Review and Herald, Vol. 18, No. 10. (8/6/1861)

Review and Herald

Aug 6, 1861

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Aug 6, 1861

The Atonement.

By Albert Barnes

BY ALBERT BARNES.

[The following is an extract from a volume on the Atonement by the celebrated commentator, Albert Barnes, published by Parry and McMillan, Philadelphia, 1859. The beautiful and yet momentous subject of the Atonement is presented in this volume in a different manner from any in which it has been laid before the readers of the Review, at least through the medium of this paper. The absorbing interest which naturally attaches to this subject in the mind of any one who realizes that this is his sole dependence for eternal life, is not weakened by the manner in which it is discussed. The present paper treats upon the embarrassments experienced by all human governments through the want of some arrangement which is contemplated in an atonement. To bring out the light and beauties of the divine plan it is necessary to present it against the dark background of human embarrassments and perplexities. This is done with striking effect in the present article. How these embarrassments are overcome in the divine arrangement Mr. Barnes shows in subsequent portions of his essay.

What will be especially gratifying to all who love the commandments of God, and delight in his service, is the plain and forcible manner in which the connection between the Atonement and the law is all along implied, and the necessity shown that the Atonement instead of abolishing the law must maintain throughout its majesty and supremacy.—U. SMITH.]

EMBARRASSMENTS IN A HUMAN GOVERNMENT FROM THE WANT OF AN ATONEMENT.

AlL governments, in the administration of the laws, experience such difficulties as are proposed to be remedied by an atonement. Whether those difficulties would be removed by such a device as that of the atonement is a fair question for consideration; but it will be admitted, on the slightest consideration of the subject, that the difficulties which are proposed to be remedied by an atonement actually exist in all forms of human administration, and that, in spite of any arrangement which can be made by human wisdom, they create constant embarrassment.

It is important, in order to prepare the way for the consideration of the doctrine of the atonement, to show what those difficulties are, and what devices have been resorted to in order to remove them.

I. The embarrassments which are felt may be specified under four heads:

1. The first arises from the difficulty in respect to the magistrate, the impossibility of his cherishing and carrying out as a magistrate the feelings which he is permitted and required to cherish as a man. As a man, in his private transactions, he can fully carry out the promptings of humanity and the principle of religion in forgiving an offense; as a magistrate, appointed to administer and execute the laws, these feelings are never to be indulged. There springs up a conflict between the promptings of his nature and the demands of duty; and one or the other of these must be suppressed if he extends pardon to the guilty. The difficulty consists in making the private virtues of the man harmonize with the duties of the magistrate, for there are feelings of our nature which require us to show mercy to the guilty, and it is universally regarded as a virtue for one who has been offended or wronged to pardon an offender. This is a virtue, however, which the magistrate strives in vain to transfer as a magistrate to his own bosom. Pardon he could freely extend in private life; but his public position creates difficulties in indulging these feelings which he cannot surmount. All the interests of justice would be sacrificed if as a magistrate he should give indulgence to the feelings which constitute the highest traits of character in private life; if he were to indulge in that free exercise of mercy towards offenders which he inculcates as a duty on his own children, and which he feels bound to manifest as a neighbor or a citizen. On the one hand, to be as unwilling in private life to forgive as he feels bound to be as a magistrate, would be at variance with all the virtues which are inculcated in regard to the treatment of others, and with what, conscious as we are of imperfection, we are often under the necessity of asking from others; and, on the other hand, to transfer these feelings to a bench of justice, or to expect an officer of justice to indulge them freely, would be to render all the processes of trial a farce, and to defeat all the purposes of the arraignment of the violators of the law. No arrangement has been devised by human wisdom by which that which is an eminent virtue in private life can be transferred to a bench of justice, or by which that which is deemed so essential to virtue in private life can be made proper in him who administers and executes the laws. Every man, therefore, who occupies this position must feel—or must act as if he felt—that he is constrained to assume a different character from that which he deems to be virtuous in private life, when he becomes an executor of the laws, or when he occupies a position where the interests of justice are intrusted to him.

