As it has already been said, religion had sunk to a very low level in
the Established Church at that time. But the Lord had left to the Church
''a handful of corn." Yet gleaning-grapes shall be left in it, as the
shaking of an olive-tree, two or three berries in the top of the uppermost
bough, four or five in the outmost fruitful branches thereof." We shall
have occasion to refer to some of them later on. The majority of the clergy
were content to leave their parishioners to live just as they pleased. They
did not care for anything except collecting their tithes and enjoying their
own corrupt pleasures. Mercifully, there was found among these churchmen
another class, men who were relatively cultured and moral. These men had
a higher view of the responsibility of their office, and attempted to fulfil
their duties. They saw to it that the prescribed services were held regularly
in their churches. They supported the English schools of the S.P.C.K. and
the efforts of the Society for the Reformation of Manners. Behind their
labour, no doubt, there was some desire to promote the good of the people,
but little success if any followed their efforts. This is not surprising,
because the Doctrine of Grace had vanished from the pulpits. For the most
part, they preached a dry morality, so that neither they nor their hearers
felt much authority or life-giving power in the ministry. As a result they
placed all the emphasis on outward authority, bitterly opposing all who,
in their view, lacked it. It was from these men who, like Saul of Tarsus
of old, were more highly gifted and irreproachable in their conduct than
the majority of their brethren, that Nonconformity and Methodism received
the most stubborn and resolute opposition.
The Rev. Pryce Davies, the vicar of Talgarth, was one of this class. Having
said that he gave much of his time to the following of hounds and that at
times he was guilty of overindulgence in strong drink, with the result that
he tended to forget that the servant of the Lord should not strive, we have
said the worst about him. He did his work with much faithfulness. His church
would never be found closed nor his pulpit alone. But in spite of the law,
and some sort of gospel, no sign of reformation was to be seen. Few came
to hear the Word, and fewer still came to the Lord's Table. The Sunday before
Easter in the spring of 1735, Mr. Davies preached on the necessity of partaking
of the Holy Communion, and among other things he made the following remark:
"You say that you are not fit to pray; yea, you are not fit to live
and neither are you fit to die."
The young schoolmaster of Llangasty had come to the service that morning
quite unconcerned, as usual. But the vicar's remark pierced through all
his indifference and reached his heart like a sword-thrust. He there and
then determined to come to the Table on the following Sunday. On the way
home he met one of his best friends, Joseph Saunders, a smith in the hamlet
of Trevecka, and he repeated the vicar's words to him in such solemn and
earnest tones that their echo was in the smith's ears for a long time; and
they were eventually blessed as the means of his conversion. Further on
he met another villager, Evan the Weaver. Although they were at enmity,
yet, in obedience to the injunction read at the end of the sermon, he approached
him, and, admitting his fault, begged his forgiveness, and the two became
reconciled. This was the first time for Harris to act in opposition to the
low inclinations of his own nature. This serious-mindedness persisted to
some degree throughout the week. In the chancel the following Sunday, the
impression was deepened by the thought that he had come unworthily to the
Lord's Table. He saw that it was not enough to attend Holy Communion, and
he resolved to follow a new life from that hour. We do not know how far
he clung to his resolution, but we do know that the impression made upon
his mind gradually weakened. Only a fear of turning back and losing something
prevented him from reverting to his old habits.
At last, the fourth Sunday--2o April 1735--drew near, an ever-memorable
day in the history of Howell Harris. For some reason he did not return to
his home that week-end, according to his custom, but he stayed at his lodging
at Trebinsiwn Mansion. About nine o clock on Sunday morning, when the resolutions
and impressions of the previous three weeks were well-nigh blotted out and
forgotten, he picked up as it were accidentally an old book, The Whole
Duty of Man. He turned the pages to and fro without purpose, until at
last his eyes were fixed on a particular page. He began to read the headings
on self-examination, and suddenly a light....above the brightness of the
sun flashed upon his mind, so that he knew himself for the first time a
lost and ruined sinner.
"All my natural faculties were confounded in the shock." The fear
of turning back now became terribly strong--for in that way lay damnation.
