BELIEVING that he was now preaching the truth, Berridge speedily looked for blessing to his hearers; but for two or three weeks no news of good or ill reached him, and the old doubt re-appeared, “Am I right?” But, unknown to him, the message he was delivering was taking effect in the hearts of the people; in some for blessing, in others stirring up that enmity to God and the things of God which is the only fruit of the carnal mind. Six months after the great change he wrote, “They were surprised, alarmed and vexed. The old man, the carnal nature, was stirred up, and railed, and opposed the truth.” This did not at once openly show itself; God first graciously allowed His servant to be encouraged by news of good: One day, a woman of his parish came to him, while he was still in doubt. On seeing her, he said, “Well, Sarah?”
“Well! Not so well, I fear,” was her blunt reply.
“Why, what is the matter, Sarah?”
“Matter! I don’t know what’s the matter. These new sermons! I find we are all lost now. I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep. I don’t know what’s to become of me!”
Imagine his joy at hearing this, after the deep trouble he had passed through―a joy confirmed when two or three more came that same week in like distress. But his joy was mixed with sorrow. He called to mind the years―six at Stapleford, two at Everton―which he had spent, laboring, he thought, for God, but really, though unintentionally, hindering the work of God, by confirming his poor hearers in their ignorance. Eight wasted years, never to be recalled! Many a misguiding word spoken, which he could never bring back! No wonder that with his deep feeling and earnestness, his love for the souls of men, the remembrance of this brought a shadow of grief across the brightness of his joy, and it awakened the true desire in his soul, to know and to preach nothing but Jesus Christ and Him crucified. Now, like the Ephesians, who, when converted to God, destroyed their books of magic, he collected all his old sermons―his sad mixture of truth and error―and gave them to the flames, shedding tears of joy while they were being consumed. This was quickly bruited abroad, and mingled curiosity and alarm helped to fill the church with hearers, some coming distances of six, eight, or ten miles; and God in grace met with many, to the salvation of their souls.
We now come to an incident, which, though it seems but a small event, doubtless affected the whole of his after life, and greatly increased his usefulness as a servant of God. Berridge had always been in the habit of writing his sermons out at full length and reading them from the pulpit. Shortly after his deliverance of soul, he was invited to preach, in a neighboring church, what was called a Club Sermon. His time was greatly occupied with his parish duties, the day named rapidly drew near, and no sermon was yet written for the occasion. His old ones were burnt, and it is doubtful whether he could have found one worth reading had they been in existence, so he comforted himself with the thought that he could use one of those he had lately written, thinking that none of his people would be present to hear it a second time. To his dismay, of the Sunday before the day fixed, one of his parishioners told Berridge that he intended to accompany him. This upset the good man’s plans, and he used all the arguments he could find to attempt to persuade his friend to stay away, but without success. “Well,” thought he, “I will rise early, go my journey, and write my sermon when I arrive at my journey’s end.” It was a little comfort on the way, to think that there would only be a small company of people, a comfort soon taken away, by hearing that all the clergy and people in the adjacent parishes intended hearing him. His fame had traveled before him. This so excited him, and disturbed his mind, that all hope of study was gone, and he was therefore obliged to go into the pulpit, not knowing what he should speak, and having to trust God for his words. Was he disappointed? Did he break down? This may be answered by another question, Does God ever fail any one of His people whose trust is truly in Him? Berridge did not break down, but so graciously was he helped, that he was perfectly free from embarrassment, and the most solemn attention was given by his hearers.
This was a great lesson to him, and he learned from it that God, who had evidently sent him as a laborer in the field already white to harvest, was able to furnish him with all that he needed for his labor, was able to sustain him, to give words to speak and power of utterance. He learned that God could be, and was, his helper, and this was a great step in his training for the service he was soon after to fill so well. It gave him so much more leisure, for with one exception, he never again wrote a sermon. This increased time was spent in preaching, not only at home, but also in the villages near at hand.
This lesson seemed never to have been forgotten, one would almost think the circumstance was present to his mind, when nearly twenty years later he wrote to his “dear Rowley,” (Rowland Hill) a characteristic piece of advice, which, if remembered by those who labor for the Lord, would be worth volumes of instruction. “Study not to be a fine preacher; Jerichos are blown down with rams’ horns. Look simply unto Jesus for preaching food, and what is wanted will be given, and what is given be blest, whether it be a barley or a wheaten loaf, a crust or a crumb. Your mouth will be a flowing stream, or a fountain sealed, according as your heart is. Avoid all controversy in preaching, talking or writing; preach nothing down but the devil, and nothing up but Jesus Christ.”
W. J.