2. The second source of embarrassment occurs in cases where it is desirable that an offender should be pardoned, but where it cannot with propriety be done, and the law is suffered to take its course. In such a case an injury is done to humanity itself, and some of its best dictates are disregarded. There are conflicting feelings and interests, and there is no way by which they can be reconciled. The convictions of the necessity of justice in the execution of the laws, and the strong promptings of humanity in the bosom of the magistrate and in the feelings of the community, come into collision, and there is no method in which both can be indulged, or in which they can be reconciled. The well-known case of Dr. Dodd, so frequently referred to by writers on this subject, will illustrate this point. He was a clergyman. His character and standing before the act of forgery charged on him had been unimpeached. In an evil hour he committed an act of forgery, and was sentenced to death. The case at once excited strong sympathy throughout the realm. The offense was undeniable, and he himself did not attempt to deny it. He did not seek, by any dishonest or dishonorable act, to evade the penalty of the law, nor did he even avail himself of an opportunity of escape which had been purposely left open to him. The paper, forged with the name of the Earl of Chesterfield, was purposely left with him when alone, with the expectation and hope that he would destroy it and thus remove all the means of convicting him. But, by some strange infatuation, or by design, he omitted to do it, and the law pronounced on him the sentence of death. His fair character hitherto, his profession, and the fact that this was his first offense, excited the strong sympathies of the nation. A petition for his pardon, drawn up by Dr. Johnson, and with his name at the head, received at once no less than thirty thousand signatures; and all the warm feelings of the sovereign himself prompted him to clemency. The benevolent feelings of a large part of the British nation would have been gratified with his pardon. But, on the other hand, there was the explicit judgment of the law. There was the aggravated character of the offense,—an offense tending to destroy all confidence in a commercial community. The law regarded the crime as so heinous; so important was it to prevent the commission of the crime in a commercial community;

so necessary was it to secure confidence in the transactions between man and man, that it has been said that up to that time in England no one guilty of that crime had been pardoned. Perhaps, too, his profession operated against him, and it was deemed desirable that by a striking example it should be seen that in no circumstance whatever, was indulgence to be given to that offense. The law was suffered, therefore, to take its course. The offender died, and the world approved the stern decision of the sovereign.

But the embarrassment felt in this case for the want of some device like an atonement is apparent. There was a manifest want of some arrangement by which the benevolent feelings of the nation and of the sovereign could be gratified, and by which at the same time the interests of justice could be secured. On the one hand, there were thousands of pained hearts when the guilty man died; and on the other, there would have been thousands of painful apprehensions about the consequences if he had been suffered to live. An atonement, or some arrangement that would have secured, at the same time, the gratification of the benevolent feelings of the community, the life of the offender, and the interests of justice, would have saved the whole difficulty.

In every such case there is a source of embarrassment in the administration of law which it has never been in the power of human legislation to remove. There are desires of our nature which are not gratified; and in the rigid execution of law, however a magistrate may comply with the promptings of nature in one respect,—that which requires him to administer justice,—there are other promptings of his nature which are not complied with,—those which impel him to mercy. While obeying the demands of his nature in one respect, he is doing violence to it in another; nor has it ever been possible to make such an arrangement that all the promptings of his nature shall be in harmony.

3. A third source of embarrassment in the administration of justice from the want of some arrangement like an atonement pertains to the reformation or the future conduct of an offender. Even supposing that the interests of justice were fully consulted, and that at the same time all the promptings of compassion in our nature were complied with, still, there is a material point for which no arrangement is made, in regard to the future conduct of the offender. If his punishment had secured his reformation, and if there were absolute certainty in regard to his future good conduct, the exercise of mercy would be attended with much fewer embarrassments than it is now. The whole aspect of the case would be changed, and an approximation would be made at least toward a removal of the difficulties already suggested. It might be supposed that the ends of justice had been so far accomplished in securing his reformation that the exercise of the pardoning power would not be perilous to the community.

But such a power cannot be introduced into an act of pardon as shall secure the future good conduct of the offender. If this could be done, it is obvious that it would be safe for them to pardon the guilty,—at least, so far as their future good conduct is concerned. But this cannot be done. There is no certainty or probability that an act of pardon will so operate on the mind of one who is pardoned as to make his reformation certain; there is no tendency in such an act to make it certain. There are no principles in human nature on which reliance can be placed in securing such a result. We cannot so confide in the gratitude of men, or in their generous impulses, as to feel any assurance that by doing them an act of kindness they will cease to do wrong. However flagrant may have been a crime, however clear the evidence that it was committed, and however it might be supposed that an act of clemency in such a case would appeal to all that is generous and noble in man, yet facts abundantly show that no such act of clemency will so appeal to his sense of gratitude as to secure the future good conduct of the guilty. Nor can there be introduced into the instrument of pardon any such influence as to constitute a ground of security for the future good conduct of an offender. The presumption is rather that one who had been punished, in whatever way he may be discharged from punishment, whether by having borne the prescribed penalty of the law, or by an act of clemency, will feel that he has been wronged by the punishment, and will seek an opportunity of avenging himself for the wrong. Facts, in the case of those who are convicted of crime and who are either punished or pardoned, abundantly sustain this presumption.

