Chapter 2.
“O Lord! that I could waste my life for others
With no ends of my own,
That I could pour myself into my brothers
And live for them alone!
“Such was the life Thou triedst, self-abjuring,
Thine own pains never easing,
Our burdens bearing, our just doom enduring,
A life without self-pleasing.” ―Frederick W. Faber.
The men of the Mayflower, “has become a phrase in the history of our country which will not be easily forgotten. It marks a period when the intolerance of a foolish king drove from the shores of the old country those Puritans of sturdy piety who were destined to found another England across the sea. Thus the keel of the little Mayflower carried the future destinies of that mighty Anglo-Saxon commonwealth, which shares not only our speech, but our love for the Bible, and a desire for the evangelization of the world.
It is not clear, from the vague data of his ancestry upon which we have to rely, whether the forefathers of David Brainerd actually sailed from England in the Mayflower, but there can be no doubt about the fact that his great grandfather on his mother’s side, the Rev. Peter Hobart, was at one time a minister of the Gospel at Hingham in the county of Norfolk, and in consequence of the persecution of the Puritans, did take ship, and remove with his family to New England where he formed another church, and called the settlement after the name of the village from which he had been driven in the old land. It is also clear that his grandmother was the daughter of another Puritan divine, the Rev. Samuel Whiting, also an Eastern counties’ man, for he ministered at Boston in Lincolnshire, before he in turn left for the shores of New England and founded the town of Lynn in Massachusetts. Thus we see of what stock he sprang, and the old theology of the Puritans clung to him all through life. It is difficult now to understand, and still more to appreciate, the strict and unlovely discipline of a child’s training in those far off days. There is every reason to believe, that at a very early age the mind of the boy David was cast in a serious, and what appears to us, an unnaturally solemn mold. His father, Hezekiah Brainerd, who at the time of David’s birth, the 20th of April, 1718, was living at Haddam, Hartford, in the new colony of Connecticut, died when the boy was only a child, and was speedily followed by the mother, so that the family were left orphans very early. David was the third of the four sons, and like Henry Martyn seems to have inherited a delicacy of constitution, with a strong predisposition to consumption, from which disease one of his brothers died. How far this hereditary ill-health predisposed him to a melancholy turn we can only conjecture; certain it is that David, at a time when other boys are full of games and boisterous play, was a mournful little lad. He tells us in the diary, in that portion of it which was fortunately preserved after his death, a little about his feelings at this time, and no words can better describe these days and his conversion in childhood than his own.
“I was from my youth,” says he, “somewhat sober and inclined rather to melancholy than the contrary extreme; but do not remember anything of conviction of sin, worthy of remark, till I was, I believe, about seven or eight years of age. Then I became concerned for my soul, and terrified at the thoughts of death, and was driven to the performance of duties, but it appeared a melancholy business, that destroyed my eagerness for play. And though, alas! this religious concern was short-lived, I sometimes attended secret prayer, and thus lived at ease in Zion, without God in the world, and without much concern, as I remember, till I was about thirteen years of age.
“But, sometime in the winter 1732, I was roused out of carnal security by I scarce know what means at first; but was much excited by the prevailing of a mortal sickness in Haddam. I was frequent, constant, and somewhat fervent in duties, and took delight in reading, especially Mr. Janeway’s Token for Children.’ I felt sometimes much inclined to duties, and took great delight in the performance of them, and I sometimes hoped that I was converted, or at least in a good and hopeful way for heaven and happiness, not knowing what conversion was. The Spirit of God at this time proceeded far with me; I was remarkably dead to the world, and my thoughts were almost wholly employed about my soul’s concerns and I may indeed say Almost I was persuaded to be a Christian.’ I was also exceedingly distressed and melancholy at the death of my mother in March, 1732. But afterward my religious concern began to decline and by degrees I fell back into a considerable degree of security, though I still attended secret prayer.”
