THESE CALLED ON GOD

Rev. Murdoch Campbell, M.A.*

The Evangelical Revival in the Highlands brought into being a Church which knew the way to the Throne of Grace and whose prayers ascended up to heaven ‘like pillars of smoke.’ It was a Church which travailed for the rebirth of souls, and for the upbuilding of God’s Zion. And God made her a joyful mother of children.

One precious fruit of the Revival was the institution of the family altar. Worship in the family became almost a universal practice in all those places where the Lord had made known His power. It is sad to think that this invaluable act of devotion is now a mere memory in many homes and communities.

There was a district in the North where for over two miles the homes of the people, mostly crofters, lay hard by the wayside. On a calm evening along the whole of that road, the one neighbour might hear the other singing a psalm at the hour of family worship.

Dr. John Kennedy once referred to the decline which the devotional life of the Church had suffered within his own recollection. The former generation of Christians not only prayed, but would continue to wait on the Lord till the answer came. They looked for the return of their prayers. In his own latter days, men were praying as formerly, but the old fervent spirit of importunity had largely passed away.

A younger Ross-shire minister than Dr. Kennedy used to quote one of the ‘Men’ who once illustrated the meaning of persevering prayer. A piper, he said, went round the doors playing his tunes. Those who did not appreciate his music, and who would have him depart, would throw him a coin before he had hardly begun. At a certain door, however, though he played all his tunes as best he could, no one seemed to hear. At last, when he was about to leave, the door opened. ‘I like your music, and I wanted to hear your tunes to the end; otherwise I would have rewarded you sooner,’ said the kindly person who opened the door. The Lord, in other words, takes great delight in the prayers of His people, and His delays are not to be taken for denials. Jacob got the blessing not immediately, but at the break of day after a long night of wrestling with the Angel. Paul also was long on his knees before the Lord opened the door and blessed him with the needed grace for the conflict.

Our mentioning Paul’s prayer reminds one of a noted Highland woman who was once oppressed with a heavy temptation. In answer to her cry for help the words-‘My grace is sufficient for thee,’ came seasonably to her trembling spirit. But no sooner was the snare broken than the enemy assailed her again by insinuating that the words from which she derived such comfort were meant for Paul alone. Again she went to the Lord in prayer, and again He graciously delivered her in the great promise of Psalm 105: ‘The word which he commanded to a thousand generations.’ The happy light then broke in upon her mind that the word which came from Heaven to Paul in his day of trouble was appointed to strengthen and reassure untold thousands of God’s afflicted people to the end of time.

In those days of restricted communication, prayer was often the living link by which absent friends could still enjoy fellowship in the Lord. The spirit of the Lord, who dwells in the heart, is infinite, and in this way He can draw together the dispersed members of God’s family.

A lovely story may be told of how ‘The Communion of Saints’ becomes a wonderful reality through mutual prayer. Two young men from the North once covenanted to pray for one another at a set time each day. In the course of time the two lads went their separate ways. One returned to his home in Lewis, and the other left for the Antipodes. Each day after the mid-day meal, they were to remember one another in prayer. Unversed in the laws of astronomy, and unaware, at the time, of how night and day would change through the distance between them, the result was that the prayers of the one who remained at home would touch his friend in Australia at midnight, while the prayers of the lad who lived on the other side of the world would, in like manner, touch and refresh his friend in the far away Hebrides.

There was another young Ross-shire man who emigrated to Canada. There he toiled for many years without much regard for the wholesome spiritual influences by which he was surrounded in the days of his youth. After a time he ailed and had to lie in bed. There his mind went back to other days. In the panorama of memory he could see himself again in the Church at Ferintosh. The minister was in the pulpit, and he could even recall the text and fragments of the sermon. As the whole scene presented itself to his mind he was deeply affected by the recollection. So much so that he was led to pray that God would visit him with His salvation. From that experience a new man in Christ came into being. The word which had lain so long in fallow ground, had taken root. The faithful praying minister of his boyhood days had gone Home, but he was still speaking in the memory of one of his people, and his prayers were still being answered. It is a story which should encourage every herald of salvation who may be tempted to think that his earnest labour is in vain.

There were some whose secret prayers did not always remain a secret. Angus Young of Kilmallie, for example, would at times take to one of the hills overlooking Loch Eil, and there, unconscious of the power of his voice, and of the fact that sound carries better over a calm sheet of water, he would pour out his soul before God. There were seasons when his earnest voice could be heard by those who lived across the Loch. Such men as he were once the glory of the land.

Later on we shall mention the refreshing brevity of some of the ‘Men’s’ public prayers. Let me, however, give an instance of how a praying man, in the enjoyment of spiritual freedom, could forget time altogether. A worthy man in Lochcarron was on one occasion reminded by his young daughter of the unusual length of one of his public prayers. He quietly answered her: “My dear, when you are speaking to a Person you love much, you are apt to forget the time.” This was the excellent Duncan MacLean.