4. A fourth source of embarrassment in the administration of justice, which no human arrangement has been sufficient to overcome, is, that it is impossible to secure the exercise of both justice and mercy. The one, so far as it is exercised, sets aside the other. It is possible to be severely and sternly just, and it is possible to be tender, compassionate, and merciful; but it has not been found possible to blend the two. We have seen in the previous remarks that in our nature there is a demand for both, and that cases constantly occur where it is desirable that there should be an exercise of both; that is, cases of acknowledged crime where it is desirable that the offense should be punished, and yet cases so peculiar in their nature that it is desirable that there should be an exercise of clemency; cases where all the interests of justice demand that there should be punishment, and yet where all the benevolent feelings of our nature would be gratified by an act of pardon. One of these only can be gratified by the course which may be pursued in the administration of law; both cannot be. They conflict with each other. The one practically and in effect sets aside the other. As a government leans to the one or the other, it is stern, severe, and harsh, or weak, inefficient, and ineffective. Some of the noblest feelings of our nature are overridden and crushed out by the rigid execution of law; some of the essential claims of justice are set aside by every interposition of mercy. There have been no arrangements in society for blending the two. There are no such arrangements in the ordinary courts of justice; there is no special tribunal where it is supposed that the two can be blended. There are arrangements in abundance for the administration of justice, and there are arrangements for the exercise of mercy, but there are none for the blending of the two. So far as the character of one who is intrusted with administering the laws is concerned, in proportion as he is inclined to the one it is always at the expense of the other. He is merciful or just, not merciful and just. The one attribute constantly neutralizes the other; and, though there are cases in abundance where these attributes are manifested separately, there are none where they are perfectly combined. Though there are humane judges, yet the mere administration of law is always stern and rigid. If mercy is to be shown it is not by the judge as such; it is reserved for some other breast than his, or for his own breast when acting in some other capacity.

"The constitution," says Lord Mansfield, when delivering the opinion of the court of Kings Bench on the outlawry of Mr. Wilkes, "does not allow reasons of state to influence our judgments. God forbid that it should! The constitution trusts the king with reasons of state and policy; he may stop prosecutions; he may pardon offenses; it is his to judge whether the law or the criminal should yield. We have no election. None of us encouraged or approved the commission of either of the crimes of which the defendant is convicted; none of us had any hand in his being prosecuted. We cannot pardon. We are to say what we take the law to be: if we do not speak our real opinions, we prevaricate with God and our own consciences."

The departments of justice and mercy have in all constitutional and wise governments been kept distinct; and, however the hearts of judges may be inclined to mercy, and however cordial they may be in commending the guilty to mercy, yet judgment and mercy are so distinct in their character, and are to be dispensed on so different principles, that the law presumes that they cannot both be found united in the same bosom, and that they cannot be safely intrusted to the same individual. As the law has made no arrangement for blending the exercise of the two, so it has never presumed that the same person is qualified to administer both.

Such are some of the embarrassments which occur in a human administration from the want of an atonement. It may be proper, then,—

II. In the second place, in illustration of this point, to refer to some cases which have occurred where this difficulty has been felt, and some of the devices which have been resorted to to meet it.