The boy already seemed to be haunted with that self-condemnation and unsettlement of trust which were the characteristics of the Calvinist experience of his day. He had the fear of death before his eyes, and felt that the best way to obtain peace and freedom from his terrors was immersing himself in a round of duties, some, no doubt, of a painful character, in order to wean himself from love of self and of the world. Such methods, however, could not possibly have the desired result, and with his father and mother both removed to another world, he seems to have had none to point him to “a more excellent way.” He grew up in the same mood, condemning himself roundly for the slightest pleasure, and in a most literal sense “working out his own salvation with fear and trembling.” Nearly sixteen now, the following is the retrospect of his experience, recorded in his diary: ―“About the 15th of April, 1733, I removed from my father’s house to East Haddam where I spent four years, but still ‘without God in the world’ though for the most part I went a round of secret duty. I was not much addicted to young company, or frolicking, as it is called, but this I know, when I did go into such company, I never returned with so good a conscience as when I went, it always added new guilt, made me afraid to come to the throne of grace, and spoiled those good frames I was wont sometimes to please myself with. But, alas! all my good frames were but self-righteousness, not founded on a desire for the glory of God.
“About the latter end of April, 1737, being full nineteen years of age, I removed to Durham to work on my farm, and so continued about one year, frequently longing from a natural inclination after a liberal education. When about twenty years of age I applied myself to study, and was now engaged more than ever in the duties of religion. I became very strict and watchful over my thoughts, words, and actions, and thought I must be sober indeed, because I designed to devote myself to the ministry, and imagined I did dedicate myself to the Lord.”
Although still profoundly dissatisfied with himself, and suspecting every little emotion of pleasure as a temptation to self-righteousness, David Brainerd continued to pursue a round of religious exercises and duties. He went in April, 1738, to live with Mr. Fiske, who was the minister at Haddam, Hartford, Connecticut, and this good man urged David to withdraw altogether from the society of other young men, so that he might devote himself without distraction to the study of holy things. In less than a year he had read the Bible twice through, gave the utmost attention to the preaching of the Gospel, and snatched every moment he could for secret prayer and self-examination. This earnest seeking after God soon made him yearn for the fellowship of others like-minded, and just as Wesley met with his fellow-students to pray and hold sacred converse under the college walls at Oxford, we find Brainerd every Sunday evening gathering with a number of earnest young men to worship and glorify their common Lord. Lest he should lose sight of the truths which he heard, it was his custom to commit the discourse of the day to memory, and repeat the same when alone, sometimes at midnight hour: Such a young man one would think might be credited with a sincere zeal and a pious mind, yet, Brainerd we find still bewailing himself. This is his own comment on all these religious observances: ― “I had a very good outside and rested entirely on my duties, though not sensible of it. After Mr. Fiske’s death I proceeded in my learning with my brother; was still very constant in religious duties, and often wondered at the levity of professors; it was a trouble to me that they were so careless in religious matters. Thus, I proceeded a considerable length on a self-righteous foundation and should have been entirely lost and undone had not the mere mercy of God prevented.”
Much of the experience of Brainerd at this time was very like that of John Bunyan, who in his walks abroad was constantly tempted of Satan, and lived in perpetual fear and awe of God. The mind of David Brainerd seems to have been perpetually set on “frames and feelings,” he looks with fearful interest into the pool of his heart’s experience, and sees there nothing but unrest and buffeting waves, which also could in no degree reflect the image of his Savior. To such an extent did this poor young man worry himself, that he looked upon nature and wished from his inmost soul that he also could be free of this terrible burden of spiritual responsibility. Thus he writes in his private diary: ― “Sometime in the beginning of winter 1738 it pleased God on one Sabbath morning, as I was walking out for some secret duties, to give me on a sudden such a sense of my danger, and the wrath of God, that I stood amazed, and my former good frames that I had pleased myself with, all presently, vanished.
From the view I had of my sin and vileness I was much distressed all that day, fearing the vengeance of God would soon overtake me. I was much dejected, kept much alone, and sometimes envied the birds and beasts their happiness, because they were not exposed to eternal misery as I evidently saw I was. And thus I lived from day to day being frequently in great distress, sometimes there appeared mountains before me to obstruct my hopes of mercy, and the work of conversion appeared so great that I thought I should never be the subject of it. I used, however, to pray and cry to God and perform other duties with great earnestness, and thus hoped by some means to make the case better.”
