The Puritan Hope

Iain Murray

‘What manner of holiness should we use, — looking for and hastening unto the coming of the day of the Lord, that is, dispatching and doing all for our lives against that day. Our lives should, as it were, be in a hurry after the day of judgment, as those that are to remove at quarter day, they hasten to do all against the time.’

THOMAS GOODWIN Quoted by J. B. Williams in his Life of the Rev. Philip Henry, 1825, 140

‘Hope holds up a period, even within the limits of time, a heaven compared with the present state of things, when “holiness to the Lord shall be written as upon the bells of the horses, and Zion shall become a quiet habitation!” But this, say you, is a period that we have but little hope of living to see. Perhaps so: still you live in prospect of a better. Blessed society, where purity and amity for ever reign! Yes, brethren, immediately on entering members of the church triumphant, you will “enter into peace”, and each one of you ‘‘walk” for ever “in his uprightness!”

ANDREW FULLER ‘The Excellency and Utility of the Grace of Hope’, 1782

‘O hope all hope surpassing
For evermore to be,
O Christ, the Church’s Bridegroom,
In Paradise with thee:
For soon shall break the day,
And shadows flee away.

HORATIUS BONAR ‘The Mountain of Myrrh’

PROBABLY the most common contemporary prejudice among orthodox Christians against the view of prophecy advocated in the preceding pages arises from the belief that it misdirects the true hope of the Church. That hope, it is said, is nothing less than the Second Advent of Christ, together with the ushering in of an eternal kingdom — it is not a temporal hope relative to the prospects of this world.

There is an understandable reason for the fear that an expectation of the extensive triumph of Christianity in history must lead to the displacement of the hope of Christ’s advent. In the last hundred years much has been said of progress, of the forward march of mankind and of the establishment of the kingdom of God. On this subject both the Church and the world sometimes appeared to be saying the same thing, yet evangelicals noted that the agreement was marked by its silence in respect to Christ’s return in glory and judgment to come. It was too often no more than pagan hopefulness veneered with Christianity — a false anticipation of what could be achieved by human effort and science. Kuenen, a nineteenth-century leader of Higher-Critical religious thought, spoke for this whole outlook when he said, ‘Our chiliasm can be no other than a fervent and active faith in moral and social progress’. There can be no doubt that the anti-supernaturalism implied in such words led many Christians to view with deep suspicion all talk of progressive victories for the gospel within history. Except, however, for its seeming resemblance to Puritan belief on the matter of unfulfilled prophecy, the naturalistic optimism of the nineteenth century stood opposed to the old theology all along the line. Its willingness to use some of the language of the old school, and particularly its hymns, only disguised the great contradiction that existed between the Puritan hope and this outlook. Instead of dependence on divine grace and upon the powerful operations of the Holy Spirit, the new idea of progress substituted concepts of a universal fatherhood of God and of a human race basically good and therefore capable of unlimited improvement. In the same way emphasis was moved from the promises of God as the only basis for the expectation of success to the philosophy of evolution. It is not therefore surprising that when the new teaching which thus reduced the gospel to the human and temporal became prevalent, evangelical Christians to suspect all teaching which viewed future world history as hopeful They assumed that any belief in the world-wide success of the gospel must rest on the same errors upon which liberalism relied, and that, just as this naturalistic optimism destroyed faith in eternal salvation by giving Protestantism the false goal of an earthly Utopia, so any outlook which offers an assurance that the victories of the Church will yet be far more extensive in the world must similarly cease to represent Christ’s coming as the glorious hope. But these assumptions rested upon a failure to distinguish between two different and indeed inimical schools of thought. The liberal view of progress current in the nineteenth century prevailed, not because it had Puritan belief to build upon but just because the hold of the old theology upon the Churches had grown so weak.

In view, however, of the persisting tendency to treat Puritan beliefs on unfulfilled prophecy as akin to liberalism, we must take up in this chapter the place which the Puritans certainly gave to the Second Advent. The possibility that their prophetic views may have misdirected attention away from the end of time can be dispelled at once, for there was a never-absent note in Puritan preaching on ‘the last things’. They viewed every hearer as bound shortly for another world, and it may be questioned whether any other school of evangelical preachers have so brought the implications of eternity home to men’s consciences as they were enabled to do. Probably the finest devotional volumes on the Second Advent in the English language belong to the Puritan era. For spiritual power what books have superseded Theophilus Gale’s A Discourse of Christ’s Coming, Isaac Ambrose’ Looking unto Jesus in his Second Coming, Thomas Vincent’s Christ’s Certain and Sudden Appearance to Judgment, or Christopher Love’s Heaven’s Glory? Yet these were not the works of pre-millennial writers. They expressed beliefs which could be found in any number of Puritan sermons, and these beliefs were in no way inconsistent in their judgment, with the view of unfulfilled prophecy that we have outlined earlier. They held their hope in respect to Christ’s work in history in conjunction with the anticipation of his coming when history ends.

