To John Kennedy, Bailie of Ayr — Letter 45

Grace, mercy, and peace be to you. Your not writing to me cannot bind me up from remembering you now and then, that at least you may be a witness and a third party, to behold in paper what is between Christ and me. I was in his eyes like a young orphan, wanting known parents, cast out in the open fields; either Christ had to take me up and bring me home to his house and fireside, else I would have died in the fields. And now I am so at home with Christ's love that I think the house mine own and the master of the house mine also. Christ inquired not, when he began to love me, whether I was fair, or dark, and sunburned — love takes what it may have. He loved me before this time, I know; but now I have the flower of his love, his love is come to a fair bloom, like a young rose opened out of the green leaves, and it casts a strong and fragrant scent. I want nothing but ways of expressing Christ's love: a full vessel wants a vent. Oh if I could breathe out and cast out coals to make a fire in many breasts of this land! Oh, it is a pity that there were not many imprisoned for Christ for no other purpose but to write books and love-songs of the love of Christ. This love would keep all created tongues of men and angels in exercise and busy, night and day, to speak of it. Alas, I can speak nothing of it but wonder at three things in his love. First, freedom: oh, that lumps of sin should get such love for nothing. Second, the sweetness of his love — I give over either speaking or writing of it, but those that feel it may better bear witness to what it is. But it is so sweet that next to Christ himself, nothing can match it; no, I think a soul could live eternally blessed only on Christ's love and feed upon nothing else. Yes, when Christ in love gives a blow, it does a soul good, and it is a kind of comfort and joy to receive a stroke with the lovely, sweet, and soft hand of Jesus. Third: what power and strength is in his love! I am persuaded it can climb the steepest hill with hell upon its back, and swim through the water and not drown, and sing in the fire and feel no pain, and triumph in losses, prisons, sorrows, exile, disgrace, and laugh and rejoice in death. Oh for a year's lease of the sense of his love without a cloud, to try what Christ is! Oh for the coming of the bridegroom! Oh, when will I see the bridegroom and the bride meet in the clouds and kiss each other! Oh, when will we get our day and our hearts full of that love! Oh, if it were lawful to complain of the famine and want of that love — of the immediate vision of God! O time, time, how you torment the souls of those who would be swallowed up of Christ's love, because you move so slowly! Oh, if he would pity a poor prisoner, and breathe love upon me, and give a prisoner a taste or draught of that surpassing sweetness — which is glory as it were begun — to be a confirmation that Christ and I shall have our fill of each other forever! Come here, O love of Christ, that I may once kiss you before I die. What would I not give to have the time that lies between Christ and me taken out of the way, that we might once meet? I cannot but think that at the first sight I shall have of that most lovely and fairest face, love shall come out of his two eyes and fill me with astonishment. I would desire only to stand at the outer edge of the gates of the new Jerusalem, and look through a hole in the door and see Christ's face; a borrowed vision in this life would be my borrowed and begun heaven, while the long, long-looked-for day dawns. It is not for nothing that it is said in (Colossians 1:27): 'Christ in you, the hope of glory.' I will be content with no pledge of heaven but Christ himself, for Christ possessed by faith here is young heaven and glory in the bud. If I had that pledge, I would endure hardship and trial before I gave it back again. All we have here is scarcely the picture of glory: should we not, as young children, long and look for the expiration of our minority? It were good to be daily begging tokens and love-gifts and the bridegroom's favors, and if we can do no more, to seek crumbs and hungry portions of Christ's love, to keep the taste of heaven in our mouth until supper time. I know it is far into the afternoon and near the marriage supper of the Lamb; the table is already covered. O beloved, run, run fast! O fair day, when will you dawn! O shadows, flee away! I think hope and love woven together make our absence from Christ a spiritual torment; it is a pain to wait on, but hope that does not shame swallows up that pain. It is not unkindness that keeps Christ and us so long apart. What can I say to Christ's love? I think more than I can say. To consider that when my Lord Jesus might take the air, if I may so speak, and go abroad, yet he will be confined and keep the prison with me — but in all this sweet communion with him, what am I to be thanked for? I am but a sufferer whether I will or not; he will be kind to me, as if he had defied my guiltiness to make him unkind, so he presses in with his love upon me. Here I die with wonder, that justice does not hinder love, for there are none in hell nor out of hell more unworthy of Christ's love. Shame may confound and frighten me to hold up my black mouth to receive one of Christ's undeserved kisses. If my inner side were turned out and all men saw my vileness, they would say to me: it is a shame for you to stand still while Christ kisses you and embraces you. It would seem more fitting for me rather to run away from his love, as ashamed of my own unworthiness. No, I may well be ashamed to take heaven, who have so greatly provoked my Lord Jesus. But since Christ's love will shame me, I am content to be shamed. My desire is that my Lord would give me broader and deeper thoughts, to feed myself with wonder at his love. I wish I could weigh it, but I have no balance for it. When I have worn my tongue to the stump in praising Christ, I have done nothing toward him; I must let him alone, for my withered arms will not go around his high, wide, long, and broad love. What remains then but that my debt to the love of Christ lie unpaid for all eternity? All who are in heaven are shamed with his love as well as I; we must all be debtors together, and the blessing of that houseful — or heavenful — of debtors shall rest forever upon him. Oh that this land and nation would come and stand beside his inconceivable and glorious perfections, and look in, and love, and wonder, and adore! Would to God I could bring in many lovers to Christ's house! But this nation has forsaken the fountain of living waters. Lord, do not cast water on Scotland's coal. Woe, woe will be to this land, because of the day of the Lord's fierce anger that is so fast coming. Grace be with you.

Aberdeen. Your affectionate brother in our Lord Jesus, S. R.