To John Kennedy, Bailie of Ayr — Letter 46

Worthy and dear brother.

Grace, mercy, and peace be to you. I long to see you in this northern world, in writing; I know it is not forgetfulness that you do not write. I am every way in good case both in soul and body; all honor and glory be to my Lord. I want nothing but a further revelation of the beauty of the unknown Son of God. Either I do not know what Christianity is, or we have set a fixed measure of so many ounce weights upon holiness and there we are at a standstill, drawing our breath all our lives. A moderation in God's way is now much in fashion. I profess I have never fully labored to find out him whom my soul loves; there is yet a gate of finding out Christ that I have never come upon. Oh if I could find it out! Alas, how soon are we pleased with our own shadow in a glass! It were good to be beginning in earnest to find out God, and to seek the right path of Christ. Time, custom, a good opinion of ourselves, our good intentions, our lazy desires, our fair shows, and the world's glittering lusters — and these broad trappings and ornaments of religion that look impressive in the church — that is what most people satisfy themselves with. But a watered bed with tears, a dry throat with praying, eyes as a fountain of tears for the sins of the land: these are rare to be found among us. Oh if we could know the power of godliness! This is one part of my case. Another is that I, like a fool, once summoned Christ for unkindness and complained of his fickleness and inconstancy, because he would have no more of my service and preaching, and had cast me out of the inheritance of the Lord. And I confess now this was but a misbegotten quarrel, and I was a fool, yet he has borne with me. I gave him a fair advantage against me, but love and mercy would not let him take it. And the truth is, now he has made friends with me again, and has taken away the mask, and has renewed his wonted favor in such a manner that he has paid me my hundredfold in this life. This prison is my banqueting house; I am handled as softly and delicately as a cherished child. I am nothing behind, I see, with Christ — he can in a month make up a year's losses. And I write this to you that I may entreat — no, implore and charge you, by the love of our beloved — to help me to praise, and to tell all your Christian acquaintance to help me; for I am as deeply drowned in his debt as any debtor can be. Yet in this fair sunshine I have something to keep me from being startled or exalted above measure. His word is a fire shut up in my bones, and I am weary with holding it in. The ministers in this town are saying they shall have my prison changed to a less confined situation, because they see God is with me. My mother has borne me a man of contention, one who strives with the whole earth. The recent wrongs and oppressions done to my brother keep my sails low; yet I defy crosses to embark me in such a quarrel against Christ as I was troubled with of late. I hope to overhope and overbelieve my troubles; I have cause now to trust Christ's promise more than his frown. Remember my hearty affection to your wife. My soul is grieved for the outcome of our brethren's journey to New England, but God has something to reveal that we do not yet see. Grace be with you. Pray for the prisoner.

Aberdeen, January 1, 1637. Yours in his only Lord Jesus, S. R.