Salted With Fire

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"Noo ye see what I'm drivin' at? It's this--that things hae aye to be put
to their richt eeses! But there are guid eeses and better eeses, and things
canna _aye_ be putten to their _best_ eeses; only, whaur they can, it's a
shame to put them to ony ither but their best! Noo, what's the best eese o'
a man?--what's a man made for? The carritchis (_catechism_) says, _To
glorifee God_. And hoo is he to dee that? Jist by deein the wull o' God.
For the ae perfec' man said he was born intil the warl for that ae special
purpose, to dee the wull o' him that sent him. A man's for a heap o' eeses,
but that ae eese covers them a'. Whan he's deein' the wull o' God, he's
deein jist a'thing.

"Still there are vahrious wy's in which a man can be deein the wull o' his
Father in h'aven, and the great thing for ilk ane is to fin' oot the best
w'y _he_ can set aboot deein that wull.

"Noo here's a man sittin aside me that I maun help set to the best eese
he's fit for--and that is, tellin ither fowk what he kens aboot the God
that made him and them, and stirrin o' them up to dee what He would hae
them dee. The fac is, that the man was ance a minister o' the Kirk o'
Scotlan'; but whan he was a yoong man, he fell intil a great faut:--a
yoong man's faut--I'm no gaein to excuse 't--dinna think it!--Only I
chairge ye, be ceevil til him i' yer vera thouchts, rememberin hoo mony
things ye hae dene yersels 'at ye hae to be ashamit o', though some o'
them may never hae come to the licht; for, be sure o' this, he has repentit
richt sair. Like the prodigal, he grew that ashamit o' what he had dene,
that he gied up his kirk, and gaed hame to the day's darg upon his father's
ferm. And that's what he's at the noo, thof he be a scholar, and that a
ripe ane! And by his repentance he's learnt a heap that he didna ken afore,
and that he couldna hae learnt ony ither w'y than by turnin wi' shame frae
the path o' the transgressor. I hae broucht him wi' me this day, sirs, to
tell ye something--he hasna said to me what--that the Lord in his mercy
has tellt him. I'll say nae mair: Mr. Bletherwick, wull ye please tell's
what the Lord has putten it intil yer min' to say?"

The soutar sat down; and James got up, white and trembling. For a moment or
two he was unable to speak, but overcoming his emotion, and falling at once
into the old Scots tongue, he said--

"My frien's, I hae little richt to stan' up afore ye and say onything; for,
as some o' ye ken, if no afore, at least noo, frae what my frien' the
soutar has jist been tellin ye, I was ance a minister o' the kirk, but upon
a time I behavet mysel that ill, that, whan I cam to my senses, I saw it
my duty to withdraw, and mak room for anither to tak up my disgracet
bishopric, as was said o' Judas the traitor. But noo I seem to hae gotten
some mair licht, and to ken some things I didna ken afore; sae, turnin my
back upo' my past sin, and believin God has forgien me, and is willin I sud
set my han' to his pleuch ance mair, I hae thoucht to mak a new beginnin
here in a quaiet heumble fashion, tellin ye something o' what I hae begoud,
i' the mercy o' God, to un'erstan' a wee for mysel. Sae noo, gien yell
turn, them o' ye that has broucht yer buiks wi' ye, to the saeventh
chapter o' John's gospel, and the saeventeenth verse, ye'll read wi me what
the Lord says there to the fowk o Jerus'lem: _Gien ony man be wullin to
dee His wull, he'll ken whether what I tell him comes frae God, or whether
I say 't only oot o' my ain heid_. Luik at it for yersels, for that's what
it says i' the Greek, the whilk is plainer than the English to them that
un'erstan' the auld Greek tongue: Gien onybody _be wullin_ to dee the wull
o' God, he'll ken whether my teachin comes frae God, or I say 't o' mysel."

From that he went on to tell them that, if they kept trusting in God, and
doing what Jesus told them, any mistake they made would but help them the
better to understand what God and his son would have them do. The Lord gave
them no promise, he said, of knowing what this or that man ought to do; but
only of knowing what the man himself ought to do. And he illustrated this
by the rebuke the Lord gave Peter when, leaving inquiry into the will of
God that he might do it, he made inquiry into the decree of God concerning
his friend that he might know it; seeking wherewithal, not to prophesy, but
to foretell. Then he showed them the difference between the meaning of the
Greek word, and that of the modern English word _prophesy_.

The little congregation seemed to hang upon his words, and as they were
going away, thanked him heartily for thus talking to them.