A case occurred in the life of the prophet Daniel, which will show what has not unfrequently occurred under governments where the law is stern and inflexible. The case was this: Darius, the king, had been instigated by crafty counselors to promulgate a law that whoever should ask any petition of any god or man for thirty days, except of himself, should be cast into a den of lions. Daniel vi, 7. Daniel, as was anticipated by those who had proposed the law, (for it had been proposed for the very purpose of securing his fall from power), was the first offender. The king now saw that by the law so craftily obtained he had involved the first officer of the realm and a man of unsullied character in ruin, unless some way could be devised by which the consequences of the statute could be averted. Thus it is said (verse 14) that "the king was sore displeased with himself, and set his heart on Daniel to deliver him; and he labored till the going down of the sun to deliver him." His feelings of friendship for Daniel prompted him to this; his convictions of what was right urged him to it; the sense of the wrong that he had done in yielding to the enactment of a law manifestly designed to ruin an innocent man pressed it upon him. But there were insuperable difficulties in the case. There was the stern and absolute law which he had himself enacted. There was the settled maxim in regard to the laws of the realm that they should not be altered (verse 8); the fixed principle that, having been once enacted, they should be allowed to take their course, no matter what consequences might follow. There was the undoubted fact that Daniel had violated the law,—a fact which Daniel himself would not deny, and which could not be called in question. There was the rank of the offender, and the apprehension of the consequences on more humble classes if one so exalted should be pardoned after an open and palpable violation of the law. There was the effect which would follow in regard to the character of the monarch himself, if he should thus practically confess that he had been inveigled into the enactment of a law designed for a crafty purpose, whose consequences and bearing he did not himself foresee. In view of these considerations, all that could be done was to let the law take its course. The most illustrious, the most useful, and the most upright man in the kingdom was thus consigned to a most fearful doom; and nothing but the protecting care of God saved him when human justice was denied him. Now, on the supposition in this case that the law had been as just as it was inexorable, what was needed, and what would have met the whole difficulty, was some device like an atonement,—some arrangement by which the majesty of the law could be asserted and its proper influence secured, while at the same time the desire of the monarch's heart to release the offender could be gratified.

This case may illustrate what substantially occurs always in the administration of law. It is true that all law has a penalty; for if it had not it would be a bugbear. It is true that, so far as the administration of law is concerned, all law is inexorable; for, though a legislature may change or repeal a law, a court is appointed only to administer it, not to set it aside, and, so far as a court is concerned, all laws are as inexorable as

"the laws of the Medes and Persians." It is true that in every case where an act of pardon is contemplated it is implied that there has been an undoubted violation of law; for if this is not so, the discharge of the man is not an act of pardon, but of justice. And it is true that though all offenders have not the rank, the character, or the moral worth of Daniel, yet that the mere act of violating a law gives a man a prominence which he would not otherwise have had; exalts him into a degree of conspicuity to which nothing else might elevate him; and gives him a claim to notice which perhaps nothing else could. And it is true, also, that in numerous cases there are strong appeals made to the humanity, the compassion, the kindness, of those intrusted with the pardoning power; that from the age, the former character, the standing, the ability to be useful, of those who are convicted of crime, the operation of the law, though just, seems harsh and severe, and a strong appeal is made to mercy. Such instances strongly remind us of the case of Darius, who "set his heart on Daniel to deliver him, and labored till the going down of the sun to deliver him."

But if an atonement could be made; if there could be such an arrangement that all these varied interests could be secured, what a change would be produced in the administration of the laws! If it were possible to institute an arrangement which would secure a proper expression of the majesty and honor of the law and the interests of justice, and, at the same time, make it proper to indulge the benevolent feelings of the heart; that would send forth all who are pardoned, however guilty they may have been, thoroughly reformed, prepared to take their places in the community as industrious and honest men, securing their good behaviour in all time to come, it is obvious that an object would be accomplished which never has been secured in the administration of justice. It would be an object for which the world has sighed, and which men have endeavored to secure by the harsh and clumsy devices occasionally resorted to in the vain endeavor to blend the administration of justice and the dispensation of mercy. Whether that object has been secured in the atonement made by the Redeemer, is the most momentous question that can come before the mind of man.

CHASTISEMENT.

By Sir Robert Grant

Oh Saviour, whose mercy, severe in its kindness, Has chastened my wanderings, and guided my way; Adored be the power which illumined my blindness, And weaned me from phantoms that smiled to betray.

Enchanted with all that was dazzling and fair, I followed the rainbow—I caught at the toy— And still in displeasure thy goodness was there, Disappointing the hope and defeating the joy.

The blossom blushed bright—but a worm was below; The moonlight shone fair—there was blight in the beam; Sweet whispered the breeze—but it whispered of woe; And bitterness flowed in the soft-flowing stream.

So, cured of my folly, yet cured but in part, I turned to the refuge thy pity displayed; And still did this eager and credulous heart Weave visions of promise that bloomed but to fade.

