armor. And he says to his saints: I give you a feeble wooden sword in your hand, and that is suffering, receiving of blows, spoiling of your goods — and with your wooden sword you shall win the victory. Was not Christ dragged through the ditches of deep distresses and great straits? And yet Christ who is your head has won through with his life, though not with a whole skin. You are Christ's members, and he is drawing his members through the thorny hedge up to heaven after him. Christ will one day not have so much as a pained toe, but there are great portions of Christ's mystical body not yet within the gates of the great high city, the new Jerusalem, and the dragon will strike at Christ so long as there is one member of Christ's body outside of heaven. I tell you, Christ will make new work out of old, cast-aside Scotland, and gather his old broken boards of his tabernacle, and pin them and nail them together. Our petitions and supplications are up in heaven; Christ's coffers are full of them. There is mercy on the other side of this hill, and a good answer to all our petitions is agreed upon. I must tell you what lovely Jesus, fair Jesus, King Jesus has done to my soul: sometimes he sends me out a standing drink and whispers a word through the wall, and I am well content with kindness at the second hand — his message is always welcome to me, be it what it will. But at other times he will be the messenger himself, and I get the cup of salvation out of his own hand, and we cannot rest until we are in each other's arms. And oh, how sweet is a fresh kiss from his holy mouth! His breathing that goes before a kiss upon my poor soul is sweet, and its only fault is that it is too short. I am unconcerned, and do not set much store on this, though sides and back and shoulders and head fall to pieces in stepping up to my Father's house. I know my Lord can make long and broad and high and deep glory to his name out of this little feeble body, for Christ does not look at what material he draws glory out of. My dearly beloved, you have often refreshed me, but that is put up in my Master's accounts — you have him as my debtor. But if you will do anything for me, as I know you will, now in my extremity, tell all my dear friends that a prisoner is fettered and chained in Christ's love — Lord, never loose the fetters. And you and they together, send your heartiest greetings to my Lord Jesus, and thank him for a poor friend. I desire your husband to read this letter; I send him a prisoner's blessing. I will be obliged to him if he will be willing to suffer for my dear Master. Suffering is the believer's golden garment; there shall be no losses on Christ's side of it. You have been witnesses of much joy between Christ and me at communion feasts, the remembrance of which, though I am now feasted in secret, hollows out my heart — for I am put from the head of the table and the king's first course to his side table, and his broken provisions are sweet to me. I thank my Lord for borrowed crumbs no less than when I was feasted at the communion table in Anwoth and Kirkcudbright. Pray that I may get one day of Christ in public, as I have long since had, before my eyes are closed. Oh that my Master would take up residence again, and lend me the keys of his wine cellar again, and God send me borrowed drink until then. Remember my love to Christ's kinsmen with you. I pray for Christ's Father's blessing on them all. Grace be with you; a prisoner's blessing be with you. I write it, and I stand by it: God shall be glorified in Marion McKnaught when this stormy blast shall be over. O woman beloved of God, believe, rejoice, be strong in the Lord. Grace is your portion.

Aberdeen, June 15, 1637. Your brother in his sweet Lord Jesus, S. R.