That same night as James and the soutar were going home together, they were
overtaken by an early snowstorm, and losing their way, were in the danger,
not a small one, of having to pass the night on the moor. But happily, the
farmer's wife, in whose house was their customary assembly, had, as they
were taking their leave, made the soutar a present of some onion bulbs, of
a sort for which her garden was famous: exhausted in conflict with the
freezing blast, they had lain down, apparently to die before the morning,
when the soutar bethought himself of the onions; and obeying their nearer
necessity, they ate instead of keeping them to plant; with the result that
they were so refreshed, and so heartened for battle with the wind and
snow, that at last, in the small hours of the morning, they reached home,
weary and nigh frozen.

All through the winter, James accompanied the soutar to his Sunday-school,
sometimes on his father's old gig-horse, but oftener on foot. His father
would occasionally go also; and then the men of Stonecross began to go,
with the cottar and his wife; so that the little company of them gradually
increased to about thirty men and women, and about half as many children.
In general, the soutar gave a short opening address; but he always made
"the minister" speak; and thus James Blatherwick, while encountering many
hidden experiences, went through his apprenticeship to extempore preaching;
and, hardly knowing how, grew capable at length of following out a train of
thought in his own mind even while he spoke, and that all the surer from
the fact that, as it rose, it found immediate utterance; and at the same
time it was rendered the more living and potent by the sight of the eager
faces of his humble friends fixed upon him, as they drank in, sometimes
even anticipated, the things he was saying. He seemed to himself at times
almost to see their thoughts taking reality and form to accompany him
whither he led them; while the stream of his thought, as it disappeared
from his consciousness and memory, seemed to settle in the minds of those
who heard him, like seed cast on open soil--some of it, at least, to grow
up in resolves, and bring forth fruit. And all the road as the friends
returned, now in moonlight, now in darkness and rain, sometimes in wind and
snow, they had such things to think of and talk about, that the way never
seemed long. Thus dwindled by degrees Blatherwick's self-reflection and
self-seeking, and, growing divinely conscious, he grew at the same time
divinely self-oblivious. Once, upon such a home-coming, as his wife was
helping him off with his wet boots, he looked up in her face and said--

"To think, Isy, that here am I, a dull, selfish creature, so long desiring
only for myself knowledge and influence, now at last grown able to feel in
my heart all the way home, that I took every step, one after the other,
only by the strength of God in me, caring for me as my own making father!
--Ken ye what I'm trying to say, Isy, my dear?"

"I canna be a'thegither certain I un'erstan'," answered his wife; "but I'll
keep thinkin aboot it, and maybe I'll come til't!"

"I can desire no more," answered James, "for until the Lord lat ye see a
thing, hoo can you or I or onybody see the thing that _he_ maun see first!
And what is there for us to desire, but to see things as God sees them, and
would hae us see them? I used to think the soutar a puir fule body whan he
was sayin the vera things I'm tryin to say noo! I saw nae mair what he was
efter than that puir collie there at my feet--maybe no half sae muckle, for
wha can tell what he mayna be thinkin, wi' that far awa luik o' his!"

"Div ye think, Jeames, that ever we'll be able to see inside thae doggies,
and ken what they're thinkin?"

"I wouldna won'er what we mayna come til; for ye ken Paul says, 'A' things
are yours, and ye are Christ's, and Christ is God's!' Wha can tell but the
vera herts o' the doggies may ae day lie bare and open to _oor_ herts, as
to the hert o' Him wi' whom they and we hae to do! Eh, but the thouchts o'
a doggie maun be a won'erfu' sicht! And syne to think o' the thouchts o'
Christ aboot that doggie! We'll ken them, I daurna weel doobt, some day!
I'm surer aboot that nor aboot kennin the thouchts o' the doggie himsel!"

Another Sunday night, having come home through a terrible storm of thunder
and lightning, he said to Isy--

"I hae been feelin, a' the w'y hame, as gien, afore lang, I micht hae to
gie a wider testimony. The apostles and the first Christians, ye see, had
to beir testimony to the fac' that the man that was hangt and dee'd upo
the cross, the same was up again oot o' the grave, and gangin aboot the
warl; noo I canna beir testimony to that, for I wasna at that time awaur o'
onything; but I might weel be called upon to beir testimony to the fac'
that, whaur ance he lay deid and beeried, there he's come alive at last--
that is, i' the sepulchre o' my hert! For I hae seen him noo, and ken him
noo--the houp o' glory in my hert and my life! Whatever he said ance, that
I believe for ever."

