Untitled article by James White

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Third-day, February 18, 1868

FromReview and Herald, Vol. XXXI, No. 10

LIFE INCIDENTS.

By James White

BY ELDER JAMES WHITE.

CHAPTER TWO.

Christian Experience.—My Mother's words upon the Second Coming of Christ.—Impressions of Duty.—Rash Decision to drive off Conviction.—The Spirit of God followed me.—Left the School-room to visit my Scholars.—Interesting Seasons by the Way, and with my Scholars.—A Reformation followed.—Impressions of Duty to Preach.—After a Struggle, yielded, and was Blessed.—Heard on the Advent, and Studied the Subject.—The great Tent-meeting in Eastern Maine.—Wm. Miller.

At the age of fifteen I was baptized and united with the Christian church. But I had buried myself in the spirit of study and school-teaching, and had lain down the cross. In my zeal and blindness, a thorough education seemed larger to me than all Heaven and earth beside. I had never descended to the common sin of profanity, had not disgraced myself, nor dishonored my parents, had never used tea and tobacco, nor ever raised a glass of spirituous liquor to my lips, yet I loved this world more than the next, and was worshiping education instead of the God of Heaven. In this state of mind I returned home from my second and last school, when my good mother said to me, “James, Bro. Oaks, of Boston, has been here lecturing on the second coming of Christ about the year 1843, and many believe it; and there has followed the lectures a good reformation, in which most of your mates have experienced religion.” I had regarded what was commonly called Millerism as wild fanaticism. And this impression was confirmed by hearing one James Hull, of Maine, speak upon the subject at the house of worship at Palmyra. But now that my mother, in whose judgment and piety I had reason to confide, spoke to me upon the subject in words of earnest candor and solemnity, I was shocked and distressed. In spite of me, conviction would fasten upon my mind that these things might be so. But, then, how could I have it so? I was unprepared. My plans for this life were made. “But of that day and hour knoweth no man,” I replied. To this my mother readily responded, “But as the days of Noe were, so shall also the coming of the Son of Man be.” God gave the time to Noah. He warned the world. Jesus gives signs in the sun, moon, and stars, and says, “When ye shall see all these things, know that he is near, even at the doors.” “That day is coming ‘as a thief,’” I replied. To this the ready response was, “But ye, brethren, are not in darkness that that day should overtake you as a thief.” My good mother was ready to meet calmly and pleasantly all my infidelity upon the second advent near. She gave me books to read upon the subject. The very sight of them distressed me, yet I was inclined to read them. And when in the house of worship I heard my school-mates speak of the love of Christ, and the glory of his appearing, I was deeply impressed that the hand of God was in the Advent doctrine. I began to pray, and to confess my backslidings from God. As I returned to the Lord it was with strong convictions that I should renounce my worldly plans and give myself to the work of warning the people to prepare for the day of God.

I loved books generally, but had no time nor taste for the study of the sacred Scriptures, hence was ignorant of the prophecies. I had, however, some knowledge of the Bible history of man, and had the idea that the race in six thousand years had depreciated physically, and, consequently, mentally. The subject came before my mind in this form: Man once lived nearly one thousand years. In length of days he has dwindled to seventy. In a few centuries, should time continue, with the same results upon the lifetime of man, the race would cease to exist. I had given up the doctrine of the conversion of the world, and the temporal millennium, in which the soil and man were to be gradually restored to their Eden state, as taught me by my father. I therefore saw the necessity, in the very nature of things, for some great changes, and the second coming of Christ seemed to be the event which would most probably bring about the change in man, and in the earth, to remove the curse and its results, and restore all to its Eden perfection and glory.