For a long time Brainerd continued under this cloud; here and there a break occurred, speedily to be drowned in darkness, for, like many a sincere but wretched man since his day, poor Brainerd vexed his soul with doubts as to whether he stood among the elect or not. A voice, he says, seemed to cry in his ears, “It is done, it is done, forever impossible to deliver yourself,” and he also tells us he got thinking upon God’s sovereignty until he shuddered as “a poor trembling creature to venture off some high precipice.”
At last, however, light came, the light of assurance, and Brainerd was for the first time filled with unspeakable joy. The occasion seems to have been almost a vision, for the Lord vouchsafed him a glorious manifestation of His presence. He notes the day very carefully, the 12Th of July, 1739, a Sunday evening, the close of a week of exceeding wretchedness, and he had, as was his wont, gone out into some solitary spot, far from men, to commune with his God. The remarkable occurrence which followed, and which may be considered the hour of his conversion, cannot be told better than in his own words: ― “Having been thus endeavoring to pray-though as I thought very stupid and senseless―for near half an-hour, then as I was walking in a dark thick grove, unspeakable glory seemed to open to the view and apprehension of my soul. I do not mean any external brightness, for I saw no such thing, nor do I intend any imagination of any body of light somewhere in the third heavens or anything of that nature, but it was anew inward apprehension or view that I had of God, such as I never had before, nor anything which had the least resemblance of it. I stood still, wondered and admired! I knew that I never had seen before anything comparable to it for excellency and beauty, it was widely different from all the conceptions that ever I had of God or things Divine. I had no particular apprehension of any one Person in the Trinity, either the Father, the Son, or the Holy Ghost, but it appeared to be Divine glory. My soul rejoiced with joy unspeakable to see such a God, such a glorious Divine Being, and I was inwardly pleased and satisfied that He should be God over all forever and ever. My soul was so captivated and delighted with the excellency, loveliness, greatness, and other perfections of God, that I was even swallowed up in Him, at least to that degree that I had no thought that I remember at first about my own salvation, and scarce reflected that there was such a creature as myself.”
This moment of exceeding glory marks the spiritual starting point of David Brainerd, although the peace was not of sustained duration, and the radiance was soon bedimmed with gathering clouds again. We shall, indeed, in following the chequered history of his after-life, catch, from time to time, glimpses of this gray melancholy, this pious gloom, which he seemed to almost cherish as part of his dismal creed. It would be scarcely sufficient to describe his spiritual experience as April weather for the transitions were oftentimes from bleak November gloom into the warmth and sunny blaze of June, and back again. In his subsequent travels over the Indian wilderness, the lonely man seems to have felt how this depressing and stormy environment had its reflection and counterpart in the tempests within his own breast. But even when the shadows gathered thickest about his feet, there was above him a bit of blue, a stream of Divine light showing him that in exceeding weakness there was strength and grace sufficient for his need. The Calvinistic severity of the Puritanic creed so often repels us with the joyless aspect of its experience; and yet, though the tree seems flowerless, it has its roots in a firm faith in God, and bore fruits of heroic endurance and righteousness. In reading this old diary of Brainerd the wonder rises whether this man was really so spiritually depressed as he appears by his own account, or if it is possible that this testament of his inner life tells rather the tale of what he felt than what he was. However, that may be, the spiritual manifestation just recorded was a real thing to David Brainerd; henceforth he seems to more frequently lose sight of self, poor, unsatisfactory, and ever troublesome self, and his thoughts center more upon the will of God, and his own responsibility in doing the same. That sweet New England singer of our day, John Greenleaf Whittier, in one of his fragments of verse, expresses what maybe was the heart-feeling of Brainerd at this time: ―
“There let me strive with each besetting sin,
Recall my wandering fancies, and restrain
The sore disgust of a restless brain;
And as the path of duty is made plain,
May grace be given that I may walk therein;
Not like the hireling, for his selfish gain,
With backward glances, and reluctant tread,
Making a merit of his coward deed;
But cheerful, with light around me thrown,
Walking as one to pleasant service led,
Doing God’s will as if it were my own,
Yet trusting not in mine but in His strength alone!”