It may be replied that, though the Puritans may have seen no inconsistency, there is surely an impossibility involved in holding their prophetic outlook and at the same time maintaining the scriptural duty of a daily watchfulness for Christ’s appearing; for if we believe that prophecies remain to be fulfilled — the Jews to be converted, and widespread revival to occur among the Gentiles — before Christ comes, how can we watch for an event which cannot be at hand? If, in John Howe’s words, there is to be ‘a state of very great prosperity for a considerable tract of time, appointed for the church of God on earth’, how can this teaching do other than cause Christians to forget what the Scriptures say on the nearness of the Lord’s Second Coming?

In answer to this several things must be observed:
First, the same apparent problem exists in the New Testament itself. There the Lord’s return is presented as the goal of all moral endeavour and as the supreme comfort of the Church. The Christians of the apostolic age were taught to live in the light of that day and they were to keep themselves in constant expectation of its coming. How could such watchfulness be required of them when, as history has since shown, many centuries lay between them and the Second Advent?

Those who do not believe in the inspiration of all apostolic testimony have met this difficulty by asserting that, ‘The Apostles shared, and contributed to produce, the belief that the Lord would come again soon, within the lifetime of some who were then alive . . . Only by the force of experience was the mind of the Church cleared . . If we reject this solution, as we must, the conclusion remains that the nearness of Christ’s return spoken of in the New Testament is compatible with the passing of what is from the human viewpoint a long period of time. Nineteen centuries have gone by since Christians were first told, ‘Surely I come quickly’. Moreover, we may note that it is our Lord himself who both instructs his first disciples to be constantly ready for his coming, and also gives them a commission which in the very nature of the case could not have been realized in their lifetime: all the world is to be discipled, the kingdom is to grow as a mustard seed into a great tree and as leaven ‘hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened’. Here is an extensiveness promised which could not belong to the first century A.D., yet Christ is conscious of no inconsistency. Though the Second Advent was not to occur in the immediate future the apostles were not relieved of the duty of watchfulness.

It can thus be seen that living in expectation of the advent of Christ is not the same as believing the advent to be just at hand in point of time. If the latter belief were required of Christians, then all the generations of the Church except the last would be required to believe a deception. The ‘nearness’ of Christ’s return, properly understood, is plainly consistent with the passage of many centuries. If a further prolonged period in our calendar should elapse before he comes — a period in which the world-wide preaching of the gospel will witness far greater success — how would this be any more incompatible with the New Testament? Supposing such a lengthy period to be still before the Church the duty of watchfulness would be just as great in our case as it was for the first-century Christians. Second, Christian biography shows that the practical influence of the doctrine of the Second Coming is not nullified when Christians do not believe that event to be close to them in time. Simon Peter is a biblical illustration. He was distinctly told before Christ’s ascension that a lengthened period of service reaching into old-age would be crowned with a martyr’s death (John 21.18), yet that awareness did not hinder in his case an earnest desire for the approaching Advent, ‘Looking for and hasting unto the coming of the day of God’ (2 Pet. 3.12). Paul, too, knew that death must come to him (2 Tim. 4.6), yet though martyrdom was nearer to him in point of time, this did not exclude, in his case also, the love of Christ’s appearing.

So was it with the Puritans and their successors. John Elias, for instance, in contrast with those who expected to see Christ come within their lifetime, wrote in 1841, ‘I do not expect to see Christ with my bodily eyes till the last day’; between him and that day death must interpose and yet waiting for Christ’s coming was a reality in his experience. George Whitefield exemplifies the same outlook. In a sermon on the text, ‘Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature’, he says, ‘We do not live up to our dignity till every day we are waiting for the coming of our Lord from heaven’. He could preach this even though he expected future great revivals and the conversion of the Jews to occur before the Advent.