But the light he had received so far, cast but little light on the future;
it showed up the danger without pointing out the deliverance from it. He
thus groped in the darkness seeking relief. He knew nothing himself of the
way of salvation; and since he had no one to guide him, it is no wonder
that he went astray. He began to work his way towards freedom under the
testament that begets bondage. He returned to Trevecka on Friday evening,
and on Saturday he told Joseph Saunders of the light he had received on
his condition, and his resolve to fight his way towards life. He found in
the smith a man ready and eager to join him. The first task they took in
hand was an endeavour to keep the Sabbath. They arose early next morning
and kept away from the villagers all, day so as not to be tempted to speak
of worldly things; and they stayed out late before retiring to sleep. On
the first Sunday in May, four Trevecka people endeavoured to keep the Sabbath,
and five the following Sunday.
Harris spent these weeks in reading, prayer and fasting, striving against
sin. He renounced everything--all his pleasures, all his friends, rich and
poor (he states that he was then acquainted with some of the leading people
of the county); his fine clothes, which he had once prized so much; and
every thought of worldly promotion. He lived on bread and water; he fasted
for a day, then for two days, .and before long for three days every week;
he repaid everybody he had occasioned any loss, as far as he could remember;
and he shared the little money he had left among the poor. He feared in
his heart to utter a single word on the Sabbath lest he should pollute the
day; and he considered it nothing to retrace his steps a long distance if
he could not remember for certain whether he had closed gates, etc. After
living for some time like a hermit, in a manner wholly different from his
former practice, his sense of restlessness began to quieten again. He felt
that at last he really was fleeing from all evil, and following all that
was good. He became sufficiently confident to challenge his conscience to
convict him of anything, if it could. If anyone would be saved, he was the
man, for he had done his best. The only danger was backsliding; and in order
to use every diligence to avoid this he spent all his leisure in secret
prayer.
But this was a short and treacherous lull. Shortly the storm renewed itself;
his confidence was but a spider's web. About this time, if I am not mistaken,
he went to Talgarth church one Sunday fairly confident in his minds A young
man named Badham was preaching there, and his subject was the necessity
of growing in grace. This threw Harris into terrible perplexity once more,
because it was all he could do to keep himself from backsliding, not to
mention any progress! About the same time he read in a book that he who
had led others astray should do his utmost to bring them back again to the
right way; as otherwise he would be held responsible for them. Behold, another
burden laid upon him, utterly overwhelming him! Formerly he longed to escape
from the world's turmoil and fly away to the solitude of the wilderness,
so that he might not fall away. But he dared not look that way any more,
with the bloodhounds at his heels. He began to exhort a little, first of
all to his mother, then to Joseph and Evan, to his uncle and aunt next door,
and the two John Prossers, etc. But his mind became more and more disturbed.
He became conscious of some inner voice whispering to him, "Since there
is no God, why bother? Are you not free? Throw away every yoke, and take
your own way." He never knew before the strength of the enemy's assaults,
as he had always give way to them. He became now, at times, almost a terror
to himself.
One day, about the middle of May, he retired to pray in the belfry of Llangasty
church. There, in his agony, he felt a strong urge coming upon his spirit
to give himself to God. He had never before heard of such a thing, and he
had no idea how to do so, or why. The tempter warned him to be wary--he
would not have his own way any longer if he did so. But the strange compulsion
produced a strong persuasion in his mind, quite different from anything
he had experienced before. It did not terrorise him as his former fears
had done, neither did it compel him as a brute beast, but so irresistibly
did it influence him that he was made perfectly willing to give himself
absolutely to the Lord.
Though his burden had become somewhat lighter after "the great struggle,"
as he calls it, he had not yet received a testimony that God would accept
him. Besides, what if God, after all, did not exist? The strong man armed
had seen the danger of losing his goods. The temptation to Atheism returned
ten times stronger than before. He had given himself to a God he did not
yet know, with the result that he knew not what to hold on to, at the approach
of the enemy. Sometimes, when the sky was clear, he would write on a piece
of paper, "I believe and I know that God exists." Then, when the
assault came, he would run to his paper for deliverance. But the devil made
short work of the paper. In this state of confusion he came to realise little
by little not only his own sinfulness but to some extent his inability to
save himself.
It seems that his chief guide at this juncture was the book, The Practice
of Piety. He read there that deliverance from all temptations that assail
mankind could be found in the Sacrament, provided one went to it believing
that was so. And that forgiveness for every sin, confessed and acknowledged,
could be had in the same place if one had faith to believe this. (This is
the first glimpse given to him of the place of faith in his salvation.)