My mind turned to the young people of my school I had just left. In that school of fifty scholars, twenty-five were near my own age, several were older. My school was a happy one. I loved my scholars, and this love was mutual. As we parted, at the close of the last day of school, I said to them, I am engaged to teach this school next winter, and should I fulfill this engagement, I will not ask one of you to obey my orders better than you have this term. As I found comfort in prayer, I began to pray for my scholars, and I would sometimes wake myself in the night praying vocally for them. A strong impression came upon me, as if a voice said to me, “Visit your scholars from house to house and pray with them.” I could not conceive of a heavier cross than this. I prayed to be excused, that I might pursue my studies; but no relief came. I prayed for clearer evidence, and the same impression seemed to say, “Visit your scholars.” I went into my father's field, hoping that I could work off the feeling under which I suffered; but it followed me, and increased. I went to the woods to pray for relief. None came. But the impression, “Visit your scholars,” was still more distinct. My being rose in rebellion against God, and I recklessly said, “I will not go.” These Heaven-daring words were accompanied with a firm stamp of the foot upon the ground. And in five minutes I was at the house packing my books and clothes for Newport Academy. That afternoon I rode to the place with Eld. Bridges, who talked to me all the way upon the subject of preaching, greatly to my discomfort.

The next morning I secured a boarding place, and found my place in several classes in the school, and commenced study with a will to drive off my convictions. But in this I did not succeed. I became distressed and agitated. After spending several hours over my books, I tried to call to mind what I had been studying. This I could not do. My mental confusion was complete. The Spirit of God had followed me into the school-room in mercy, notwithstanding my rebellion, and I could find no rest. I there resolved that I would do my duty, and immediately took my cap and went directly from the door of that school-room, on foot, to the town of Troy, the place of my last school. I had gone but a few rods on my way, when sweet peace from God flowed into my mind, and Heaven seemed to shine around me. I raised my hands and praised God with the voice of triumph.

With a light heart and cheerful step I walked on till sundown, when I came to a humble cottage which attracted my especial attention. I was strongly impressed to call, but had no reason for so doing, as it was but a few miles to the school district, where I should find a hearty welcome. I decided to go past this house, as I did not wish to find myself in the awkward position of calling upon strangers without some good reason. But the impression to call increased, and the excuse to call for a drink of water occurred to me, and I stepped to the door and called for water. A man in the noon of life waited upon me, then kindly said, “Walk in.” I saw that he had been weeping. In one hand he held the Bible. When I had taken the chair he offered me, he addressed me in a most mournful manner, as follows:

“I am in trouble. I am in deep affliction. To-day I have buried my dear son, and I have not the grace of God to sustain me. I am not a Christian, and my burden seems greater than I can bear. Will you please stop all night with me?”

He wept bitterly. Why he should so directly open his afflicted mind to a young stranger, has ever been to me a mystery. I could not refuse his invitation, and stopped for the night. I told him my brief experience, and pointed him to Christ, who says, “Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” We bowed in prayer, and my new friend seemed relieved. Then we sought rest in sleep. In the morning I assisted him in erecting the family altar, and went on my way. I have never seen him, nor have I heard from him since.

But I had walked but two miles on that delightful spring morning, when all nature, animate,

seemed to join my glad heart in the praise of God, before the same impression came upon me, as I was passing a neat log cottage. Something said to me, “Go into the house.” I stepped to the door, and called for a drink of water. And who should bring it to me but a young lady who had attended my school the past winter. As she recognized me, she exclaimed, “Why, schoolmaster, walk in.” This family had just moved from the district, three miles, to a new settlement surrounded by forests. The father was absent. The mother and children greeted me with more than usual cordiality, each calling me “Master.” There was the place for my work to commence. I told my errand, and asked the privilege to pray.

“Oh, yes!” said the already weeping woman. “But let me send out the children and call in my neighbors.” Some half-dozen little boys and girls received dispatches from their mother, and cheerfully ran to as many log cottages with the word, “Our schoolmaster is at our house, and wishes to pray, and mother wants you to come as soon as you can.” In less than half an hour I had before me a congregation of about twenty-five. In conversing with them, I learned that not one of that company professed Christianity. Lectures on the second advent had been given near them, and a general conviction that the doctrine might be true rested upon the people. And as I related my experience of a few weeks in the past, stating my convictions relative to the soon coming of Christ, all were interested. I then bowed to pray, and was astonished to find that these twenty-five sinners all bowed with me. I could but weep. They all wept with me. And after pointing them to Christ, as best I could with limited experience and knowledge of the Scriptures, I shook their hands, said farewell, and joyfully pursued my journey.

As I entered the district I had so recently left, all seemed changed, yet no change worthy of note had taken place but in me. The school-house where I had spent happy hours in teaching willing minds, was closed, and my scholars were pursuing their daily tasks in the field and kitchen. I had left them a proud, prayerless backslider, but now had come to pray with them. It seemed to me that the Lord could not have selected a duty more humbling to my pride.