Biographies in the Puritan tradition similarly show that the expectation of a brighter period in history was not incompatible in the case of many others with the inspiration drawn from looking for Christ’s glorious appearing. It was Rutherford who wrote so longingly of the Advent: ‘O if he would fold the heavens together like an old cloak, and shovel time and days out of the way, and make ready in haste the Lamb’s wife for her husband. . . . O heavens, move fast. O time, run, run, and hasten the marriage day; for love is tormented with delays! . . . Look to the east: the day-sky is breaking. Think not that Christ loseth time, or lingereth unsuitably. The same attitude is to be seen in the lives of John Eliot, Henry Martyn and Robert Moffat — to name but three of the pioneer missionaries. Whatever theoretical considerations may be alleged to the contrary, Christian experience thus shows that an expectation of the return of Christ in the immediate future is not a prerequisite to the possession of earnest desires for his Advent.

Third, the New Testament reveals why the Second Advent has a direct relevance for Christians of every generation. What is of ultimate significance is not whether Christ will come in our lifetime or later, not whether or not our death must intervene, but the truth that whether he come ‘sooner’ or ‘later’ we shall all share alike in the full redemption which that day will bring. (Footnote: ‘Warning is given us by the course of nature, and by the word, that, in a few years more we may be all turned out of this world: and our dying is of equal importance, as to our eternal state, with Christ’s coming; what difference is there if thou shouldest die this week, or if Christ should come to judge the world this week? Thy eternal state is equally concerned in both.’ Robert Traill, Works, reprint 1810, vol. 4, 206.

It is by not appreciating this truth sufficiently that Christians have sometimes entertained an unbalanced view of Christ’s Coming. They have observed in Scripture that the Advent and not death is the believer’s hope; for the one we are urged to long but not for the other. This scriptural emphasis is misread, however, when it is understood to mean that in point of chronology our duty is to anticipate the Advent without our dying, as though death were a calamity not to be contemplated. In sharp contrast to the words of John Elias, quoted above, this has been the attitude which pre-millennialism has tended to engender. The son of the pious Philip Henry Gosse, for instance, tells us this of his father’s death in 1888:

‘When it become evident that he could not long survive, he said, turning to his wife in her distress, “Oh, darling, do not trouble. It’s not too late; even now the Blessed Lord may come and take us both up together.” ’

These words suggest a considerable misunderstanding. The reason why the scriptural emphasis does not fall upon death is not because death is a step away from the Advent, it is because death does not usher the believer into the final state of glory. Death is gain and paradise for the individual believer, yet the bliss is incomplete. As long as the soul is separate from the body the believer is only in an intermediate state; he must await resurrection, glorification and full redemption. And that, he knows, will come publicly and simultaneously for the whole Church at Christ’s appearing! With this understanding, the Christian can both love Christ’s appearing and also know that, though he meets death first, that in no wise reduces his hope nor sets it further from him. ‘To fall asleep will not be to miss the glory of the Advent’ (1 Thess. 4.5).

This underlines again the truth that a strong desire for Christ’s coming does not depend upon our regarding it as imminent in our individual lifetime. The sanctifying power of the Advent upon our present conduct has indeed nothing to do with our being able to fix its time; it has to do rather with a true scriptural appreciation of what that event means.
On this subject the summary given by the Westminster divines in The Shorter Catechism has not been surpassed in its comprehensive brevity:

‘Q. 37. What benefits do believers receive from Christ at death?
‘A. The souls of believers are at their death made perfect in holiness, and do immediately pass into glory; and their bodies, being still united to Christ, do rest in their graves till the resurrection.

‘Q. 38. What benefits do believers receive from Christ at the resurrection?
‘A. At the resurrection, believers being raised up in glory, shall be openly acknowledged and acquitted in the day of judgment, and made perfectly blessed in the full enjoying of God to all eternity.

These two statements on the privileges brought by Christ to the believer at death and at his Coming rightly represent the latter as the culminating glory. It is incomparably the blessed hope. Made strong by this sound theology Christians of the seventeenth century could both face death with confidence and yet long for the Advent. Samuel Rutherford’s dying testimony, versified by Anne Ross Cousin, brings both things together and treats death rightly as a step in the way to resurrection:

I shall sleep sound in Jesus,
Fill’d with His likeness rise
To live and to adore Him,
To see Him with these eyes.
Tween me and resurrection
But Paradise doth stand;
Then — then for glory dwelling
In Immanuel’s land!

