Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

MR. EDITOR,

THE VILLAGE PASTOR, No. II.

siast, as a man of weak judgment
or of mischievous intentions; while
others will consider it altogether
unaccountable how his mind can be
so occupied and his heart so en-
gaged by the circumstances of his
parish, as to disregard in a great
degree all that engages the busy
world, and employs the votaries
of ambition, the accumulators of
wealth, or the children of folly. It
will often be hinted, that he has no
connexions to associate with, that
he has been crossed and soured in
his mind; or that he has only
turned his back on a world that
had previously frowned on him.
Those localities which bind his
heart to the field of his labours;
those past and present circum-
stances which consecrate and en-
dear various spots and portions of
that field from day to day to his
soul; and those varying events
which occupy his mind with hopes
and fears, are unfelt by and un-
known to men in general; and
hence there are but few who do or
can understand, how such a pastor
can be more interested with his
own parish than with all the world
besides. They cannot conceive how
pastoral duties should interest the
mind more than the elegancies of
poetry, the beauties and changes
of nature, or the discoveries of sci-
ence. Permit me then, Mr. Edi-
tor, to explain this mystery by
stating what are the feelings and
partialities, the sorrows and the
joys, of some of my acquaintance
in the ministry. Is it asked, why
the village pastor's attention is
often drawn towards certain spots
and places in his parish with a more
than common interest,, and espe-
cially when those places seem to
exhibit nothing remarkable to the
eye of the traveller? the answer
is, there are local circumstances;
there is an association of pleasing
ideas, and a train of cheering con-

THAT man who watches for souls as one that must give account, who really takes a lively interest in the present and future happiness of those around him, can never need the poor and empty diversions of the world to help out the day. His own proper occupations will ever fill his hands, employ his mind, and exercise all the feelings of his heart. He may be an admirer of nature, and alive to all the enchanting beauties of a captivating scenery. He may be awake to all the changes of the seasons, the productions of the field, the forest, and the garden; and may give to each object and place its due attention and its due praise. He may be alive to the elegancies of refined literature, and sensible of the value and delighted with the discoveries of many branches of science; yet he has higher and more interesting objects of contemplation than any or than all of these. The beauties of scenery, the changes of seasons, the foliage of woods, and the shades and tints of colours, will chiefly amuse or delight him as shadowing forth the infinite wisdom of their Creator. The elegancies of literature, and the researches and discoveries of science, will fascinate his mind no longer than while they can be brought forward as illustrating the attributes, the ways, and works of Him who is altogether lovely, and wise, and good. Such a man as this will generally shun the world and court retirement, not through idleness, but because he loves seclusion for its quietude and its peace. His work is among his people; his parish is his home; his home is his best earthly paradise; and his successful labours are his earthly rest. The world will know but little of him, and it will love him less than it knows him. Many wiil condemn him as a gloomy enthu

templations connected with them, that are powerfully impressed on his heart and his memory. While the mere literary trifler "Watches the clouds as o'er the hills they

pass,

Our

Or writes a sonnet to a blade of grass," the faithful pastor casts his eyes to the right, where some half-concealed cottage is perceived through the trees that surround and overtop its roof. No sooner does his eye catch that object than he feels thankful to God, that there, underneath, that lowly thatch he was once enabled to tear the veil of prejudice away, and to break in on those strong holds of self-righteous principles which had long held a part of the inmates in the shades of darkness and the trammels of Satan. While he glances at the building he rejoices that now the heartfelt language of these individuals is, "What things were gain to us, those we count loss for Christ; yea, doubtless, and we count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus Lord." On the left hand, he may recognise here and there the abodes of Christian pilgrims, whose once wounded and almost broken hearts have lately been soothed and bound up by that word of truth which a gracious God enabled him to bring forward in due season. Then, he may catch sight of some residence from whose humble chamber the well-informed and happy spirit has but lately fled, to awake up in the likeness of Christ, and to associate with the inhabitants of heaven. Or it may be, he is bending his way towards the door of the sick and dying man, whose soul is just on the wing for an eternal world, and only waits to pronounce the last blessing on the head of its spiritual guide and affectionate pastor. Such circumstances as these at once occupy and refresh the soul, and will invest the various spots and places with which they are connected, with an interest far beyond that

