“When Christ like faith is keen to seek,
When Christ like love delights to span
The rents that sever man from man.”
“I hope that you are not a sheep stealer?” asked Mr. Robinson, a clergyman of Leicester, four years after Carey’s baptism. “I bid you a hearty welcome to Leicester, Mr. Carey. I heard that you had become minister of the Baptist church meeting in Harvey Lane, Leicester. But I hope that you are not a sheep stealer.”
“Mr. Robinson,” replied Carey, “you do good in your way, and I in mine, each of us according to our lights. But let me say this, I would rather be the instrument in God’s hands of converting a crossing-sweeper than of stealing one of your richest people.”
“Spoken like a man, and a Christian too,” replied the other. “Now then, brother Carey, let us know all about yourself. I will tell you my history another day. Tell me, how long have you been a minister?”
“It is now 1789,” replied Carey. “I was called to the pastorate on 10th of August, 1785. On the 1st October, 1786, the church formed a solemn covenant, and I became fully their minister. They were but a poor people, and could but spare me £10 per year. For more than a month at a time, neither I nor my family tasted animal food; but though I wanted bread many a time, I do not know that ever I repined. I am fond of gardening, and the employment is both healthy and profitable.”
“But had you no outside help?”
“From a friend in London I received £5 per year, and I got also a little from a school that I kept. In all I suppose I might have received nearly £36 per year from all sources.”
“But the school should have paid you more?”
“I do not know that I have the faculty of imparting knowledge; besides, I could not put on the airs of a schoolmaster. Instead of my ruling the boys, they ruled me. Then, directly after I opened the school a former schoolmaster came back to Moulton, and he soon took away all my pupils.”
“What did you do then?”
“Went back to my shoemaking,” replied Carey. Once a fortnight I walked the nine miles into Northampton with my load of shoes, bringing back the materials for another fortnight’s work. Yet I enjoyed some advantages not to be despised while at Moulton. I made myself acquainted with Dutch, besides perfecting my Greek and Hebrew.”
“Had you any ministerial friends who could aid you?” “Yes; Robert Hall and Dr. Ryland were both very kind to me. But they had no sympathy with some of my ideas. I remember upon one occasion that I mentioned to Dr. Ryland my thoughts about sending the gospel to the heathen—”
“Sending the gospel to the heathen, Carey! Are you mad, my dear friend I” exclaimed Mr. Robinson.
“No indeed. Has not the gospel, from the very first, prospered only when it has been aggressive? Are the heathen degraded? So much the more reason why we should send them the glad tidings of salvation.” “But think how much there is to be done at home.”
“True; but will the home work be better done because the foreign work is neglected? Is it likely that the performance of one duty will lead to the doing of another? Besides, consider: were not our forefathers heathens, and are not Englishmen what they are by the blessed influences of the gospel”
“Perhaps so; but, Carey, it is madness for you to dream about such a thing.”
“So Dr. Ryland thought “replied Carey.” When upon one occasion I propounded the question as to our duty with regard to the heathen he was very angry. He sprang to his feet and said, ‘Mr. Carey, when God intends to convert the heathen, He will do it without asking your aid or leave, or without asking mine.’ But I cannot give up my idea.”
“Dreams! dreams! Mr. Carey. Dreams!” said Mr. Robinson, shaking his head.
“Mr. Robinson, I have made myself a map of the world, in which I have inserted the populations of the world, and it is dreadful to think how small a space is under the influence of the gospel. I have a leathern globe also that I made for use in my school; this I have colored to show the same truth.”
“Whatever has put such strange notions into your head, Mr. Carey?”
“Through reading about Captain Cook’s voyages I was first interested in the condition of the heathen nations. From reading about their customs, I began to consider how fearful was their blindness and how dark were their prospects for eternity. I cannot but believe that God desires them to be saved.”
“But, friend Carey, no one else has ever entertained such notions. If what you say be correct, why have not others felt as you do?”
“Jonathan Edwards wrote a little work which has a bearing ‘upon the subject. It made a great impression upon our Northampton ministers, and led them to resolve that once a month they would meet together, upon the first Monday night in the month, to pray for the conversion of the world. Then you have read Brainerd’s life?”
“Who has not? A wonderful man; all corn-pounded of zeal and affection. A very seraph in the service of God.”
“Reading his memoir, in some degree, strengthened my desire to become a missionary, but I cannot tell whence I obtained the idea. It has grown so gradually, and been so long time a tenant of my mind, that it seems a part of myself. I confess, Mr. Robinson, that I cannot see how the thing is to be done, but I firmly believe that in God’s own good time the means will be found. I mean to be ready when the way is opened.”
“Well, well; we shall see! We shall see! But a truce to these day dreams. Let us talk about something practical. How are you likely to succeed at Harvey Lane?”
