The Life of John Bunyan [12]
people at Bedford
whose acquaintance he had recently made, were all that God meant to
save in that part of the country, and that the day of grace was
past and gone for him; that he had overstood the time of mercy.
"Oh that he had turned sooner!" was then his cry. "Oh that he had
turned seven years before! What a fool he had been to trifle away
his time till his soul and heaven were lost!" The text, "compel
them to come in, and yet there is room," came to his rescue when he
was so harassed and faint that he was "scarce able to take one step
more." He found them "sweet words," for they showed him that there
was "place enough in heaven for him," and he verily believed that
when Christ spoke them He was thinking of him, and had them
recorded to help him to overcome the vile fear that there was no
place left for him in His bosom. But soon another fear succeeded
the former. Was he truly called of Christ? "He called to them
when He would, and they came to Him." But they could not come
unless He called them. Had He called him? Would He call him? If
He did how gladly would he run after Him. But oh, he feared that
He had no liking to him; that He would not call him. True
conversion was what he longed for. "Could it have been gotten for
gold," he said, "what could I have given for it! Had I a whole
world, it had all gone ten thousand times over for this, that my
soul might have been in a converted state." All those whom he
thought to be truly converted were now lovely in his eyes. "They
shone, they walked like people that carried the broad seal of
heaven about them. Oh that he were like them, and shared in their
goodly heritage!"
About this time Bunyan was greatly troubled, though at the same
time encouraged in his endeavours after the blessedness he longed
for so earnestly but could not yet attain to, by "a dream or
vision" which presented itself to him, whether in his waking or
sleeping hours he does not tell us. He fancied he saw his four
Bedford friends refreshing themselves on the sunny side of a high
mountain while he was shivering with dark and cold on the other
side, parted from them by a high wall with only one small gap in
it, and that not found but after long searching, and so strait and
narrow withal that it needed long and desperate efforts to force
his way through. At last he succeeded. "Then," he says, "I was
exceeding glad, and went and sat down in the midst of them, and so
was comforted with the light and heat of their sun."
But this sunshine shone but in illusion, and soon gave place to the
old sad questioning, which filled his soul with darkness. Was he
already called, or should he be called some day? He would give
worlds to know. Who could assure him? At last some words of the
prophet Joel (chap. iii, 21) encouraged him to hope that if not
converted already, the time might come when he should be converted
to Christ. Despair began to give way to hopefulness.
At this crisis Bunyan took the step which he would have been wise
if he had taken long before. He sought the sympathy and counsel of
others. He began to speak his mind to the poor people in Bedford
whose words of religious experiences had first revealed to him his
true condition. By them he was introduced to their pastor, "the
godly Mr. Gifford," who invited him to his house and gave him
spiritual counsel. He began to attend the meetings of his
disciples.
The teaching he received here was but ill-suited for one of
Bunyan's morbid sensitiveness. For it was based upon a constant
introspection and a scrupulous weighing of each word and action,
with a torturing suspicion of its motive, which made a man's ever-
varying spiritual feelings the standard of his state before God,
instead of leading him off from self to the Saviour. It is not,
therefore, at all surprising that a considerable period intervened
before, in the language of his
whose acquaintance he had recently made, were all that God meant to
save in that part of the country, and that the day of grace was
past and gone for him; that he had overstood the time of mercy.
"Oh that he had turned sooner!" was then his cry. "Oh that he had
turned seven years before! What a fool he had been to trifle away
his time till his soul and heaven were lost!" The text, "compel
them to come in, and yet there is room," came to his rescue when he
was so harassed and faint that he was "scarce able to take one step
more." He found them "sweet words," for they showed him that there
was "place enough in heaven for him," and he verily believed that
when Christ spoke them He was thinking of him, and had them
recorded to help him to overcome the vile fear that there was no
place left for him in His bosom. But soon another fear succeeded
the former. Was he truly called of Christ? "He called to them
when He would, and they came to Him." But they could not come
unless He called them. Had He called him? Would He call him? If
He did how gladly would he run after Him. But oh, he feared that
He had no liking to him; that He would not call him. True
conversion was what he longed for. "Could it have been gotten for
gold," he said, "what could I have given for it! Had I a whole
world, it had all gone ten thousand times over for this, that my
soul might have been in a converted state." All those whom he
thought to be truly converted were now lovely in his eyes. "They
shone, they walked like people that carried the broad seal of
heaven about them. Oh that he were like them, and shared in their
goodly heritage!"
About this time Bunyan was greatly troubled, though at the same
time encouraged in his endeavours after the blessedness he longed
for so earnestly but could not yet attain to, by "a dream or
vision" which presented itself to him, whether in his waking or
sleeping hours he does not tell us. He fancied he saw his four
Bedford friends refreshing themselves on the sunny side of a high
mountain while he was shivering with dark and cold on the other
side, parted from them by a high wall with only one small gap in
it, and that not found but after long searching, and so strait and
narrow withal that it needed long and desperate efforts to force
his way through. At last he succeeded. "Then," he says, "I was
exceeding glad, and went and sat down in the midst of them, and so
was comforted with the light and heat of their sun."
But this sunshine shone but in illusion, and soon gave place to the
old sad questioning, which filled his soul with darkness. Was he
already called, or should he be called some day? He would give
worlds to know. Who could assure him? At last some words of the
prophet Joel (chap. iii, 21) encouraged him to hope that if not
converted already, the time might come when he should be converted
to Christ. Despair began to give way to hopefulness.
At this crisis Bunyan took the step which he would have been wise
if he had taken long before. He sought the sympathy and counsel of
others. He began to speak his mind to the poor people in Bedford
whose words of religious experiences had first revealed to him his
true condition. By them he was introduced to their pastor, "the
godly Mr. Gifford," who invited him to his house and gave him
spiritual counsel. He began to attend the meetings of his
disciples.
The teaching he received here was but ill-suited for one of
Bunyan's morbid sensitiveness. For it was based upon a constant
introspection and a scrupulous weighing of each word and action,
with a torturing suspicion of its motive, which made a man's ever-
varying spiritual feelings the standard of his state before God,
instead of leading him off from self to the Saviour. It is not,
therefore, at all surprising that a considerable period intervened
before, in the language of his