On a communion Sabbath in the North, the felt presence of the Lord was so overpowering that the presiding minister found it difficult to speak. Many were melted down, for a ‘bright cloud has overshadowed them.’ Some time afterwards, a good man who was present remarked in his prayer that, at the dedication of Solomon’s temple, ‘the priest could not stand to minister because of the cloud, for the glory of the Lord had filled the house of the Lord.’ That remarkable prayer ended with the words: ‘As we now descend from the Mount give us grace that the tables of the law may be found broken in our hands.’

Pride and Self were two heart-evils against which those men employed all their spiritual weapons, and especially the weapon of ‘All Prayer.’ One much-tried man was once heard pleading with the Lord that He might ‘hold him up.’ But before he had gone very far with his plea, it came into his mind that he should also ask the Lord to hold him down as well!

This fear of sin reminds us of a man who once set off to pray, that the Lord, in a time of drought, might send rain on the earth. It was a warm summer day, and his secret place of prayer was on the top of a little hill clothed with trees. Arriving at his trysting place, and feeling weary, he lay down to rest. Immediately he fell asleep. He awoke with the sound of rain among the thick, leafy boughs which overshadowed him. There and then he blessed the Lord for sending refreshing rain, and for sending it before he had prayed. Had it come after his prayer he might have ascribed the given favour to the efficacy of his own prayer, and not to God’s mercy alone.

Indwelling sin in all its manifestations those men always spoke of as “the old man.” It was the hated and hurtful burden which clung to them to the end. Their growth in grace and holiness advanced in the measure in which sin became more oppressive and more exceeding sinful. The well-known John MacKenzie of Gairloch (“Ceisdear Mor Mhealbhaig”) was once asked by Principal John MacLeod as to how he was. ‘I am,’ said John, ‘an old man carrying an old man.’

An impressive instance of how experience may teach the believer, and of how greater light in the mind and greater tenderness in the conscience may affect his public devotions, may be mentioned. It was a remark made by Roderick Maclver, Ness, Lewis, in one of his last public prayers: ‘Lord, thou knowest that we cannot now mention in secret before Thyself, what we could once mention in the hearing of our fellow men.’

The prayers of those good men did not always ring with the note of cloudless assurance of permanent spiritual comfort. There was an excellent Christian girl in the Highlands who, in the first flush of her young but untried Christian love, took upon herself to rebuke two good men to whom she had listened at a prayer meeting. In broken accents they had each bewailed ‘the years which the locusts had eaten,’ and she could not then understand the cause of their spiritual dejection.

Later in the day she spoke to them about their woeful utterances. On hearing what she said one of the men wept and quoted the words of the Prophet: ‘The people of thy holiness have possessed it but a little while’ (Is. 63.18). The words were meant to convey how little he had enjoyed the fellowship and the love of the Lord, and how sin and Satan had cast a blight over his soul.

Mary Smith of Ness, lived to understand why Roderick Maclver – mentioned above – and Donald MacDonald had prayed that day out of a broken heart.

A custom which involved much self denial, but which is now passing away, was that of meeting for prayer in the early morning. Mary Cameron, a young Christian girl from Tobermory in Mull, was so anxious to attend the morning prayer meeting that she misread the hand of the clock. Dressing hurriedly, she ran toward the Church. No one had arrived. She returned home greatly wondering and sad at heart. But as she entered her home, she saw that it was not seven o’clock, but half-past one in the morning. Mary was a convert of Christopher Munro, and to the end she carried the peculiar fragrance which followed the ministry of that gentle and holy servant of Christ.

The shadow of poverty which so often rested on the homes of some of those who were rich in faith, helped to deepen their dependence on the Lord. It brought them to see the faithfulness of Him who never fails to provide. Donald MacKay, Lewis, was a poor but godly man. One morning he was told by his sister that there was nothing in the house for breakfast. ‘Joseph’s storehouses are full,’ was Donald’s hopeful answer. After prayer and worship he went out to bring home peat fuel. He lifted a peat, and under it lay half-a-crown. He lifted another with the same surprising result. Some time before, a man happened to be passing this spot on the moor. He knew the peats belonged to Donald MacKay. The thought came into his mind that he should leave the two coins where he would be sure to find them. And there they lay against the day of need.

Another remarkable instance of God’s over-ruling providence in providing for the needs of His people may be mentioned. In the island of Scalpay in Harris there was a good man on whose mind the words of the wise man fastened themselves with peculiar insistence:

‘Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days.’ Looking at his store of meal it occurred to him one day that he should half-fill a watertight barrel with meal and cast it into the sea! This he did.

Months afterwards men from the remote island of St. Kilda visited Harris. In course of conversation they mentioned how the winter and spring storms had prevented the usual ship from calling with provisions, and how they would have suffered hunger had not a barrel of excellent meal landed on their shore.

This story used to be told by Mr. Matheson, who laboured for some years in Scalpay as lay preacher.