I thought that the course of the pilgrim to heaven Would be bright as the summer, and glad as the morn; Thou show'dst me the path—it was dark and uneven, All rugged with rock, and all tangled with thorn.

I dreamed of celestial rewards and renown; I grasped at the triumph which blesses the brave; I asked for the palm-branch, the robe, and the crown; I asked—and thou show'dst me a cross and a grave.

Subdued and instructed at length to thy will, My hopes and my longings I fain would resign; Oh give me the heart that can wait and be still, Nor know of a wish or a pleasure but thine.

There are mansions exempted from sin and from woe, But they stand in a region by mortals untrod; There are rivers of joy—but they roll not below; There is rest—but it dwells in the presence of God. [Sir Robert Grant.

Should it be According to thy Mind?

“Should it be according to thy mind?” Job xxxiv, 33.

We are prone to be fretful—to complain of the dispensations of divine providence, and to reflect upon the Lord’s dealings. We want our own way. We wish to carve for ourselves. We would be treated as favorites, and our ease, and prosperity, and pleasure, consulted in all things. And if this does not appear to be done,—if our wills are crossed, if our schemes are frustrated, if our purposes are broken off,—then we stumble, think ourselves ill-used, and look for everybody to sympathize with us. Under these circumstances, God comes to us, as we sit among our broken cisterns, surrounded by our dethroned idols, and puts this question, “Should it be according to thy mind?” Are you wiser than God? Are you kinder than God? Are you holier than God? Are you more just than God? Are you better informed than God? May not your mind be dark, or selfish, or unsettled, or undecided? Should it then be according to your mind? Should you reign, or God? Remember that God acts in the highest wisdom, his motives are grace and justice, all his purposes are worthy of himself: that the least men can do is to submit, and give God time to explain himself; and the least the christian can do, is to prefer God’s wisdom, way, and work, to his own. Seeing God has so arranged all events, that all things must work together for the good of his people, they, at least, should daily say, “Father, thy will be done.” O my soul, seek grace from God, not only to submit, or be resigned to the dispensations of divine prov-

idence, but to acquiesce in them, and be pleased with the whole of them! Thy good is consulted, thy best interests are secured; and soon, very soon, it will be seen that wisdom and mercy, grace and goodness, marked out thy road.

“For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever. Amen.” Rom. xi, 36.

Perseverance.

He who allows his application to falter, or shirks his work on frivolous pretexts, is on the sure road to ultimate failure. Let any task be undertaken as a thing not possible to be evaded, and it will soon come to be performed with alacrity and cheerfulness. The habit of strenuous, continued labor, will become comparatively easy in time, like every other habit. Thus even men with the commonest brains and the most slender powers will accomplish much, if they will but apply themselves wholly and indefatigably to one thing at a time.

Sir Charles Napier, when in India, encountered an army of 35,000 Belouches with 2000 men, of whom only 400 were Europeans. He charged them in the center up a high bank, and for three hours the battle was undecided. At last they turned and fled.

It is this sort of pluck, tenacity, and determined perseverance which wins soldiers’ battles, and indeed, every battle. It is the one march more that wins the campaign; the five minute’s more persistent courage that wins the fight. Though your forces be less than another’s, you equal and outmaster your opponent, if you continue it longer and concentrate it more. The reply of the Spartan father, who said to his son, when he complained that his sword was too short, “Add a step to it,” is applicable to everything in life.

It is not how much a man may know, that is of so much importance, as the end and purpose for which he knows it. The object of knowledge should be to mature wisdom and improve character, to render us better, happier, and more useful; more benevolent, more energetic, and more efficient in the pursuit of every high purpose in life.

We must ourselves be and do, and not rest satisfied merely with reading and meditating over what others have written and done. Our best light must be made life, and our best thought action.

The humblest and least literate must train his sense of duty, and accustom himself to an orderly and diligent life. Though talents are the gifts of nature, the highest virtue may be acquired by men of the humblest abilities, through careful self-discipline.

At least, we ought to be able to say, as Richter did, “I have made as much out of myself as could be made of the stuff, and no man should require more.”—Self-Help.

The World’s Confessions.