The district was made up of Universalists, formal professors, respectable sinners, and Infidels. My employer, who had also engaged me to teach their school the next winter, was an Infidel. I lost no time in making known the object of my visit, and in visiting and praying from house to house. No one opposed me. Some were deeply affected and bowed with me. My Infidel friend said to me as I asked permission to pray in his house, “I am very sorry, Mr. White, to find you in this state of mind. You are a good teacher, and a gentleman. I shall not forbid you.” This reception was decidedly cold when compared with what I had met from others. He was evidently much disgusted, and disappointed, but tried to conceal his feelings, out of respect to mine. I tried to pray, and passed to the next house.

In a few days my work in that direction was done, for that time, and I returned home with the sweet assurance that I had done my duty. A few weeks afterward, however, I visited the place again. A general reformation was in progress under the labors of a Christian. On Sunday, the meeting was held in a barn. The interest was general, and the congregation was large. After the minister closed his remarks, I improved a few moments. I felt deeply, and my testimony reached the people, especially my scholars and their parents. The following summer, lectures were given in the town-house, and the next winter, most of the people of that town embraced religion.

Much of the summer I was unsettled as to duty. I had visited my scholars, and sometimes hoped to be excused from anything further of the kind, and feel free to pursue my studies. But the definite idea of proclaiming the soon coming of Christ, and warning the people to prepare for the day of the Lord, was impressed upon my mind. I did not dare attend school. The Spirit of the Lord had driven me from the school-room once, and in following a sense of duty I had been greatly blessed. How could I resist present convictions, and try to shut myself away from the Lord, over my books? And, again, how could I renounce all my fondly-cherished hopes of the future?

My brother in Ohio said to me, by letter, “Come out into the sunny West, James, and I will help you.” Well, said I, when I become a scholar. How could I give up my school books, and with my small stock of education think of becoming a preacher?

A school-mate, Elbridge Smith, who had also been a room-mate at St. Albans and at Reedfield, was a special friend of mine. He was a firm young man, of good habits, yet not a Christian. I loved him for what he was, and we mutually, in confidence, freely stated to each other all our plans, hopes and difficulties. To this young man I first opened my mind freely upon the subject of the second advent, and my convictions of duty to preach the doctrine. He treated the matter with candor, and seemed troubled, as he learned from my own lips that I was inclined to believe that Christ would come about the year 1843. He had given the subject no study, but evidently feared it might be so. He replied to me as follows: “You know I am not a Christian, and, therefore, am poorly prepared to give you advice in relation to religious duty. I think of these things more than many suppose, though I publicly take no personal interest in them. I, however, think it well for me, and safe for you, to say at this time, Follow the convictions of your own mind.”

I honor this friend of my youth for his candor and good counsel. Who could have done better? We have met but a few times since, as I soon left that part of the State, to proclaim the coming of the Lord, and be for Bowdoin College. He graduated in two years from that time, studied law, and now Elbridge Smith is a judge somewhere in the West. This I was told by a Mr. Lancy whom I met in the cars in Maine, in December, 1867, and whom I used to know in my boyhood.

The struggle with me was a severe one. But I finally gave out an appointment, and had some freedom. I soon sent an appointment to speak at the Troy town-house. The congregation was large. Had rather a lean time, and felt embarrassed. And what seemed to well nigh finish me, a good, honest, simple-hearted woman came up to me at the close of the meeting, and said, “Elder White, please come to our house and take dinner.” The word “Elder,” cut me to the heart. I was confused and almost paralyzed. I will not attempt to narrate anything further that occurred on that day. The remaining portion of the day has ever seemed like a blank. I can only remember my confusion and anguish of spirit as I heard the unexpected word, “Elder.” I was unreconciled at the prospect before me, yet dared not refuse what seemed to be duty, and turn to my books. I was urged to speak in the presence of two young preachers, and attempted to preach. In twenty minutes I became confused, and embarrassed, and sat down. I lacked resignation and humility, therefore was not sustained.

