MY recollections of monastic life are drawing to a close. Nine years had passed since I first became an inmate of the cloister. My quiet cell had been the scene of many a conflict. I had prayed, wept, and fasted it seemed in vain. For I had not found rest of soul, peace of conscience, and I found myself daily more unable to shake off a growing dislike to many things in the teaching and practice of Rome. Most of all, I felt and saw the evils of the confessional. I was convinced the system was utterly wrong, and could only debase and degrade alike the men who received the confessions, and those who attended as penitents.
Surrounded, as I was, by thousands of the poorest and most ignorant Roman Catholics, I had frequent opportunities of observing the system in all its workings, I conversed on the subject with many out of the crowds who daily thronged our church, and became daily more and more convinced that while the openly wicked only looked upon the frequent use of the confessional as the easy way of escape from punishment, the really anxious and earnest were not led into true peace by its teachings.
I could not help being impressed by the fact that Cyprian, Augustine, and others, whose names were loved and honored in the early Christian church, had written very little if anything in favor of auricular confession, and some of them had died without receiving priestly absolution.
Owing in part to my time having been so much taken up in the study and practice of medicine, I had not taken the final vows that set me apart to the Romish priesthood; but I knew they could not be delayed much longer. I would not, I thought, have objected to become a priest could I have been allowed to preach, say mass, dispense medicines, visit the sick and poor, and not compelled to receive confessions. But this I knew could not be. Rome teaches that confession is necessary to salvation, and I, if I become a priest, must enforce and conform to her teachings.
I suffered much during that long season of soul exercise and trial. While the struggle was still going on, I received a summons to attend the bishop and pass my final examination. I obeyed with trembling, came out well as to results, but was much relieved to find my ordination was to be delayed for six months. More than once I almost resolved to write to the abbot, telling him that I could not, dare not, take the priestly vows. But had not I gone too far to retrace my steps? The curses I had once heard seemed again to ring in my ears, and resolution failed me. I must, in some way or other, gain time before taking the final step. I began to pray earnestly for light as to my future path.
Matters were still in this state when I was sent for by the prior, who told me that as I had some knowledge of drawing, I had been chosen to assist a priest, who lived at about eight miles from our monastery, in preparing plans for a new church. As the work would require me to be on the spot, I was to reside with him while it was in progress. I went, and having given much satisfaction by my skill and industry, the prior was induced to consent to my remaining to give further help. After an absence of two months from my monastery, I received orders to return. This I had determined not to do, so resolved upon a bold step, taking a small house. I hardly knew at the time why I did so; but as I now look back with adoring wonder on all the way the Lord has led me, I can only acknowledge that the hand of God was upon me for good, and He guided me in my efforts to escape from the living death of the cloister.
I took possession of my new abode, sad and gloomy thoughts filling my mind. True it was that at least in part I had cast off the fetters of Rome, but I was not yet a free man. I had not looked in simple faith to Christ as an all-sufficient Savior. I had not even heard of salvation as the free gift of God. (Rom. 6:2323For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. (Romans 6:23).) I was often sorely tempted to doubt, and sometimes feared the struggle would end in my becoming an atheist.
It was about this time that a very old book fell into my hands. It was compiled by a writer of the twelfth century and consisted of extracts from the writings of early Christians, decrees of church councils, &c., all proving the Romish doctrine of transubstantiation to be merely a human invention quite unsupported by the authority of scripture. I felt as if the last inch of solid ground were slipping from beneath my feet. Often had I spent whole nights before the altar in what was called the adoration of the Host. Only one hope remained to me, these so-called quotations might prove to be forgeries. I determined to sift the matter, and knowing that most, if not all the books quoted, were to be found in a very good public library to which I had access, went there at once and found them all. I learned, too, that the word Eucharist was derived from the Greek, that its meaning was simply thanksgiving, and that there was no thought of a victim or sacrifice in it, while I had been taught to call the Mass an unbloody sacrifice for the sins of the living and the dead, and to believe that bread and wine were changed into the real body and blood of Christ by a few Latin words being pronounced over them.
I will not attempt to record all the gloomy doubts, all the mental conflicts through which I had to pass. But I can and do bless and praise the God of all grace who led me by the teaching of the Holy Spirit to a saving knowledge of His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, as my own personal, living Savior.
I became acquainted with a pious and intelligent man, whose friendship I have now enjoyed for more than twenty years, and still value as one of my greatest earthly blessings. He showed a marked interest in my spiritual state and often invited me to take walks with him. On such occasions we always conversed on matters of faith. The way in which he always referred to the written word of God in every difficulty impressed me greatly. During the nine years I had resided in the monastery I could only remember having once seen a Bible. I had been sent to dust the books in the library, and saw, not without surprise, a copy of the sacred volume on one of its shelves.
I obtained a Bible, and began to read the book with great interest and delight. The more I read the more I wondered that it had been so long withheld from me.
I saw it was indeed wondrous grace on the part of a holy God to speak to men on the earth, as He had done to Abraham, Noah, and others, and so I was led on and prepared to hear the voice of God speaking to me through the Son of His love.
I learned much also from my friend of how greatly the early Christians had loved and valued the inspired writings, and I saw with sorrow and shame that the great cause of the church's decline had been in the fact that the writings of the fathers and the legends of the saints had been allowed to take the place of the word of God.
“Did not Christ commit His word to His church, and give her authority alone to interpret and explain that word? A revelation without an interpreter would be no revelation at all," I asked during one of our conversations.
He replied by desiring me to give him proofs of Rome being the whole or even the true church of Christ. I said I was unable to do so. My friend went on to show how by the teaching of Romish bishops and clergy the pure word of God has during long years of error and unbelief been a sealed book to the mass of the people, reminding me that at the famous Synod of Toulouse. A.D. 1229, the Pope's legate set forth forty-five orders, most of them against heresy. The fourteenth order runs thus: — “We likewise prohibit, the permitting of the laity to have the books of the Old and New Testaments, unless perhaps any one should wish from a feeling of devotion to have a psalter or breviary for divine service or the honor of the Blessed Virgin. But we strictly forbid them to have the above-named books translated in the vulgar tongue.”
How I longed for peace, peace with God. I saw and felt myself to be a sinner, lost, guilty, and condemned already. But I had not yet seen God, not only satisfied but glorified by the work of His Son. At times my soul trouble seemed almost greater than I could bear. It was always a welcome relief when living, as I did, on the northern coast, I was able to walk out to the sea-shore. The low murmur of the waves, the music of the winds, had a strange power to calm and soothe me. One well-remembered night my thoughts formed themselves into verse, and found expression in the following lines: —
Under a starless sky,
Without one ray to cheer the moonless light,
To Thee I cry.
Father look down upon me; it will be light
If Thou art nigh.
Out on a barren waste,
The way is stony and the wind is bleak;
O Lord, make haste!
My feet are bleeding and my faith is weak—
Father, make haste!
I cannot see Thy light;
The frowning tempest veils Thee from my eye;
My failing sight
Cannot discern the Star of Hope on high,
So dark the night.
May I not now come home?
I fear the darkness and the blinding hail;
I cannot roam
Further without Thee, or my strength will fail—
O take me home!
God, who is rich in mercy, was indeed leading me by a way I knew not. The moment of my deliverance from the galling chain that had so long bound me was not far distant. But on the way to this an event took place of sufficient importance to change all my plans for life work. But I must not begin its narrative till my next chapter.