The talks James Blatherwick and the soutar had together, were now,
according to Mr. Robertson, even wonderful. But it was chiefly the soutar
that spoke, while James sat and listened in silence. On one occasion,
however, James had spoken out freely, and indeed eloquently; and Mr.
Robertson, whom the soutar accompanied to his inn that night, had said to
him ere they parted--

"Do you see any good and cogent reason, Mr. MacLear, why this man should
not resume his pastoral office?"

"One thing at least I am sure of," answered the soutar, "--that he is far
fitter for it than ever he was in his life before."

Mr. Robertson repeated this to James the next day, adding--

And I am certain every one who knows you will vote the restoration of your
licence!"

"I must speak to Isy about it," answered James with simplicity.

"That is quite right, of course," rejoined Mr. Robertson: "you know I tell
my wife everything that I am at liberty to tell."

"Will not some public recognition of my reinstatement be necessary?"
suggested James.

"I will have a talk about it with some of the leaders of the synod, and let
you know what they say," answered Mr. Robertson.

"Of course I am ready," returned Blatherwick, "to make any public
confession judged necessary or desirable; but that would involve my wife;
and although I know perfectly that she will be ready for anything required
of her, it remains not the less my part to do my best to shield her!"

"Of one thing I think you may be sure--that, with our present moderator,
your case will be handled with more than delicacy--with tenderness!"

"I must not doubt it; but for myself I would deprecate indulgence. I must
have a talk with my wife about it! She is sure to know what will be best!"

"My advice is to leave it all in the hands of the moderator. We have no
right to choose, appoint, or apportion our own penalties!"

James went home and laid the whole matter before his wife.

Instead of looking frightened, or even anxious, Isy laid little Peter
softly in his crib, threw her arms round James's neck, and cried--

"Thank God, my husband, that you have come to this! Don't think to leave me
out, I beg of you. I am more than ready to accept my shame. I have always
said _I_ was to blame, and not you! It was me that should have known
better!"

"You trusted me, and I proved quite unworthy of your confidence!--But had
ever man a wife to be so proud of as I of you!"

Mr. Robertson brought the matter carefully before the synod; but neither
James nor Isy ever heard anything more of it--except the announcement of
the cordial renewal of James's licence. This was soon followed by the offer
of a church in the poorest and most populous parish north of the Tweed.

"See the loving power at the heart of things, Isy!" said James to his wife:
"out of evil He has brought good, the best good, and nothing but good!--a
good ripened through my sin and selfishness and ambition, bringing upon you
as well as me disgrace and suffering! The evil in me had to come out and
show itself, before it could be cleared away! Some people nothing but an
earthquake will rouse from their dead sleep: I was one of such. God in His
mercy brought on the earthquake: it woke me and saved me from death.
Ignorant creatures go about asking why God permits evil: _we_ know why! It
may be He could with a word cause evil to cease--but would that be to
create good? The word might make us good like oxen or harmless sheep, but
would that be a goodness worthy of him who was made in the image of God? If
a man ceased to be _capable_ of evil, he must cease to be a man! What would
the goodness be that could not help being good--that had no choice in the
matter, but must be such because it was so made? God chooses to be good,
else he would not be God: man must choose to be good, else he cannot be the
son of God! Herein we see the grand love of the Father of men--that he
gives them a share, and that share as necessary as his own, in the making
of themselves! Thus, and thus only, that is, by willing the good, can they
become 'partakers of the divine nature!' Satan said, 'Ye shall be as gods,
knowing good and evil!' God says, 'Ye shall be as gods, knowing good and
evil, and choosing the good.' For the sake of this, that we may come to
choose the good, all the discipline of the world exists. God is teaching
us to know good and evil in some real degree _as they are_, and not as
_they seem to the incomplete_; so shall we learn to choose the good and
refuse the evil. He would make his children see the two things, good and
evil, in some measure as they are, and then say whether they will be good
children or not. If they fail, and choose the evil, he will take yet
harder measures with them. If at last it should prove possible for a
created being to see good and evil as they are, and choose the evil, then,
and only then, there would, I presume, be nothing left for God but to set
his foot upon him and crush him, as we crush a noxious insect. But God is
deeper in us than our own life; yea, God's life is the very centre and
creative cause of that life which we call _ours_; therefore is the Life in
us stronger than the Death, in as much as the creating Good is stronger
than the created Evil."

THE END

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