which can be excited by all the diversified prospects of hill and dale, of waving wood and murmuring streams, of bleating flocks and lowing herds. The triflers of the day may smile and frown by turns on such a man; they may profess to pity his taste, and to marvel at his supposed stupidity; they may pronounce him unfit for company, and condemn him as a stranger to the enjoyments of life; but this only shows their ignorance of his real character and occupations. He has neither leisure nor inclination for the sports of the field, or the trifling amusements of polite and fashionable society. Should the path of duty or the call of Providence lead him a few miles from the immediate post of his labours, he will contemplate every passing object as one who reveres his God and admires all his handy works; but however his taste may be gratified by the elegance or the beauty of the place where he sojourns, yet, like the parent of many children, his heart and his thoughts will run back into the bosom of his flock, and his prayers and best wishes will rest upon those to whom he has been made useful, whose future steps are to be guided by his counsel, whose dangers are to be pointed out by his experience, and whose drooping spirits are to be cheered by his prayers and encouragements. During some part of his travels, he may have slackened his pace to view the magnificence of this palace or of that mansion; he may have gazed with delight on the artificial and natural beauties of the lawn, the park, and the pleasuregrounds of the wealthy or the noble; yet, after all, the lowly porch which just overtops the door of one of his poor pious cottagers' dwelling, will have more charms to interest his soul than the richest porticos of the most superb palace. Yes, strange as it may appear to the world, the wild honeysuckle and the untrim

1

[ocr errors]

med rose-bush which range across the windows and perfume the little gardens of some of his devout, poor parishioners, will possess charms for him vastly more fascinating than all the exotics of a distant county, and more gratifying to his mind than all the cedars of Lebanon which surround the habitations of strangers, or adorn the mansions of those who fear not God, and obey not his Son Jesus Christ. This local tie, this fond partial feeling, this ministerial affection, shuts out, in a measure, the great universe of strangers from his heart, and sets up his own little world, his own beloved parish there. Perhaps this is not altogether right; but some men cannot help it: they do not love mankind in general less than their neighbours do, but they feel more tenderly for those at hand. Let the universal philanthropist frown ever so sternly, yet there is a locality of feeling and affection in some bosoms which makes the sun cast a supposed brighter ray on the cottages of their own people than on the dwellings of strangers; which throws around those cottages a more lovely piece of scenery than adorns any other part of the world. Nor need the world be surprised at this. If the virtuous lover still remembers, and still through many a long year looks back on those times and places with an enthusiastic reverence where he once found a heart to respond and a tongue to reply to his own; how much more will the shepherd of the Lord's flock recall to mind those seasons, or gaze upon those places where he discovered that his labours had been owned of the Lord to the turning of some from darkness to light, of delivering them from the bondage of Satan, and directing them to Him "whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light!"

To meet with men of great talents and extensive information, and to hear them discourse on the most interesting sciences, and ex

plain some of the laws and operations of nature, may well engage the village pastor's attention for a season; but to gather a little band of his children in the Gospel round him, and to hear them discourse piously and experimentally on the progress of religion in their souls, and to witness their consistent and edifying conduct, will interest all the feelings of his heart, will rejoice all the faculties of his soul, infinitely more than every other company and every other topic. Nor are these fond partialities, these Christian affections, exclusively the property of ministers. They are largely felt and deeply entered into by many pious, intelligent females, whose circumstances and inclination enable them to go in and out among the cottagers of various detached and rustic parishes in this kingdom. At the same time, it must be acknowledged that these partialities and affections will open many an avenue by which sorrow will pierce the heart; they will call forth many a sigh which the ear of man hears not of, and many à tear which the crowded busy world never beholds. The faithful pastor is often called to feel a sorrow of heart, and experience a bitterness of spirit, which the great mass of the world never know. If, on one hand, he occasionally sees the distant residence of hopeful piety, or passes on towards a cottage, whose inmates will greet his entrance with tears of joy and halfarticulated blessings; he, on the other hand, must often look on the abodes of that wretchedness which is the fruit of sin. The house of the backslider, the habitations of blasphemy, drunkenness, or impurity, will but too frequently present themselves. He cannot range through his little domain without passing the dwellings of those who fear not God nor regard man. Sometimes he may be compelled, in his forenoon's excursion, to notice more than one tenement which

66

once he visited with great delight, but which now either shut their doors against him, or open them only to present such altered scenes as wring his very heart! Yes, as he passes through the fields, and crosses the heaths and hills of his own little world, he may be constrained to say, Yonder, within the walls of that cottage, once dwelt the young, the blooming, the pious M. whose strength, like that of many others, was brought down even before mid-day; who fled, alas! but too soon from her affectionate Christian friends, and her infant first-born child, to associate with a better company, and to offer up better praises, than she or they could do on earth. There, within that cottage, we saw the advance of consumption bring down her bodily strength with rapid strides, while at the same time we beheld her soul grow in grace and in meetness for the inheritance of the saints in light. There it was, that with her we united our prayers and mingled our poor praises to Him who hath said, Whoso offereth me praise glorifieth me.' And there we once beheld some tokens of godly sorrow for sin in her husband, such as led her and ourselves to indulge the fond hope that he also would consider his latter end, and become wise unto salvation. But, alas! scarcely had the amiable and happy wife departed in peace, ere the husband chased away every tear of natural sorrow, and silenced all his convictions of conscience, and forgot all his promises of amendment." Hence the cottage has lost all its interest to the pastor, as far as this pair were concerned; because the one who lived unto the Lord is departed hence to be no more seen, and the other is dead while he lives. From this object he may point to another, and say, "Yonder, once lay the afflicted T. whose subsequent conduct furnished another melancholy proof of the un

