Works of John Bunyan — Complete. John Bunyan
perceptions dim, and is conscious of evil propensities, which baffle all his efforts at sinless perfection. He finds nothing in nature to solve the solemn inquiry how sin is to be pardoned, and evil thoughts and habits to be rooted out. The convinced sinner then feels the necessity of a direct revelation from God; and in the Bible alone he finds that astounding declaration, which leaves all human philosophy at an immeasurable distance—'Ye must be born again.' God only can effect the wondrous change—man, priest, prophet, or magi, can do him no good—his terror-stricken conscience drives him to his Creator, and faith in the Redeemer causes consolation to abound.
In every kingdom of the world, the Christian inquirer is met by the opposition of antichrist, in some form or other, attempts will be made to limit his free-born spirit to human inventions and mediations in seeking Divine mercy. He feels that he is bound, by all his hopes of happiness, here and hereafter, to obey God rather than man, in everything pertaining to spiritual religion. In his simple obedience to the Word of God, he braves all dangers, sure of the Divine blessing and support while encountering obloquy, contempt, allurements, and persecution, in its varied polluted forms and appalling cruelties.
After the decease of Oliver Cromwell, it soon became apparent that the exiled king would be restored. In the prospect of that event, Charles II promised a free pardon to all his subjects, excepting only such persons as should be excepted by parliament; and 'we do declare a liberty to tender consciences, and that no man shall be disquieted or called in question for differences of opinion in matters of religion, which do not disturb the peace of the kingdom.' Who could imagine, that, in the face of this solemn declaration, acts, the most oppressive and tyrannical, would be passed—compelling pretended uniformity in belief and real uniformity in the mode of public worship—driving the most pious and useful clergymen from their pulpits and livings—preventing them from becoming tutors or schoolmasters—and not suffering them to live within five miles of a city or town. Ruinous penalties were inflicted, not only on every minister, but upon every hearer, who met to worship God in private houses or in the fields and woods. Christians, convinced of the wickedness of such laws, strove, by every possible means, to evade the penalties, with a stern determination to worship God in the way that their conscience led them. They met their beloved ministers in private places, and at the most unseasonable hours. It is said that Bunyan, to avoid discovery, went from a friend's house disguised as a carter; with his white frock, wide-awake cap, and his whip in his hand, to attend a private meeting in a sheltered field or barn. To prevent these meetings, severe and almost arbitrary penalties were enforced, a considerable part of which went to the informers—men of debauched habits and profligate principles. With all their vigilance, these prohibited meetings could not be prevented. In some cases, the persecuted disciples of a persecuted Lord took houses adjoining each other, and, by opening internal communications, assembled together. In some cases, the barn or room in which they met, had a door behind the pulpit, by which the preacher could escape. A curious letter, preserved in the archives at Devonshire House, states, that when a Christian assembly was held near Devonshire Square, while the minister was in his sermon, the officers and trained bands entered the meeting-house. The preacher immediately ceased preaching, and gave out the lines of a hymn, which the congregation joined in singing, and the officers waited till the devotional exercise was ended. The preacher, taking advantage of their hesitation, made his escape by a door at the back of the pulpit; 'thus,' says the quaint Quaker, 'he choked the informers off with his hymn.' In the Life of Badman are some illustrative anecdotes relating to informers and their violent ends, with an interesting cut of a religious meeting in the fields. One informer is in a neighbouring tree, to identify the meeters; while in the distance, another is running for the officers, with this verse under the print:—
'Informer, art thou in the tree?
Take heed, lest there thou hanged be:
Look likewise to thy foot-hold well;
Lest, if thou slip, thou fall to hell.'
In many cases the justices considered a field preacher to be equally guilty with a regicide.[210] One of the informers, named W. S., was very diligent in this business; 'he would watch a-nights, climb trees, and range the woods a-days, if possible to find out the meeters, for then they were forced to meet in the fields.' At length he was stricken by the hand of God, and died a most wretched object.[211] The cruelties that were inflicted upon Dissenters are scarcely credible. Penn, the Quaker, gives this narrative of facts:—The widow's mite hath not escaped their hands; they have made her cow the forfeit of her conscience, not leaving her a bed to lie on, nor a blanket to cover her; and what is yet more barbarous, and helps to make up this tragedy, the poor helpless orphan's milk, boiling over the fire, was flung away, and the skillet made part of their prize; that, had not nature in neighbours been stronger than cruelty in informers and officers, to open her bowels for their relief, they must have utterly perished.[212] One of these infamous, hard-hearted wretches in Bedford, was stricken, soon after, with death; and such had been his notorious brutality, that his widow could not obtain a hearse, but was obliged to carry his body to the grave in a cart.
It is gratifying to leave these horrors—these stains upon our national history—for a moment, to record an event which took place about fifty years back. The Rev. S. Hillyard, the pastor of Bunyan's church, thus writes:—'When our meeting-house was lately repaired, we were allowed, by the Lord Lieutenant and the justices, to carry on our public worship, for a quarter of a year in the town-hall, where, if it had been standing in Mr. Bunyan's time, he must have been tried and committed to jail for preaching.' How different our position from that of our pilgrim forefathers.
The justices, if the law had allowed them, would, from the first, have prevented Bunyan's preaching. When they had the power, he possessed nothing to excite the cupidity of an informer: this, with the caution of his friends, saved him, for some months, from being apprehended; they met privately in barns, milk-houses, and stables, or in any convenient place in which they were not likely to be disturbed. In addition to these services, every opportunity was embraced to visit his friends—praying with them, and administering consolation, arming them with a steady resolve to be patient in suffering, and to trust in God for their safety and reward. At length an information was laid, and he was caught in the very act of worshipping God with some pious neighbours. Bunyan's account of this event is deeply interesting; but the want of sufficient space prevents my giving more than an abstract of it, referring the reader to his Grace Abounding for fuller details.
On November 12, 1660, as the winter was setting in, having been invited to preach at Samsell, in Bedfordshire, he prepared a sermon upon these words—'Dost thou believe in the Son of God?' (John 9:35); from which he intended 'to show the absolute need of faith in Jesus Christ, and that it was also a thing of the highest concern for men to inquire into, and to ask their own hearts whether they had faith or no.'[213] He had then been a preacher of the glorious gospel of Christ for five or six years, without any interruption; for, although indicted, he had continued his useful career, and through grace had received great encouragement and eminent proofs of the Divine blessing.
Francis Wingate, a neighbouring justice of the peace, having heard of the intended meeting, issued his warrant to bring the preacher before him. The intention of the magistrate was whispered about, and came to Bunyan's ears before the meeting was held, probably to give him an opportunity of escape. His friends, becoming alarmed for his safety, advised him to forego the opportunity. It was a trying moment for him; he had a beloved wife to whom he had not been long married, and four dear children, one of them blind, depending upon his daily labour for food. If he escaped, he might continue his stolen opportunities of doing good to the souls of men. He hesitated but for a few minutes for private prayer; he had hitherto shown himself hearty and courageous in preaching, and it was his business to encourage the timid flock. 'Therefore, thought I, if I should now run and make an escape, it will be of a very ill savour in the country; what will my weak and newly converted brethren think of it? If I should run, now there was a warrant out for me, I might, by so doing, make them afraid to stand when great words only should be spoken to them.' He retired into a close, privately, to seek Divine direction, and came back resolved to abide the will of God. It was the first attempt, near Bedford, to apprehend a preacher of the gospel, and he thus argued with himself—'If God, of his mercy, should choose me to go upon the forlorn hope, that is, to be the first that should be opposed for the gospel, if