How God rewards the prayer of faith was once illustrated at a fellowship meeting by one of the ‘Men.’ A good woman in the district found herself one day with nothing in her home to sustain her. She pleaded earnestly in prayer that the Lord might send her a morsel of bread. At that moment two lads happened to be passing her door carrying a supply of bread to a local shop. Hearing her earnest voice in prayer they listened. ‘Come,’ said the one to his fellow, ‘and let us drop one of these through the window.’ This they did, having decided to pay for it themselves. As she was in the act of praising the Great Giver for his seasonable mercy, one of the lads walked in and said: ‘It was not the Lord who sent it-we dropped it in.’ ‘Oh, my dear,’ she said, ‘Satan himself might have come with it, but it was the Lord who sent it.’

A lovely story of unanswered prayer used to be told of a noted woman in the island of Arran, whose unconverted husband was dying. One day shortly before he died she arrived at Church as her minister, Mr. MacNicol, was giving out the text. It was the words of Queen Esther: ‘Let my life be given me at my petition, and my people at my request.’ As she stood behind the door, an unseen listener, her soul went up to God on behalf of her husband. ‘0 Lord,’ she wept, ‘my husband’s soul at my request.’ Her prayer was heard. A few days afterwards, coming in from the place of her secret devotions, she addressed him affectionately: ‘Tomorrow at this hour you will be singing the praises of the Redeemer in Heaven.’ He passed away at the hour she said, resting on the merits of Christ, and rejoicing in the hope of the glory of God.

Before concluding, I shall relate two anecdotes which show that when the godly Highlander left his native heath, he did not leave his praying behind him.

During the American Civil War, a Highland soldier was once brought before his commanding officer for being, as his accusers thought, in communication with the enemy under cover of night. At the interview with his superiors, the man explained that he was only praying to God, and not conversing with men. The commander-a shrewd man and familiar with his Bible-after he had carefully examined him, said: ‘Let us hear you pray now, for .never had you more need of prayer.’ The pious Highlander, there and then, fell on his knees and addressed his Maker in reverent and Scriptural language. His prayer revealed that not only was he familiar with the Word of God, but was, as a true believer, deeply exercised in his spirit. When he had finished the officer said: ‘You may go. No one could have prayed so, without long apprenticeship. Those who have never attended drill, fare but ill at review.’

More favoured than this misunderstood Highlander was a band of Hebridean sailors who served in the same ship. Every day at a convenient hour, they met to pray together. The captain of the ship was a Christian man. He overheard them one day as they were singing part of Psalm 45, where mention is made of the King’s daughter who is all-glorious within. Afterwards, he spoke to them about the peculiar glory of the Church as the daughter of God and he Bride of Christ, and whose garments of Righteousness and salvation were purchased and prepared by the obedience and death of her Lord.

We mentioned another fruit of the Evangelical revival. It was that exquisite Psalm-singing, which had such an effect on the emotions, and such a sanctifying influence on the Lord’s people. The latent gift of song, when it became articulate under the touch of the Divine power was, without controversy, a sublime thing. Nothing like it was ever heard in the land before. It was something new and heavenly. When God’s spirit, like a gale from the eternal hills, swept over the singing multitudes, the effect was indescribable. Listening strangers who knew neither the people nor their language invariably had but one comparison to make. It was like the notes of a great and unutterably moving Aeolian harp. The people sang for joy, for the shout of a King was among them. The unique manner in which one could listen to the individual voice of the precentor on the one hand, and to the multitude on the other, helped to deepen the impression made. For a man to lead the thousands present, he needed grace in his heart, affection for the people, spiritual sympathy with the words sung, and a voice that would do justice to the occasion.

Stories could be told of how the singing sometimes affected those who heard it. Three Hebridean fishermen were once travelling across the lonely Sutherlandshire moor on the way home from the east coast. With the approach of night they decided to seek rest and shelter at the first dwelling house by the way. The timid woman who came to the door at which they knocked refused them even the shelter of the barn. Assuring her, however, that they were upright men, they quietly took possession of it. At worship before they lay down to rest one of the men said to a companion who had a voice of rare melody and power, ‘Come sing this psalm; and if ever you extracted music from MARTYRDOM do so now.’

Meantime, the man of the house came home, and as he was preparing to remove the intruders the sweet cadences of a psalm fell on his ear. With an anxious look on his face he turned to his wife and said, ‘Angels have visited us, and we refused to take them in.’ In a few moments the men were brought in to share in the warmth and hospitality of their home.

Only when touched by Divine grace did ‘the tongue of the dumb sing.’ Malcolm MacArthur, a young man from Lewis, awoke one morning to find that he could sing in a new way. The previous night he had tasted that the Lord was gracious. No one who heard his voice could forget its moving melody and sweetness.

One of the great Gaelic leaders of praise was Christopher MacRae of Lochalsh. Christopher, with his magnificent tenor voice, captivated the ears of his generation. There were others, like Alexander MacLeod of Fivepenny-afterwards minister of Coigach-who were pre-eminent in their generation. Occasionally leaders of praise still arrive who help to make the services of God memorable by the melody and spiritual quality of their voice. But one fears the glorious art is passing away, since it cannot survive apart from the sweet pastoral tongue with which the Evangelical movement in the Highlands was so intimately associated.

From Gleanings of Highland Harvest.