“The people are very few and dispirited; an Antinomian spirit, too, has sprung up among them. I fear, until the listless, worldly temper is quite gone but little good will be accomplished.”
“How do you propose to deal with such a condition of things?”
“We have agreed to dissolve the society; only those will be admitted into the new fellowship who will consent to be governed by the laws of the gospel. It is a sharp remedy, but, I think, absolutely necessary.”
“Well, God prosper you, brother. I don’t at all agree with your fancies about the heathen, but I hope you will do a good work in Leicester.”
“How do you think I have planned the work each day? I have been accustomed to work upon a plan,” said Carey. “To spend one’s time for the glory of God is the great theme of the Gospel, but it is very difficult to do so in actual life. On Monday I study languages, taking care always to translate something; on Tuesday I study science, history, and composition; on Wednesday I shall preach or lecture, and I think of expounding the book of Revelation; on Thursday I hope to visit among my flock; on Friday and Saturday I hope to be engaged in preparing for the preaching of the Sabbath.”
“A full week, and well laid out,” replied Robinson. “Do you know Mr. Arnold?”
“No. I am sorry to say that I do not.”
“Then I will introduce you to him at once. He will help you, I am sure, by the loan of books. Come here to-morrow, Mr. Carey, and you shall meet him.”
So a year or two passed. Carey at first eked out his scanty income by toiling at his trade of boot making. With a flower in his window, he might have been seen, in his leather apron, working hard during the morning. Afterward he opened a school, but again with no very great success. He had to return to his labors at the lapstone; but during his scanty leisure he was always either studying or preaching.
During this period he kept the idea of missions to the heathen before his mind. He put his observations and opinions down into a little book, towards the cost of printing which one of his friends offered him £10. In the year 1791 at a members’ meeting at Clip-stone two sermons were preached, perhaps in some measure inspired by Carey’s advocacy of mission work. Sutcliff preached upon being “very jealous for the Lord of Hosts;” and Carey’s friend, Fuller, preached-upon the pernicious influence of delay.
“Shall we separate without doing something?” asked Carey in an agony, when the service was over. “You have shown us our duty. Oh, Fuller, help us to do it. God will open the way!”
“We ought to do something,” replied Fuller, “and I think that we should do it now.”
“Yes,” said Sutcliff; “but beware of overhaste. Let us make haste slowly.”
“I agree with Mr. Sutcliff,” said a bystander. “Don’t rush into unknown perils.”
“But I beg that you do not delay. Let us do at once what we can,” pleaded Carey.
“What shall we do’!” asked Sutcliff.
“Let Carey publish his pamphlet, and we will think it over,” said Fuller. “At our next meeting we shall perhaps be prepared to act.”
This was done, and on the 31st of May, 1792, Carey preached before the Association, which then met at Nottingham. His text was Isa. 54:2, 32Enlarge the place of thy tent, and let them stretch forth the curtains of thine habitations: spare not, lengthen thy cords, and strengthen thy stakes; 3For thou shalt break forth on the right hand and on the left; and thy seed shall inherit the Gentiles, and make the desolate cities to be inhabited. (Isaiah 54:2‑3): “Enlarge the place of thy tent, and let them stretch forth the curtains of thine habitations; spare not, lengthen thy cords, and strengthen thy stakes; for thou shalt break forth on the right hand and on the left; and thy seed shall inherit the Gentiles, and make the desolate cities to be inhabited.”
“In these words, brethren,” he said,” the Church is spoken of as a widow, dwelling in a tiny cottage by herself. The command to enlarge the place of her tent implied that her family would be increased. To account for this return of joy and happiness the prophet declares, Thy Maker is thy Husband, who shall one day be the God of the whole earth.’ These words, my brethren, convey to us a gracious intimation of duty. They bid us also to attempt a duty long time neglected. Two great principles are involved in the text, which we will now enlarge upon. First, EXPECT GREAT THINGS FROM GOD. Second, ATTEMPT GREAT THINGS FOR GOD.”
The preacher’s heart was aflame. The long brooding and praying now found a vent. He preached with such pathetic force that the whole assembly lifted up their voices and wept.
“I verily felt myself to be guilty, and wondered that God could have so long forborne to punish such criminal neglect,” said one who was present.
One after the other the weeping throng were dispersing; nothing seemed likely to result from the emotion.
Carey seized Fuller frantically. “Oh, Fuller, for the love of Christ, do not let us separate without doing something,” he said.
Fuller hesitated a moment.
Carey grew more earnest. “This may be the last time. Talk! talk! talk! Wait! wait! wait! We have waited far too long already. Let us now go forward.”
The assembly paused as they heard his words, and Fuller turning to the throng said, “I propose that a plan be prepared against the next meeting. It will be held 2nd October, 1792. Then we can at once inaugurate the new society.”
The proposal met with universal approval, and Carey returned home rejoicing that at last a beginning was to be made.