The world’s great men may sometimes tell religion’s great truths. Take, for instance, Louis XIV, and Goethe. Each possessed great talent, which was used in each case to build up an artificial great man on the world’s pattern. Each inherited much—the first, a royalty of State; the second, royalty of temper and manner that raised his talents above the talents of other men. Each lived long, and lived successfully; and yet each confessed fully how wretched his glory was. The confessions of Louis XIV, were convulsive and worthless—they were the inarticulate shudderings and writhings with which he turned from death to superstition, until superstition led him blindfolded to death. Those of Goethe (equally splendid, though in another field, and equally artificial) are incidentally referred to by Eckermann, one of his idolaters, whose reminiscences we have now before us, in the German language:

“When I look back,” said Goethe, speaking in his seventy-fifth year, “on my early and middle life, and see how few remain of those who were young when I was young, I am reminded of a summer residence in a watering-place. When we arrive, we form acquaintances with those who come before us, but who will soon be leaving. The loss is painful; but then comes the second generation, with which we live for a while on terms the most intimate. But then this passes away, and leaves us alone with the third, which arrives soon before our departure, and with which we have but little to do.

“I have often been praised as an especial favorite of fortune; and I will not myself complain. But at the bottom there has been nothing but trouble and labor; and I can well say that in my whole five and seventy years I have not had four weeks of real pleasure. It was the eternal rolling of a stone, that had always to be lifted up again for a new start.”

So spoke the great voluptuary poet-idol of Germany, and such is the world's estimate of glory and pleasure from the world's oracle.—Episcopal Recorder.

A Good Reason.

A PARENT called on his pastor for counsel in regard to the education of his children. “I have often,” said he, “regretted that I have not received an education, but never so often as since I have had children to educate. I am not able to do anything for them in that matter.”

“Their religious education is of more importance than their intellectual education,” said the pastor. “That you are competent to conduct.”

“Very far from it. I met with a thought, the other day, which made a great impression upon me. It was, that the habitual state of mind and feeling which we express before our children, will do more than any direct instruction to form their character. I found in that thought an additional motive for desiring growth in grace. If for no other object than that we may educate our children aright, it seems to me we should desire to grow in grace.”

“I have no doubt the most effectual way of benefitting children, is to set before them in our lives the qualities we desire them to possess—the characters we wish them to form. In all our efforts, we should seek by fervent prayer the aid of divine grace.”—N. Y. Observer.

On Whom Dost Thou Trust?

“On whom dost thou trust?” Isaiah xxxvi, 5.

ISRAEL’s king was apparently in great danger: before his city was a great army, led by a victorious general; within were a few supplies and a faint-hearted people. Yet he was hopeful. He possessed his soul in patience; he relied on his God. The poor heathen could not understand this; and therefore he tauntingly put the question, “On whom dost thou trust?” Just so the believer: very often when surrounded by foes, when burdened with troubles, when in the midst of trials, he enjoys inward peace, and looks forward with a lively hope, so that those around him are ready to ask, “On whom dost thou trust?” Trust! his trust is in the Lord who made heaven and earth—the Lord who dealt so graciously with him in times past, and who has spoken to him so kindly in reference to all time to come. He trusts in the Lord, whose power is omnipotent, whose word is sure, whose wisdom cannot be frustrated, who never failed one who trusted in him. “I trust,” says he, “in One whose victories are greater, whose interest in me is deep, and who ever sits in my enemy’s council.” Sinner! on whom dost thou trust? Eve trusted Satan, and fell; Jacob trusted his sons, and suffered; Sennacherib trusted in his army, and was conquered; Gehazi trusted in his master’s staff, and failed; Asa trusted in his physicians, and died; Hezekiah trusted in the God of Israel, and was victorious. Sufferer! on whom dost thou trust? Is the object of thy trust able to deliver thee? Is he truthful,—may his word be taken? Is he trustworthy, so that failure is impossible? O my soul, trust thou in the Lord,—trust him at all times, trust him with all thy affairs, and trust him for all thou needest! “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not to thine own understanding.”

“O Israel, trust thou in the Lord; he is their help and their shield.” Psalm cxv, 9.

MEETINGS IN SOUTHERN IOWA.

By J. H. Waggoner

July 12th I went to Vernon, Van Buren Co. As I expected from report given, I found the church very low in spiritual matters. Difficulties had existed among them for a long time; and as all the members were inexperienced, they knew not what to do. As a general thing they felt the need of help, and consequently it was not very difficult to help them. The most serious difficulty was a feeling of distrust of those whom God has chosen in this great work, and the consequent lack of faith in the message. Of course the spirit of God was grieved, and their zeal had departed.