His hopes revived at this, as Whitsunday and the Sacrament were at hand.
He came home from Llangasty on the preceding Wednesday; and on the Thursday
morning, on his knees, he began to write a list of his known sins since
the age of four, in order that he might confess them before God so as to
obtain pardon. He continued at it until Saturday evening, fasting during
the whole time.
On Whitsunday morning, in obedience to the exhortations and warnings of
their young neighbour, the majority of the villagers wended their way to
church, he himself among them. The story of that service is to be found
here and there throughout the diaries. "After being in hell for five
weeks, I came to church fully expecting that I should lose my burden. About
twelve o'clock, at the end of the sermon, the temptation fell upon me more
fiercely than ever. Satan roared dreadfully within me, so that I could almost
have shouted out, 'There is no God.' He had but a short season to reign,
and he rent me in unspeakable fashion, breathing into my heart the most
blasphemous thoughts--that I was above God, and tempting me to laugh at
Him. I was wholly passive, without power to do anything, or to bring any
argument to defend myself; that was just as well, otherwise I should have
been fighting Satan with his own weapons, and should have been overcome.
I simply said, 'If there is no God, how was the Communion ever invented,
and why are so many wise people deceived?' But immediately before the Sacrament,
the One who is stronger came in (after I had found power to open the door
to Him a few days previously, when I was made willing); and if Satan was
not then cast out, I know not when he went. At the Table, Christ bleeding
on the cross kept before my eyes constantly; and strength was given me to
believe that I was receiving pardon on account of that blood. I lost my
burden: I went home leaping for joy; and I said to a neighbour who was sad,
'Why are you sad? I know my sins have been forgiven,' though I had not heard
that such a thing was to be found, except in this book (The Practice
of Piety). Oh, blessed day! would that I might remember it gratefully
evermore.''
He began to live a new life from that day onward. He completely lost the
anxiety for his own happiness, together with every fear of falling away.
A view of the great Pardoner's love towards him quickened love in his own
soul, which could not be satisfied until it showed itself in acts of obedience
and devotion to its Object. On Monday, forgetting his weakness, he resolved
not to sin any more, but to live entirely to the Lord. He adopted the directions
of The Practice of Piety and The Whole Duty of Man to regulate
his life; and in order to keep a closer watch on himself than ever before,
he began to keep a diary. In the beginning this was to be something between
himself and God alone. He recorded everything in it--his most secret thoughts,
every whim that flitted through his heart, and even his dreams. At first
he could do so without giving any offence to the reader, because his soul
was dancing ecstatically in the warmth of his first love. And in a fortnight
or three weeks that love burst forth into a blazing fire, consuming his
whole nature.
Doubtless, the experience of forgiveness in Talgarth church was sweet. Yet
it left a feeling of further need in his soul which he could not define.
But when he was at secret prayer in Llangasty church, the sacred spot where
he had given himself to God, God now gave Himself to him:
There his earnest prayer was answered,
There was heard his urgent plea,
And his hungry soul was sated
By Jehovah One in Three.
The richest biblical terms are heaped one on another in an attempt to give
expression to his experience at that time. He was there cleansed from all
his idols, and the love of God was shed abroad in his heart. Christ had
come in previously, but now He began to sup with him; now he received the
Spirit of adoption, teaching him to cry Abba Father, and with it a desire
to depart and be with Christ. All his fears vanished for months,
and pure love took their place.
Immediately after this he was annoyed by one of his pupils and he "felt
some risings of anger" in his heart. Instantly the devil asserted in
his face, "You have fallen from grace, and forfeited all your treasure."
For a moment he was staggered. He was strongly tempted to commit suicide,
but mercifully he was restrained from so doing. In the fury of the storm
the words, "I, the Lord, change not," shot into his mind with
such power that the turbulent sea within him was quieted. He had never heard
before of this word of Scripture, but to his dying day he loved it more
than any other word. In the darkest periods, when every star was obscured
and all hope had vanished, his soul clung to this verse. This was his sure
anchor, and it kept its hold a thousand times after all else had given way.
This verse brought him to "the glorious liberty of the children of
God" and to realise that what alone mattered was God's "mighty
grasp of him." That is why we find in the diary the words, "The
work was finished about June." |