soundness of many of those fears and expressions of repentance to which the supposed or real approach of death often gives rise. His exertions in the hay-field heated his blood to an unusual degree; intolerable thirst urged him to the brook's side; he incautiously drank of cooling but dangerous streams, and a most dreadful attack of inflammation ensued. Agonies of body and terrors of mind then united all their fury. He lay groaning and praying, as we considered, on the very brink of eternity, urging us to repeat our supplications to the Author of life and death in his behalf; and imploring a few more years to be added to his days, that so he might give his mind, his health, and his soul to the Lord. The minister's daily visits were then more than welcome to both him and his sister. They seemed to catch the words from his lips with an eagerness not easily to be conceived, and their own tongues gave full utterance to the language of confession of sin. They lamented their former habitual neglect of the Lord's house, and their profanation of his holy sabbaths, and again and again they made the unasked-for promise of attending to the one thing needful; of seeking first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, if so be the hand of mercy would turn aside the uplifted shaft of death, and once more restore health to their dwelling. Contrary to all expectation, the Lord did restore his health, and T. came once to church, but there is reason to fear that he has not been a second time to any place of worship since his recovery. Neither his sister nor himself appear to have the smallest remembrance of their past tears, their prayers, their alarms, or their promises. Heaven has no charms to allure, and hell has no terrors to rouse, their minds. They dwell in yonder nook of the wood, and the wind roars about their cot

tage in the winter's stormy season, and the thrush, the blackbird, and the joyous lark, sing around their dwelling through the spring and summer months. The trees put forth, and again shed their leaves; and the fields and heath are clothed with and stripped again of their fruits and flowers; but none of these changes seem to interest the minds of these people. They fear not judgment, because death has apparently turned aside from their door; and as to the loving-kindness and tender mercies of the Lord, these find no place in their meditations, their prayers, or desires." From thence the pastor may turn, and point out here and there the residences of some who once belonged to his Sunday school, and whose conduct for a while gave him much satisfaction. A call at their cottage, he may add, was once greeted with a smile from these young disciples, and they were always ready and happy to repeat some passage of Scripture, or to sing some newly-learnt psalm or hymn, and never would they suffer him to depart without the request, "Do, Sir, come again soon. But this state of things is gone by. The world, the vain and sinful world, and tempters more evil and cruel still, have drawn off their minds and weaned their affections from God, from Christian instructors, and from Christian companions! They are no longer found at our school; they no longer invite their pastor to their cottage, but they shun him when abroad, and fly from him ere he enters their door. Instead of entertaining pleasing expectations, and hoping that their future days might be useful to others and honourable to themselves, he now thinks of them with many foreboding fears and gloomy expectations as to the present world and a future state.

[ocr errors]

Nor are these the only kind of trials to be encountered. The faithful pastor must expect to meet with

[ocr errors]

men whose deep-rooted prejudices quite blind their understanding, and steel their hearts against the truths of the Gospel. Nay, he may have, and that not unfrequently, to meet individuals of his own parish who frown at and really hate him for his very work's sakemen in whose opinion all earnestness about eternal things is enthusiasm, and with whom experimental religion is altogether scouted and stigmatized under the appellation of Methodism. And worse than all this, as coming closer home to his feelings, is to meet some individual who once ran well-who once walked humbly with his God, and affectionately and teachably towards his Minister, until some strange book or strange mortal fell in his way, and confused his mind and injured his heart. Too wise now to be taught, this man will look on his once respected and beloved pastor with feelings of pity and contempt-as a blind leader of the blind; and sigh over the certain approaching calamity, as he supposes, of both leader and people falling into the ditch. In vain, reasoning, Scripture, and the sentiments of the wisest and the best of men who ever lived, are opposed to his errors. His heart is puffed up; his conscience has lost its former tenderness; and he runs in the way of his own delusions, perhaps to his own destruction and that of many

others.

Such are a few of the painful objects that will present themselves to the eyes and heart of those who go in and out among the people of a country parish; and in proportion as the pastor's soul enters into the work of his sacred office, in a like proportion will these things bring forth many a sigh and many a tear which the world never hears, never beholds.

"He who desires the office of a pastor desires a good work;" and it may be added, that he desires a

« AnteriorContinuar »