GLEANINGS OF THE VINTAGE;
OR,
LETTERS
TO THE SPIRITUAL EDIFICATION
OF THE CHURCH OF CHRIST.
LETTER XXI

William Huntington
(1745-1813)


LETTER XXI.

TO H. B.

Dear Fellow Labourer,

I THINK your present cross. is to teach you to cease from man, whose breath is in his nostrils, for wherein he is to be accounted of. Where there is no cross, there is neither life, humility, nor power; in all these things is the life of our spirit, by these we are humbled, and after the trial is over we return, like our Master, in the power of the Spirit. There is a daily cross allotted us, and if we watch, we shall daily find it, and feel it too. Sometimes I am altogether lifeless, and at the same time so careless, that it seems a matter of indifference to me, whether I pray for quickening grace, or hug my carnal ease. Again, I have six or seven times to preach, and not one text in view, the book is sealed; at another time, every passage seems to afford matter for a discourse, and then I have two or three leisure days, so that none are wanted. Again, a passage shall pass through my mind with uncommon beauty and lustre, and the first foolish thought that enters my head, plunders my memory, and that is gone and never returns.

Sometimes I am indulged with uncommon access to God in private, and with an holy familiarity; my glory seems fresh in me, and then I expect to go to the pulpit in the fulness of the blessings of the gospel of peace; but instead of that I stand hacking like a fool in the correction of the stocks. At other times great boldness, freedom of speech, and comfort through the whole discourse, and then I expect that all must be comforted, because I was; but instead of that I seemed to be the only one that was comforted; the fleece was wet, but all the floor was dry; and when I have stood in chains, and delivered a few broken, unconnected, unintelligible fragments, with a gloomy countenance, a burthened mind, and bound in the spirit, till I have been ashamed of myself, and of my discourse also, then great execution has been done; many were joyful when Samson was bound. At another time I have gone with a studied discourse, bright views, and various branches; the whole platform on my mind, and all laid out in the nicest order, and I have expected a heaven upon earth; and when I came to begin, instead of the Lord working with me, there was none to speak but Mr. Huntington; and he has blundered on, till he has lost all his heads, and almost all his text; and every hearer that has looked at me, has given me to understand that he knew the voice of a stranger, and who was preaching as well as I did, for the cloud had got no rain.

At other times I have set off on the Lord's day morning, without a single passage on my mind, and have had three times to preach, and have been kept in suspense till within a few minutes of service time, when a text has come over the hills, but seemed at such a distance as if it scorned to be examined; and I have gone forth with it, wishing it had been customary to preach in a mask, but when I have began I have found him there, and he that watered, was watered also himself. I have then returned with honour, and determined in my own mind that the people should have a second benefit, and therefore I have attempted to branch the heads of that discourse a little wider out, and drive them a little farther home; and I seemed to begin with the wine views and power with which I ended in the morning, and have gone on till I have lost myself, and stripped them of all the dew that the Lord had before distilled on their souls. When my own soul hath seemed in private to rise like a cedar in Lebanon, I have been barren in the pulpit, and the garden has visibly withered, like a green herb; and on the other hand, when I have been long occupying business in deep waters, they have seemed to be at the desired haven. This, Sir, is the way I go on, and in my glass you will probably see your own face. Peace and truth be with thee.

Ever thine,
W. HUNTINGTON.


William Huntington

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