In the fourth and last place, in reference to the question how watching for Christ’s coming is consistent with the passage of long periods of time, it needs to be observed that faith has a peculiar power at precisely this point. The exercise of faith can bring very near events which, chronologically considered, may lie a long way from us. Faith annihilates distance and faith finds a present reality and substance in things hoped for and yet not seen (Heb. 11. 1). To faith it is but ‘a little while’ until ‘he that shall come will come’ (Heb. 10.37). By faith the apostles in the upper room, and the believers at Thessalonica, were intended to draw present comfort from the promise of Christ’s coming — just as Abraham, long before, had, by faith, obtained joy over Christ’s first advent even when it was more than a thousand years distant in time. In the words of David Brown:

‘Faith lays hold, not on chronological dates or arithmetical calculations but on “the Strength of Israel, who will not lie”, as he speaks in the promises of his blessed Word. What faith believes, hope brings near. To the hope of the believer, even as to the Lord himself, “a thousand years are as one day”. Though chronologically far off if so it should be found — no matter.

Faith sees him coming “leaping upon the mountains and skipping upon the hills”.’

Robert Candlish, in a sermon entitled Christ Coming Quicky, expands on this principle of faith. He writes:

‘To a believer, the mere possibility, or even absolute certainty, of ages being yet to elapse before the Lord come again, ought no more to diminish the influence of that event upon his mind, and heart, and conscience, than the fact of ages having elapsed since the Lord came at first lessens the moral weight of his constant vivid sight of Christ and him crucified . . . . I know no chronology and no chronological computation of long eras, in dealing with that Saviour, who eighteen hundred years ago trod with his blessed feet the soil of Judea, and expired on the cross of Calvary. Then why should there be any real difficulty in applying this principle in the prospect, more than in the retrospect? Does faith mounting up in the ascending series of years to the opening up of the fountain, long centuries ago, lose all sense of distance and remoteness, in the bright and vivid apprehension of the cross? And will not the same faith in its keen glance downwards and onwards along the stream of time, seize the one great and only object of its hope, and bring it near, even to the very door, ay, though ages may seem to come in between?

These are the two events, the death of shame, the coming in glory, which faith, when rightly exercised, grasps; which I, believing, grasp. I grasp them as equally real, equally nigh. Christ dying, near and present, Christ coming, near and present. What though ages have run since that death and ages more are perhaps to run before that coming! It is nothing to me. The world’s history, past and future; the Church’s history, past and future; all is to me for the present as if it never had been and never were to be. ... Wherever I am, whatever I am about, ought I not to be alive to my position between these two manifestations of Christ, and these alone? Behind me Christ dying; before me Christ coming. Is it not thus, and only thus, that I live by the faith of him who loved me and gave himself for me; that I live also by the power of the world to come; enduring as seeing him who is invisible?’

* * *

In conclusion two things may be added.

First, however bright, comparatively, the world may become when the Church reaches her fullest development in history, the Advent of Christ will ever remain the pole-star of faith and hope. For earth, however blessed, will never begin to equal heaven. As Bengel points out, even in that future time when there shall be ‘an overflowing fulness of the Spirit’, Christians will still be in conflict with indwelling sin, they will still face temptation and meet with death.” Watchfulness will thus never be laid down this side of eternity. The Christian life will remain a life of faith, and the higher degree of influence attending the preaching of the law and the gospel will only make believers look more earnestly to the Saviour whose death they will continue to show forth till he come. The thankful words with which the Puritan Thomas Hall died in 1665 will always in this world be suitable for every dying Christian: ‘I am now going where I shall have rest from sin and Satan, from all fear, weariness, and watching; and from all the evils and errors of a wicked world; even so come, Lord Jesus, for I long for thy coming.”2 This world will never be the Church’s rest.
Second, in recognizing all the imperfection of the present world and the trials which it has for a Christian, it needs also to be seen that there is an ‘other-worldliness’, an excessive preoccupation with the future state, which militates against the Christian’s true calling. The wonders of the world to come are not revealed to us in order that we may live our present lives in sadness, asking how much longer it must last. The Puritan viewpoint, despite all that critics have sometimes said to the contrary, was entirely against that attitude. It was a minister of the Puritan school, William Tennent, Jr., who once gently reproved George Whitefield in a way which illustrates this point well. Among a group of ministers, in his younger days, Whitefield spoke of the burden of labouring in the ministry and of his great consolation that in a short time his work would be done and he be with Christ.
‘He then appealed to the ministers around him, if it were not their great comfort that they should soon go to rest. They generally assented, excepting Mr. Tennent, who sat next to Mr. Whitefield in silence; and by his countenance discovered
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