That they were willing to be helped was manifested by their heeding the testimony delivered to them. I think all (that had used) renounced the use of tobacco while I was there; they unanimously adopted the Systematic Benevolence plan, and covenanted anew to enter into the work of preparing for the coming of the Lord.

I was not able to preach much, and therefore held only two public meetings in the school-house. These were well attended, and I was urged to give more appointments; but I did not think it was duty under the circumstances. As I was not able to labor, I improved the opportunity of visiting a brother in Missouri whom I had not seen for many years. On my return I was informed that two meeting-houses were offered for my use in Bentonport, if I would give a course of lectures. I could only leave them with the hope that they might keep the same mind till some one shall be able to improve the opening.

On the 19th I went to Fairfield. There I found things in a much worse condition. There was no unity in the church of either faith or feeling; and it was very hard to do anything for them, there being so many that did not feel the need of help. When it was suggested that certain action (which was wrong in itself) be deferred till I should come to advise and assist them, it was replied that they did not want any body to assist them, as they were an independent church and could do their own business. Not only so, but some asserted that they were organized under the name of "Church of God," and therefore stood independent of the Seventh-day Adventists: that they had their officers to transact business, etc. This was calculated to place me in an embarrassing position. Yet they were mistaken; no officers had ever been ordained in the church, according to the Scriptures. After considerable inquiry into their standing, and the spirit of some being manifested, it appeared evident that much wrong existed among them, and had for a long time. My advice was for them all to humble themselves and begin the work anew, and strive for unity of faith, and to grow up into the present truth. But this, some were not inclined to do. Therefore, to bring matters to a crisis, Bro. Bartlett moved that they organize under the name of Seventh-day Adventists. This, of course, drew the line between them that wished to stand with the body of Advent believers, and them that wished to stand independent—the

very thing that had long been needed. About half of those present were very decided in the affirmative; others were not prepared to act, who, I trust, will yet see their way clear to unite with the body.

The natural consequences of rejecting the gifts of the Spirit were here seen. When it was said that the gifts were necessary to perfect the church and bring them to the unity of the faith [Eph. iv], it was replied that such a state of things would never be before the Lord comes! If it is supposed that we can stand in the time of trouble and be translated without perfection, or gathered without unity, we cannot wonder that they feel no necessity of the gifts of the Spirit of God. It is to be deeply deplored that any should be found professing the faith of the Third Angel's Message with such limited views of the work before us.

Sabbath, 27, I spent with the church in Oskaloosa. This was a time of encouragement. Most of them are growing strong in the truth, and earnest in the work. Tobacco is mostly laid aside amongst them, and they adopted Systematic Benevolence with manifest cheerfulness. They also embrace the promises of God in the gifts of his Spirit to the church, and are reading the two volumes on that subject with much interest. A special token for good is their deep interest in the Review.

Although Satan is throwing some distracting influences among them already, prominent among which is the preaching mania, my heart is comforted in this visit with the little flock in Oskaloosa. They seem to understand and appreciate aright the work of the enemy above referred to. And I feel to praise God anew for the power and light of the present truth.

J. H. WAGGONER.

P. S. I have written quite a lengthy report of the above meetings for the benefit of those churches which I shall not be able to visit. But I feel constrained to say a few words more to both them that I have and have not visited.

Dear Brethren: I find that you have been sinking in discouragement and resting down in darkness. This need not be—it must not be. It is probably true that there are more distracting influences working here than in almost any other field; we are on the line between Freedom and Slavery, and society seems all broken up. A feeling of distrust and suspicion pervades every community. But you may rest assured this trouble is reaching you only a little in advance; it is spreading all over the land. And as troubles thicken, our faith should grow stronger and our zeal and devotion be increased. The Third Angel's Message is the truth for "perilous times," and while an unnatural distrust exists between man and man, let us not do so wickedly as to distrust the living God. A distrust of God's hand in this work has done much injury to the cause in this field. I intreat you to put it away; trust in God and look up. Get into the work; get "the helmet of salvation" on yourselves, then pray for the prosperity of the cause. There is no reason why we should be groping in darkness here. God has spoken words of encouragement for Iowa, and he is as ready to bless and revive his work here as anywhere. I earnestly pray that the spirit that was in Caleb and Joshua may be in you all, leading you on to victory.

J. H. W.

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