solve all into this one great petition, that his name may be glorified, particularly in all you are and all you have. Now, do you imagine, that God would have removed so eminent a saint, so useful a minister, and afflicted a numerous and religious family, as well as a multitude of sympathizing friends, if he had not known that it was for his glory? When you have been saying, as you have daily said, Father, thy will be done; were you not then praying for the loss of your dearest comforts, even for the death of your brother, and of every other friend you have, upon supposition that it were the will of God? You certainly were, unless you meant to say, let thy will be done, so far as it is agreeable to my own. Now I leave you to judge, whether the answer of prayer be the matter of complaint or of praise. I know it is very difficult to apprehend, how such a dispensation as this should be for the glory of God. But have we known so little of the nature of the great God, as to question the wisdom of his providential dispensations, merely because they appear unaccountable to us? we use ourselves to a contracted way of thinking and reasoning upon this head; much like a small congregation in the country, that fancy the interest of religion is very much damaged, by the removal of a useful minister from them, though it be to a sphere of much more extensive service. Because this earth is our habitation, we fondly imagine it to be a place of very great importance; whereas if we consider the number and excellency of the inhabitants of heaven, we must be forced to confess that it is probable those revolutions may be very serviceable to the whole creation, which are detrimental to some particular part, in its highest and most important interest. And of this nature, I take the removal of excellent ministers to be; especially in the prime of their strength and usefulness. I may add, that there are certain views both with relation to him and yourself, which will further evince your obligations to thankfulness. With regard to your brother, you easily apprehend a foundation for thankfulness, P though perhaps you have not considered his present happiness in that particular view. You believe, with the greatest reason, that death was inconceivably advantageous to him, and that now he is absent from the body, he is present with the Lord. Now, with all your tender friendship, can you question, whether it be your part to rejoice with him in that glory and felicity, which he now enjoys? Or can you imagine, that you are to be so much concerned that he is not with you, as to forget to rejoice that he is with God? Was it more for you to lose a brother, than for the apostles to part with Christ himself? And yet he says the very same thing, which shocked you so much a few lines above; if ye loved me, ye would rejoice because I go to the Father. When your brother was alive, you did not only take pleasure in him, when he was in the same house and room with yourself, but at the distance of above a hundred miles. You rejoiced to think that he was well; that he was surrounded with agreeable friends, furnished with plentiful accommodations; and, above all, laying himself out with vigour and success in the service of our great common master. And will you entertain so mean an idea of the preparation, which the God of heaven and earth has made for the supreme happiness of his beloved children, as to question, whether he be now raised to more valuable friends, more delightful entertainment, and a sphere of more extensive service? I am confident, madam, you would have been thankful from your heart for your brother's recovery: and would it have been a greater mercy to him, to have been raised from a languishing illness to a state of confirmed health, amidst the vanity and misery of this state of mortality, than to be exalted to im mortal health and vigour, amidst the entertainment of angels, and the enjoyment of God? Or has so gene. rous spirited a person as yourself begun now to ima gine, that you are to be thankful on the account of none but yourself? So far from that, you think it a great matter of thankfulness, and no doubt, you are frequently praising God for it, that you have an excel You lent brother left, so agreeably settled, so universally respected, and so zealously and successfully engaged in the most honourable service. But is it not more, that you have another brother among the blessed angels in heaven? . How different are the services, which the one is paying to the throne of grace, and the other to the throne of glory? When they are both engaged, it may be at the very same moment, in the contemplation of God and divine things, how vastly do you think the younger brother has now the advantage of the elder? May there not be the same difference in accuracy, solidity, and manly pleasure, between the thoughts of the blessed saint in heaven, and the philosopher upon earth, as between the sublimest thoughts of that philosopher and the roving imagination of a little infant, in which reason is but just beginning to dawn? Certainly it should be a constant source of delight to us, amidst all the disturbances and calamities of life, that we have so many friends in heaven, whose joy and glory should be to us our own. must now give me leave to add, that you have reason to be thankful for this dispensation of providence, not only from a principle of zeal for God, and friendship to your brother, but from a regard to your own personal interest. The gospel teacheth its sincere professors to regard every providence as a mercy, when it tells them that all things shall work together for good to them that love God: and therefore, though you could not see mercy in this particular stroke, religion would nevertheless require you to believe and acknowledge it. But cannot you yourself perceive some mercy in it? Has it not, as you are pleased to intimate in your letter, an apparent tendency to wean your affections from this world, and to raise them to the heavenly felicity? Do you not find the thoughts of death more tolerable, more delightful to you, since God has removed so powerful an attractive from earth, and translated it to heaven? Nay, do you not find it a considerable exercise of patience to be absent, it may be for several years, from this dear happy brother, whose image continually presents itself to your mind in so much the more charming light, as your heart is melted with grief for his death? Now, if an indifference to this world, and a most affectionate desire of a happy immortality, be an important branch of the Christian temper; if the scriptures are so frequently inculcating it upon us, and we so continually praying for the increase, and lamenting the deficiency of it, how reasonable is it that we should be thankful for those providences, which, of all others, have the greatest tendency to promote it? I write these things, madam, not with the coldness of a stranger, but with the tender sympathy of a friend; and with so much the greater sympathy, as, since I began this letter, I have lost a very agreeable and valuable person out of my congregation, with some circumstances, which render the stroke peculiarly surprising and afflicting. May God teach us so to bear and improve all our afflictions, both in ourselves and our friends, that we may have reason to reflect upon them, as the most valuable mercies of our lives; and that they may fit us for that happy world, where we shall be above the need, and then, undoubtedly, above the reach of them!" SECT. V. HIS HUMILITY AND DEPENDENCE ON DIVINE ASSISTANCES. DR. DODDRIDGE, with all his furniture, esteem, and success, was truly humble. He thought, to use his own words, "the love of popular applause a meanness, which a philosophy, far inferior to that of our divine Master, might teach men to conquer. But that to be esteemed by eminently great and good men, to whom we are intimately known, is not only one of the most solid attestations of some real worth, but, next to the approbation of God and our own con sciences, one of its most valuable rewards."* 66 This happiness he enjoyed. He was solicitous to secure the esteem of others, out of regard to his usefulness in the world; and this he sought, not by destroying or disparaging the reputation of others, nor by any sinful or mean compliances, but by a friendly condescending behaviour to all, and faithful endeavours to serve them. He disliked the temper of those who indulged their own humour and pursued their own schemes, without caring what the world said or thought of them. He reckoned this an affront to mankind, and such an evidence of pride, as not only defeated the ends they intended to answer, but exposed them to general contempt. A sensible writer hath so well expressed what I know were his sentiments on this head, and which he often inculcated upon his pupils, that I shall insert his words. Reputation is, in fact, the great instrument by which a man is capable of receiving any good from the world, or doing good in it. His most generous, tenderest designs will be censured, his best actions suspected, his most friendly advices and gentlest reproofs misconstrued and slighted, unless his person be esteemed and his character reverenced. So valuable a property then, as a good name, may well deserve to be guarded with care. Nay, we may surely be allowed to seek for eminent degrees of regard from those about us, in order to be of more eminent advantage to them. This consideration pleads, with peculiar force, for a degree of tenderness and even jealousy of reputation in those who are the salt of the earth. Much regard must be paid by them to the sentiments; some, even to the prejudices of those that they have to do with."+ These maxims Dr. Doddridge endeavoured to keep in his view; and there were few persons, in his station, who enjoyed so Rise and Progress, Ded. p. iv. |