To My Beloved and Reverend Brother Mr. Robert Blair — Letter 88

My dear brother.

Grace, mercy, and peace be multiplied upon you. I am almost weary — yes, wondering — that you write not to me, though I know it is not forgetfulness. As for myself, I am every way well; all glory to God. I was before in a quarrel with Christ, but it was one I bought and unlawful, because he whose providence was not yes-and-no to my yes-and-no, and because I believed Christ's outward appearance better than his faithful promise. Yet he has in patience waited on while I came to myself, and has not taken advantage of my weak apprehensions of his goodness. Great and holy is his name; he looks to what I desire to be, and not to what I am. One thing I have learned: if I had been in Christ by way of mere outward attachment only, as many branches are, I should have been burned to ashes, and this world should have seen a suffering minister of Christ turned — from something once in appearance — into unsavory salt. But my Lord Jesus had a good eye that the tempter should not play foul play and blow out Christ's candle. He took no thought of my bad temper and fretting and grudging humor, but of his own grace; when he burned the house he saved his own goods. And I believe the devil and the persecuting world shall reap no fruit of me but burned ashes, for he will see to his own gold and save that from being consumed with the fire. Oh, what do I owe to the file, to the hammer, to the furnace of my Lord Jesus, who has now let me see how good the wheat of Christ is, that goes through his mill and his oven, to be made bread for his own table! Grace tried is better than grace, and it is more than grace — it is glory in its infancy. I now see that godliness is more than the outside and this world's trappings and their ornamentation. Who knows the truth of grace without a trial? Oh, how little does Christ get of us but what he wins — to speak so — with much toil and pains! And how soon would faith freeze without a cross! How many dumb crosses have been laid upon my back that never had a tongue to speak the sweetness of Christ as this one has? When Christ blesses his own crosses with a tongue, they breathe out Christ's love, wisdom, kindness, and care of us. Why should I shrink from the plough of my Lord, that makes deep furrows in my soul? I know he is no idle husbandman; he purposes a crop. Oh that this white, withered, unplowed ground were made fertile to bear a crop for him, by whom it is so painfully dressed, and that this fallow ground were broken up! Why was I — a fool — grieved that he put his garland and his rose upon my head, the glory and honor of his faithful witnesses? I desire now to make no more quarrels with Christ. Truly he has not put me to a loss by what I suffer; he owes me nothing. For in my bonds, how sweet and comfortable have the thoughts of him been to me, wherein I find a sufficient recompense of reward! How blind are my adversaries who sent me to a banqueting house, to a house of wine, to my lovely Lord Jesus his love-feasts, and not to a prison or place of exile! Why should I hide my husband's faithfulness, or sin against his love, or be a miser in giving out to others what I get for nothing? Brother, eat with me and give thanks. I charge you before God that you speak to others and invite them to help me to praise. Oh, my debt of praise — how weighty it is, and how far run up! Oh that others would lend me something to pay, and teach me to praise! Oh, I am a drowned debtor! Lord Jesus, take my thoughts for payment. Yet I am in this hot summer-gleam with a tear in my eye, for by reason of my silence, sorrow has filled me. My harp is hung upon the willow trees, because I am in a strange land. I am still kept in exercise with envious brethren; my mother has borne me a man of contention. Write to me your mind about that matter. I cannot forget him; I know not what God has to do with him. And write your mind about my parishioners' behavior, and how they are served in preaching, or if there is a minister as yet forced in upon them, which I greatly desire to know, and which I much fear. Dear brother, you are in my heart, to live and to die with you. Visit me with a letter; pray for me; remember my love to your wife. Grace, grace be with you; and God who hears prayer, visit you, and let it be to you according to the prayers of

Aberdeen, January 1, 1637. Your own brother and Christ's prisoner, S. R.