I finally gave up all for Christ and his gospel, and found peace and freedom. My mind was especially called to the second advent, by hearing Elders J. V. Himes and A. Hale speak several times upon it in the city of Bangor, Me. I then saw that it was a subject that required study, and felt the importance of commencing in earnest to prepare myself to teach others. I purchased Advent publications, read them closely, studied my Bible, and spoke a few times during the summer on the second coming of Christ, with freedom, and felt encouraged.

In September, Elders Himes, Preble, Wm. Miller and others held a meeting in the mammoth tent in Eastern Maine. In company with Elder Moses Pully, a Christian minister of my acquaintance, I attended that meeting. I there, for the first time, saw that great and good man, Wm. Miller. His form and features showed great physical and mental strength. The benevolent, affable and kind spirit manifested by him in conversation with numerous strangers who called on him to ask questions, proved him a humble, Christian gentleman. Infidels, Universalists, and some others came to him with opposing questions. He was quick to perceive their designs, and with becoming firmness and dignity, promptly met their objections, and sent them away in silence. So long had he, even then, been in the field, meeting opposition from every quarter, that he was prepared for any emergency.

In his public labors his arguments were clear, and his appeals and exhortations most powerful. The tent in which he spoke was a circle whose diameter was one hundred and twenty feet. On one occasion, when this tent was full, and thousands stood around, he was unfortunate in the use of language, which loudness in the baser sort in the crowd turned against him by a general burst of laughter. He left his subject with ease, and in a moment his spirit rose above the mob-like spirit that prevailed, and in language the most searching, he spoke of the corruptions of the hearts of those who chose to understand him to be as vile as they were. In a moment all was quiet; yet the speaker continued to describe the terrible end of the ungodly in a solemn and impressive manner. He then affectionately exhorted them to repent of their sins, come to Christ, and be ready for his appearing. Many in that vast crowd wept. He then resumed his subject and spoke with clearness and spirit as though nothing had happened. In fact, it seemed that nothing could have occurred to fully give him the ears of the thousands before him, and to make his subject so impressive as this circumstance.

God raised up Paul to do a great work in his time. In order that the Gentiles might be clearly taught the great plan of redemption through Jesus, and that the infidelity of the Jews might be met, a great man was selected.

Martin Luther was the man for his time. He was daring and sometimes rash, yet was a great and good man. The little horn had prevailed, and millions of the saints of the Most High had been put to death. To fearlessly expose the vileness of the papal monks, and to meet their learning and their rage, and also to win the hosts of the common people with all the tenderness and affection of the gospel, called for just such a man as Martin Luther. He could battle with the lion, or feed and tenderly nurse the lambs of Christ's fold.

So Wm. Miller, in the hands of God, was the man for his time. True, he was a farmer, and had been in the service of his country, and had not the benefits of an early classical education. And it was not till he had passed the noon of life that God called him to search his word and open the prophecies to the people. He was, however, a historian from his love of history, and had a good practical knowledge of men and things. He had been an Infidel; but on receiving the Bible as a revelation from God, did not also receive the popular, contradictory ideas that many of its prophecies were clad in impenetrable mystery. Said Wm. Miller, “The Bible, if it is what it purports to be, will explain itself.” He sought for the harmony of Scripture and found it. And in the benevolence of his great and good heart, he spent the balance of his life in teaching it to the people in his written and oral lectures, and in warning and exhorting them to prepare for the second coming of Christ.

Much of the fruits of his labors are now seen. Much more will be seen hereafter. Heaven will be hung with the fruits of the labors of this truly great and good man. He sleeps. But if it can be said of any who have toiled and worn and suffered amid vile persecutions, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth, that they may rest from their labors, and their works do follow them, it can be said of Wm. Miller. He nobly and faithfully did his duty, and the popular church, united with the world, paid him in persecutions and reproaches. The very name of Wm. Miller was despised everywhere, and Millerism was the jeer of the people from the pulpit to the gutter.

But, dear reader, if your deed be registered at the office of the county clerk, rough hands may tear the paper you hold in your hand which you call a deed, and your title is no less secure. However men may have handled the name of Wm. Miller here, when the final triumphant deliverance of all who are written in the Book of Life comes, his will be found among the worthies, safe from the wrath of men and the rage of devils, securing to him the rewards of immortality according to his works.